Whisper Of The Crimson Moon

      The border of Alaris. Who would have thought you’d find yourself here again so soon? Studying the surroundings that stretched into the wild lands, you silently watched the dust drifting in from fields scorched by war. The crimson moon barely pierced through the heavy clouds. Its light was dim and cold—like a fading spark of hope, staining the crude barricades of wood and stone in the color of dried blood.       The air carried the smell of smoke, mixed with rot—the remnants of bodies and soil soaked in death after recent clashes with the hordes of Bloodthirsters. Around a campfire, the count’s soldiers hunched over—men just like you, simple lads from nearby villages. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and gnawing fear.       One of them, a young recruit with trembling hands, quietly hummed a melody. You recognized it instantly—a lullaby. The same one your mother used to sing to you. Without noticing, your hands clenched into fists. The melody cut too deep, so much so that you felt the medallion rub against your skin beneath the uniform.       That medallion—a cross within a circle, carved by your father before that fateful night—had once been a talisman. Now, it was nothing but a heavy burden of the past. Even leaving for the front… despite Elizabeth’s pleas and tears, had come easier than expected. Duty had called louder than love. “You shouldn’t go.”       She had whispered it to you in the garden. Her crimson eyes shimmered with tears, her voice trembling with desperation. Back then, you brushed it aside, certain that strength and hatred for vampire spawn would see you through any battle. But now, looking at your broken brothers-in-arms, doubt crept in.       The camp had been thrown together in chaos, hastily built from whatever could be found. Tents of coarse fabric, soaked with moisture, stood in uneven rows, their edges whipped by the cold, biting wind. Weapons lay in heaps—swords with chipped blades, spears with cracked shafts, shields scarred by claw marks. The wounded groaned in a corner, where a hunched old healer with trembling hands whispered prayers and incantations, trying to bind wounds with scraps of herbs and filthy bandages. But magic was powerless against wounds left by Bloodthirsters.       You heard their ragged breaths, saw one soldier—his face gray from blood loss—whisper his wife’s name before falling silent forever. Count Velmond had sent you here, to the northern frontier, to hold back the tide of Bloodthirsters crawling out of the misty forests like a shadow of death.       You knew their history well. Creatures born of ancient blood magic gone out of control. They fed on the emotions of their victims, evolving into something far more dangerous—Bloodshades. These were a far greater threat to humans. They consumed life force, fed on fear and blood. Their whispers seeped into the mind, spreading madness before the attack.       You had seen it once before. The village where you grew up lay in ruins, shadows with crimson veins dragging your parents’ bodies away. Your hatred for the Velmond line had grown ever since. But Elizabeth… she was the exception. While the count and countess watched in silence, their daughter had comforted you. Her cold fingers on your hand, her whisper: “Stay…”       You hadn’t listened, and now thoughts of her burned like embers beneath ash.       You didn’t notice when your watch began. Sitting by the fire, where branches crackled, you glanced at your comrades. Many bore scars and fresh cuts. In the orange glow, their wounds looked especially grotesque. Beside you sat Garth, your commander. His face was carved with scars like a map of battles. He smoked a pipe, thin rings of smoke dissolving into the night. “Red moon again. Bad sign.”       Garth muttered, scanning the camp. “Bloodshades love nights like this. Last time it shone like that, half the unit didn’t come back.”       You gave a short nod, staring into the fire. Your thoughts were far from the battlefield. They lingered in the Velmond garden, where Elizabeth stood by the rose bushes, in that same dress traced with crimson runes glowing in the moonlight. “You’re different…”       You had said that when you confessed your feelings. Now the words echoed in your mind. Your love for Elizabeth clashed with your instinctive hatred for her kind, and you could no longer tell which was stronger. Fortunately, Garth broke your spiraling thoughts: “You think too much, Leon. Clear your head, or the next Bloodthirster will kill you.”       You smirked, though a chill settled inside you. Your hand brushed the medallion, feeling its warmth. An image of your parents surfaced. Would they be proud of you? Or curse you for binding yourself to a vampire? A sudden shout from a lookout tore through the silence—and your thoughts. “Bloodshades! They’re coming!”       Those still able sprang to their feet, grabbing whatever weapons they could. You drew your dagger and took your stance, waiting. Your heart pounded like war drums before a great battle.       In the distance, from the fog, the Bloodshades emerged—dozens of them, unstable masses of darkness threaded with pulsing crimson veins. Their forms shifted: beasts with claws, then twisted human silhouettes. The air filled with whispers, low and many-voiced, repeating your name: “Leon… Leon…”       You would recognize that whisper anywhere. The one that had followed you since childhood. Fear gripped your chest, but you clenched your teeth and charged. Soldiers shouted, steel rang as blades clashed with shadow.       Your body moved on instinct—dodging, countering. The creature struck wildly, leaving claw marks gouged into the ground. Strike, another strike, sidestep— “Light Magic: Purification!”       The blade plunged into a vein. The creature hissed, dissolving into mist. You took a deep breath. Magic drained too much of your strength. You wouldn’t last long—but giving up would be even more foolish. “Leon! Behind you!”       You didn’t even have time to turn before pain crushed your arm. A Bloodthirster had crept up unnoticed. Hollow red pits stared into you. The whisper in your mind grew louder: “Your parents… they called for you… Leon… you’re next…”       Memories flooded in—the night shadows broke into your home. Your mother’s scream. Your father falling. You had watched, clutching the medallion. “I was helpless… If I had power…”       Pain tore you back. The dagger trembled in your hand. Another limb twisted into a claw. A sharp whistle split the air. The strike tore into your arm—you cried out as blood soaked your sleeve. Strength left you instantly. You dropped to your knees. The world spun, unstable magic from the wound spreading through you. Darkness began to close in.       Then, in that moment—when no one could help you—the medallion flared.       Its crimson-gold light drove the Bloodthirster back. It hissed as if burned. Your consciousness faded along with the flash. —       Meanwhile, in Velmond Castle, Elizabeth sat in her chamber. The walls were draped with tapestries depicting ancient rituals, making the room feel like a cold cage. Through a tall window, the crimson moon shone, its light casting shadows that moved like living things.       The scent of candle wax mixed with dried herbs—the components of potions. She sat at her desk, her fingers resting on a carved rune, a drop of her blood gleaming upon it, dark as a ruby. “Leon…”       She whispered, her voice breaking with fear and longing. He had gone to the front despite her pleas, and now her heart—dead as it was—tightened with dread. “He is human. Forget him, as you did before, or the ritual will cleanse your weakness.”       Her mother had said that. Her voice had been sharp as a blade, rigid as her father’s cane. But Elizabeth couldn’t. When she had seen you fighting a Bloodshade, she had felt something she hadn’t known in centuries—the desire to live.       She closed her eyes, activating the rune, whispering words of power: “Blood Magic: Crimson Sight.”       The rune flared, and a vision formed—the front line shrouded in mist, soldiers screaming, Bloodthirsters and Bloodshades. But none of that mattered to her. She saw you—fighting with the enchanted dagger she had given you. But your strength wasn’t enough. You were surrounded.       A whisper echoed in her mind: “He will die…”       A drop of blood slid from her finger. The magic drained her, but she held on. You fell, your arm badly wounded, the creature looming over you. It raised its claw to finish you—until Elizabeth cried out: “Blood Magic: Burst!”       The power surged through the medallion, flooding the battlefield with a crimson-gold flash. The Bloodthirster hissed and dissolved. Pain struck her instantly, sharp as a dagger. Weakness followed.       The vision shattered. She collapsed from her chair onto the floor. Sweat streamed down her face, mixing with tears on her pale skin. “You will return…”       She whispered—but deep down, she knew. War changes everything. She remembered her mother’s words about the ritual. That higher blood magic could bind souls—but the price… the price was one of their lives. “No…”       She pushed the thought away. But… what if you truly didn’t return? —       You woke in the infirmary, lying on a hard cot. Your arm was wrapped in dirty bandages, pain pulsing like a second heartbeat. The healer leaned over you, hands trembling, lips whispering a prayer. “You’re a lucky one, boy.”       The old man rasped, changing the bandages. “That thing backed off like it got hit by blood magic. Garth said you were glowing red and gold.”       Your hand moved to the medallion. It was warm—almost hot. Right. Before you blacked out, you saw the creature recoil and vanish.       What was that?       You stared at the dark wooden ceiling. One thing was clear—the front hadn’t broken you. But the wound and the whispers had left a mark. And so had thoughts of Elizabeth, burning even stronger than pain. You knew you’d be discharged and sent back to the count—but the medallion’s secret, and the Bloodthirster’s words about your parents… they hinted at something greater. “That guy’s not normal. Did you see what he did? I’m telling you, he’s tied to vampires somehow.”       You knew they were talking about you. And judging by their tone, it wasn’t admiration—it was something closer to fear or hatred. Turning onto your side, you exhaled deeply. Let them whisper. They wouldn’t believe you anyway.       Through the cracks, the crimson moon was fading behind clouds. And though the night still lingered, day would come—with new questions and new shadows. —       Elizabeth pushed herself up from the floor, breathing heavily. That brief surge of emotion had cost her dearly. Her dress was wrinkled, her hands trembling with weakness. She stepped toward the window, gazing at the fading moon. Fear of loss tightened around her like invisible chains.       Her mother’s words echoed again: “The ritual will cleanse your weakness. His blood will grant you strength.”       She clenched her fists, feeling blood trickle down her fingers. Innate blood magic—her power and her curse. She could bind their souls. But the price—his life. “No… I can’t.”       She remembered his smile, the warmth of his hands, and tears fell once more. Outside, the wind howled—a warning. Elizabeth knew the choice lay ahead.       And it would cost too much.