Tower of Thorns Tower of Fangs Volume 5 Chapter 30 Blood of the Moon

 

Chapter 30  Blood of the Moon

The world should have stopped. It should have ended there. Among the wildflowers. Beneath the summer sky. With Moon lying broken upon the grass. Everything should have stopped. The wind. The birds. The sun. Time itself. Because something precious had been shattered. Something irreplaceable. Something beautiful. Yet the world continued turning. Cruelly. Indifferently. The heavens remained blue. The flowers continued blooming. The forest continued breathing. As though nothing had happened. As though a heart had not just been betrayed. As though love itself had not been stabbed through the chest. The fairies knew better. Thousands of tiny silver lights spiraled above the meadow. They circled frantically around Moon's fallen body. Their cries sounded like tiny bells breaking. Like crystal shattering. Like children weeping. Some clung desperately to his bloodstained robes. Others landed in his dark hair. Others simply hovered nearby, unable to understand why their beloved celestial was suffering.

Their grief spread across the forest. Animals fled. Birds abandoned their nests. Even the flowers seemed to droop. Nature mourned. Because Moon was dying. The celestial lay among the grass and wildflowers. Long black hair spread around him like spilled silk. The strands shimmered beneath the sunlight with hints of midnight blue and silver. His pale skin had become nearly translucent.Too pale. Far too pale. His white robes were soaked through with silver-red blood. The wound in his chest continued bleeding slowly.

Relentlessly. The wooden stake remained lodged directly through his heart. And somehow somehow he still lived. Barely. Each breath seemed like a struggle. Each inhale shallow. Each exhale weaker than the last. The flowers surrounding him bloomed wildly. Thousands opening simultaneously. Roses. Lilies. Moonflowers. Silver blossoms that should not have existed. Life itself seemed desperate to protect him. Desperate to keep him alive. The small winged  fairies gathered. Thousands of tiny silver lights filled the sky. They circled above the fallen celestial in frantic spirals. Their normally joyful voices had become something terrible. Tiny cries. Tiny screams. Tiny prayers. The sound resembled crystal bells being shattered one after another. The grief spread through the forest. Animals fled. Birds abandoned their nests. Ancient trees groaned softly as though mourning. Even the earth itself seemed unable to bear witness. Moon remained alive. Barely. The wooden stake still protruded from his chest. Dark silver-red blood flowed around the wound. The blood did not behave like mortal blood. It glowed. Softly. Beautifully. Like liquid moonlight mixed with starlight. Every drop that touched the ground caused flowers to bloom. Wildflowers erupted across the meadow. Silver blossoms. White roses. Moon lilies. Life desperately trying to preserve what death was stealing. Moon's breathing was weak. Shallow. Fragile. Each breath seemed uncertain whether another would follow. His long black hair spilled across the grass like rivers of midnight silk. Silver fairies hid among the dark strands. Crying. Clinging to him. Refusing to leave. His white robes were stained with blood. The sight felt wrong. Something so pure should not have been wounded. Something so beautiful should not have been allowed to suffer. Yet suffering had found him anyway.

Nico knelt beside him. Broken. Utterly broken. His hands shook so violently he could barely control them. His breathing came in ragged bursts. His entire body felt numb. The world had become distant. Blurred. Unreal. He could not stop staring. At the stake. At the blood. At Moon. At what he had done. Moon's dark eyes remained open. Not fully. Just enough. Just enough to see him. And somehow somehow there was still trust inside them. The realization felt unbearable. Nico remained kneeling beside him. Broken. Completely broken. His hands still continue trembled so violently he could barely keep them still. His breathing came in uneven bursts. His vision blurred with tears. He could not stop staring. At the stake. At the blood. At Moon. At the impossible reality he had created. Stabbing Moon was like stabbing himself too.  Moon's dark eyes remained open. Still watching him. Still searching his face. Still trusting him. Even now. Even after everything. That trust felt worse than any punishment imaginable. Because hatred would have been easier. Fear would have been easier. Anger would have been easier. But Moon looked at him with love. And Nico could not survive it.

Then the shadows shifted and the forest shifted. Branches rustled. Footsteps approached. Eemil emerged from the trees first. The future Shadow King stepped into the meadow with slow confidence. His silver green eyes gleamed beneath the sunlight. The shadow fox padded silently beside him. Silver eyes gleaming. Tail swaying lazily. The creature looked pleased. Satisfied. As though witnessing the successful completion of a long-awaited plan. Its silver gaze immediately found Moon. Then the blood. Then Nico. A smile touched Eemil's lips. Satisfied. Victorious.

Matias followed several steps behind. Slowly. Unlike Eemil, there was no excitement in his face. His expression had changed. The perpetual smile was gone. The laughter gone. The amusement gone. No triumph. Only horror. His normally playful expression had vanished entirely. For once the joker wasn't laughing. And For perhaps the first time since arriving in Elyria he looked really frightened. The three boys stood around Moon. Around the person who had never harmed them. The person who had only offered kindness. Only friendship. Only acceptance. Only love.

The three boys from another dimension stood around the dying celestial. Around the person who had offered them kindness when nobody else had. Around the person who had protected them. Fed them. Comforted them. Loved them. And somehow that made the betrayal worse.

Eemil's gaze dropped immediately toward the blood. Not Moon. Not Nico. The blood. All of Eemil's attention locked onto the blood. Silver-red. Divine. Beautiful. Powerful. The blood of a future Moon God. His pulse quickened. His smile widened. 

The divine blood. Silver-red droplets glimmered among the grass like scattered rubies infused with moonlight. Beautiful. Otherworldly. Alive. Every drop radiated faint celestial power. The future Shadow King smiled.

"We did it."

The words sounded wrong. Profane.

Nico slowly looked up. His face twisted with horror. The horror in his eyes was almost childlike. As though he genuinely could not understand what Eemil was saying.

Eemil laughed.  Actually laughed. His eyes shone brightly. Hungrily. Obsessively. The sound echoed unnaturally. Bright. Excited. Hungry. The way starving men stare at feasts. The way kings stare at crowns.

"Do you understand what this means?"

His voice trembled with excitement.

"The Moon Gods."

"The immortals."

"The rulers of this world."

His smile widened.

"We won."

Nico stared at him. Unable to understand. Unable to care. Unable to think about anything except Moon. A weak cough escaped the celestial. Silver-red blood stained his lips. Immediately Nico turned. Moon looked toward him. His face had become frighteningly pale. The celestial looked as though a strong wind might carry him away. His expression was exhausted. So tired. So unimaginably tired. Yet somehow he still smiled. A tiny smile. Soft. Gentle. Forgiving. The smile shattered Nico completely.

"No."

His voice broke.

"No."

Eemil grabbed his shoulder. Hard. Fingers digging into flesh.

"Don't waste it."

The future Shadow King pointed toward the blood. Toward the divine blood soaking into the flowers. Toward the power soaking into the earth.

"The prize is right there."

Nico looked horrified. Matias looked sick. Moon watched silently. Confused. Heartbroken. Still unable to understand why everyone looked so frightened. Why Nico looked like he was dying too. 

Eemil knelt first. Without hesitation. Without guilt. Without remorse. Without regret His fingers touched the blood.

The moment divine blood touched his skin, his lips the world darkened. Sunlight dimmed. Shadows lengthened unnaturally. Darkness erupted outward from beneath him. The shadow beneath his feet expanded rapidly. Stretching across the meadow. Across the flowers. Across the trees. Something moved beneath it. Something alive. Something ancient. Countless eyes opened within the darkness. Watching. Waiting. Hungry. The shadows wrapped around Eemil's body like living creatures. His green-silver eyes glowed brighter. Far brighter. Black mist poured from Eemil's body. Living darkness. The shadows around him no longer belonged to the sun. They belonged to him. The fox beside him grew larger. Darker. More monstrous. Eemil threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed across the valley. A grin spread across his face. And the darkness answered. The future Shadow King had been born

Matias stared then stumbled backward. Fear flashed across his face. Horrified.

"Eemil..."

His voice sounded distant. Small. Lost. The name barely escaped. His gaze shifted toward Moon. Toward the blood. Toward the flowers. Toward himself. And something finally broke. The deaths. The violence. The fear. The guilt. The endless pressure. Everything shattered simultaneously. A laugh escaped him. Tiny at first. A nervous sound. Then louder. Then louder. Then louder. Until he couldn't stop. The laughter became uncontrollable. Manic. Terrifying. Tears streamed down his face. His body shook. His smile twisted into something unnatural. He laughed because crying wasn't enough. He laughed because screaming wasn't enough. He laughed because sanity could no longer contain what he felt. Matias collapsed to his knees laughing and crying simultaneously. Touched the blood, put it in his lips. The taste was divine, sweet like honey. then Death answered. Matias felt power growing inside him.  a Slowly. The grass withered. Flowers blackened. The earth darkened. The temperature dropped. Invisible figures appeared throughout the meadow. Transparent. Ghostlike. Thousands. Men. Women. Children. Warriors. Kings. Every soul that death had touched seemed suddenly present. Watching. Listening. Waiting. The air became crowded with unseen dead. The dead had heard him. Thousands of whispers filled the air. The meadow suddenly felt crowded. Filled with unseen eyes. Filled with countless souls. Matias continued laughing. The future Reaper King had been born.

Only Nico remained. Nico. The boy who loved Moon. The boy who destroyed him. Moon looked toward him. The celestial's dark eyes seemed strangely peaceful now. Not angry. Not hateful. Not afraid. Only sad. The sadness hurt more than any blade.

Nico."

Moon's voice was barely audible. Yet Nico heard every syllable. The world itself seemed to stop.

Nico shook his head.

"I can't."

Nico whispered. His voice shattered.

"I can't."

Eemil immediately snarled.

"You already did."

The words struck like executioner's blows.  words that struck harder than any weapon. Because they were true. The betrayal had already happened. There was no undoing it. No forgiveness. No escape. There was no undoing what had happened. No taking it back. No returning to yesterday. No returning to the lake. No returning to summer. Only consequences.

Moon looked toward him.

And whispered softly:

"Nico."

The sound of his name.

Spoken by Moon. One final time. The way he always said it. Softly. Lovingly. The sound destroyed him. Everything inside him collapsed. Tears spilled down his face. Uncontrollably. Violently. He reached toward the blood. Touching it with trembling fingers. The transformation began instantly.  Winter exploded outward. Frost spread  The meadow froze. Flowers crystallized. Grass turned white. The lake iced over. Snow began falling beneath a perfectly clear summer sky. The cold spread in every direction. The impossible collision of seasons. The birth of a king. The White King of Ice and Snow.

Nico screamed. Not from pain. From grief. His blond hair slowly lost all color. Gold became silver. Silver became white. White became pure winter. His blue eyes paled. Paler. Colder. More distant. Frozen. Beautiful. Heartbroken. Ice formed beneath his feet. Around his hands. Across his skin. He looked like Winter personifies  The warmth inside them vanished. And in its place winter. Endless winter The cold spread through the entire valley. And unlike Eemil. Unlike Matias. Nico felt no triumph. there was no joy. No excitement. No power. Only loss. Only regret. Only endless cold. Because power meant nothing. Godhood meant nothing. Immortality meant nothing. Not without Moon. none of it mattered. Not immortality. Not godhood. Not eternity. Not without Moon. The realization froze his soul. Forever. The future White King had been born. And the meadow fell silent.

Shadow.

Death.

Winter.

Three future kings stood among the flowers. Three demi-gods. Three tragedies. Three betrayals. And before them Moon lay dying beneath the summer sky. The celestial who had loved too easily. Trusted too completely. And paid the price. Far above the clouds far beyond mortal sight the heavens trembled. Because something impossible had happened. The blood of a future Moon God had been stolen. And the consequences would echo across centuries. Across kingdoms. Across wars. Across love. Across heartbreak. Until the day Moon and the White King stood before one another again.

The meadow had become unrecognizable. Summer and winter existed side by side. One half of the valley remained covered in blooming flowers nourished by Moon's blood. The other half lay buried beneath endless frost. Snow drifted downward through warm sunlight. Impossible.  Beautiful. Wrong. Nico. The newly born White King. White hair danced around his face. Ice formed beneath every step. His pale blue eyes stared only at Moon. Only Moon. Nothing else existed. Not Eemil. Not Matias. Not the power now flowing through his veins. Only Moon. The celestial lay dying among the flowers. And Nico could not bear it. Something inside him screamed. Not aloud. Deeper. A place beneath thought. Beneath reason. Beneath sanity. A place where grief became instinct. The scream echoed through his soul. And his shadow answered. At first nobody noticed. The shadow beneath Nico's feet began stretching. Slowly. Silently. Like black ink spreading across water. The darkness lengthened unnaturally. Growing larger. Longer. Deeper. Then it stood up. Eemil immediately stepped backward. Matias stopped laughing. The entire meadow fell silent. Because something impossible was happening. The shadow detached itself from Nico. Pulled free from the earth. Pulled free from reality. Pulled free from him. A humanoid figure emerged from the darkness. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wrapped entirely in black. Its face remained hidden beneath a deep hood. Tattered shadows flowed from its body like living smoke. A crimson cloak unfurled behind it. The red fabric seemed woven from blood and twilight. It moved without wind. Without physics. Without explanation. Then its eyes opened. Blue-Silver. Cold. Filled with a sorrow so vast it seemed older than the world itself. A sword appeared in its hand. Jet black. Not forged. Not crafted. Born. The blade looked like concentrated night. Darkness given shape. Its edge devoured light. The weapon hummed softly. Hungry. Grieving. Alive. The Blood Wraith had been born. Eemil's smile vanished. For the first time since touching Moon's blood he looked genuinely nervous.

"What is that?"

Matias whispered. No one answered. Because nobody knew. Not even Nico. Yet somehow he understood. Deep inside. The Blood Wraith was him. Not all of him. Only the part that still loved Moon. The part that refused to accept loss. The part that would burn the world before allowing Moon to die. The Blood Wraith turned. Its gaze settled upon the celestial. Moon's breathing remained weak. Fragile. Dying. The figure took a single step toward him.

Eemil immediately moved.

"No."

Shadows exploded outward. Dark wolves erupted from the earth. Monstrous beasts larger than horses. Silver eyes burning. Fangs gleaming. The future Shadow King raised his hand.

"Stop it."

The wolves charged. The Blood Wraith never looked at them. Its sword moved once. One motion. Simple. Elegant. Absolute. Black moonlight erupted across the meadow. Three wolves exploded into mist. The attack never even reached him. Eemil froze. The future king had not seen the strike. Neither had Matias. Neither had Nico. The Blood Wraith continued walking.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Toward Moon. 

Eemil snarled. Shadows erupted again. Hundreds this time. Living darkness poured from his body. The meadow became night. The shadows attacked from every direction. The Blood Wraith finally stopped. The black sword rose. Darkness met darkness. The collision shattered the landscape. A shockwave erupted outward. Trees exploded. Snow vaporized. Flowers scattered.The sky itself seemed to tremble. For several moments shadow warred against shadow. Then Eemil's attack collapsed. The darkness retreated. Forced back. Overpowered. Eemil stumbled. Blood dripped from his nose. His silver eyes widened. Impossible. He had only just become a king. How could something stronger already exist? Matias stepped forward. Still laughing. Still crying. The Reaper King's eyes glowed. The dead answered. Ghostly figures emerged throughout the valley. Thousands. An army of spirits. Whispering. Screaming. Crying. The dead surged toward the Blood Wraith. The air grew cold. Death itself gathered around the battlefield. The Blood Wraith looked upward. Almost sad. Its sword moved again. The black blade traced a single arc through the air. The spirits vanished. Not destroyed. Dismissed.

As though the dead themselves recognized something greater. Something older. Something carrying a grief they could never match. Matias stopped laughing. For a moment. Only a moment. But enough. Enough to feel fear. Then death gathered around him. Black mist spiraled upward from the earth. Bones rattled beneath the soil. The whispers of the dead became deafening. Matias raised his hand. And something answered. A gigantic scythe materialized within the darkness. Its handle was longer than he was tall. Its curved blade gleamed with ghostly silver light. Runes of death crawled across the metal. Souls seemed trapped within its edge. Screaming silently. The weapon radiated pure mortality. The authority of endings. The authority of graves. The authority of the Reaper King. Matias gripped the scythe with both hands. His smile twisted. His eyes glowed pale green. Then he charged. The earth shattered beneath his feet. The massive scythe swung downward. Fast. Far too fast for something so large. The Blood Wraith finally turned. Its silver eyes met Matias's. The black sword rose. Scythe met sword. The impact exploded across the valley. A deafening clang echoed through the mountains. A shockwave flattened forests. Snow and flowers erupted into the sky. The ground cracked beneath both combatants. Neither moved. Neither yielded. Death and grief collided. The gigantic scythe pushed downward. The black sword held firm. For a moment the entire world seemed frozen. Then Matias swung again. And again. And again. Each strike carried enough force to split stone. Each strike was met by the Blood Wraith's sword. Black steel and silver death collided repeatedly. Sparks of shadow and ghostly light erupted with every impact. The clash resembled a storm. A dance. A duel between two newborn legends.Eemil joined the assault. Shadows surged around the battlefield. Dark wolves lunged from every direction. Living darkness wrapped around the Blood Wraith's legs. Its cloak. Its sword arm. Trying to drag it down. Trying to restrain it. The Blood Wraith answered with impossible precision. One swing severed shadows. Another shattered wolves. A third forced Matias backward. Yet neither side gained ground. The meadow trembled beneath their battle. Winter. Shadow. Death. Colliding endlessly. Until finally everything stopped. The Blood Wraith stood unmoving. Sword lowered. Cloak fluttering. Eemil stood breathing heavily. Matias leaned upon his gigantic scythe. Neither king could advance. Neither king could defeat it. Neither king could stop it. A stalemate. Silence returned. The Blood Wraith lowered its sword. Then ignored them completely. Because they were irrelevant. Because only Moon mattered. It knelt beside the celestial. Slowly. Carefully. The monstrous warrior suddenly looked gentle. Almost tender. Moon remained unconscious. Blood stained the flowers. Silver fairies hovered around him. Crying. The Blood Wraith reached down. And lifted him. Like a bride. One arm beneath his knees. The other supporting his back. Moon's long black hair spilled down like liquid midnight. His white robes flowed around them. The image looked absurdly beautiful. A dying celestial prince. A hooded knight wrapped in shadow. Surrounded by mourning fairies. The Blood Wraith rose. Moon rested safely in its arms. Protected. Cherished. Loved. The fairies immediately followed. Hundreds. Thousands. Tiny silver lights surrounding them. A procession of stars escorting their wounded moon. Eemil tried to move. Could not. Matias tightened his grip on the scythe. Yet could not attack. Neither understood why. Perhaps fear. Perhaps instinct. Perhaps something deeper. The Blood Wraith looked toward the forest. Toward the distant mountains. Toward somewhere unknown. Then it jumped. The earth shattered beneath its feet. The figure launched upward. Higher. Higher. Higher. Like a black comet crossing the sky. Moon remained cradled safely in its arms. The crimson cloak streamed behind them. Fairies followed in endless silver spirals. The sight resembled something from an ancient legend. A sleeping princess carried away by a knight born from heartbreak. The Blood Wraith crossed the entire valley in a single leap. Then another. And another. Disappearing into the endless forest. Toward destiny.  Toward sorrow. Toward the future. Nico watched silently.

"There goes My heart, Taken away by another"

Snow crystals formed around him. Tiny ice flowers bloomed in the air. His white hair drifted in the frozen wind. He did not chase them. Did not stop them. Because somehow he knew. The Blood Wraith wasn't real. Not truly. It was only a shadow. A fragment. A temporary construct born from grief. Soon it would dissolve. Soon it would fade. Soon it would vanish like mist beneath sunlight. But before it disappeared it would save Moon. The realization brought neither comfort nor hope. Only emptiness. The White King stood alone among glaciers and flowers. Watching the last piece of his heart disappear into the forest. And as snow continued falling across Everfrost he wondered which would die first.

The Blood Wraith.

Or the part of himself that still loved Moon.