Whisper Of The Crimson Moon

“Hah… come on, Leon. Just a little further…”       Your fate could hardly be called enviable. You limped along the road to Velmond Castle. The carriage had refused to take you all the way to the gates, forcing you to make the rest of the journey on foot.       A few kilometers across the Empire’s lands now felt like unbearable torture, with a gray, lifeless expanse stretching around you. Somewhere beyond the clouds, the crimson moon lingered. Its faint glow stained the sky in dull red—like old scars on skin.       The road was strewn with gravel and remnants of ancient sieges. The air carried the scent of recent rain and rot—the remains of Bloodthirsters who had dared to attack those living beyond the reach of vampire castles.       Your arm—or rather, what was left of it—hung in an improvised sling. The sleeve of your uniform was tied into a knot, hiding the emptiness. Pain pulsed through the stump, a constant reminder of the front. The creature had torn it off with its claw, and no magic could ever restore it.       The soldiers walking beside you—the remnants of your unit—moved in silence. Their faces were hollow, their eyes marked by fresh loss and scars. One of them, a very young recruit, carried your dagger. Though what use was it now, when you had only one arm? “You’re a hero, Leon. You saved all of us.”       He said it, but the words rang hollow, like an echo in an empty fountain.       Velmond Castle loomed ahead. Its gothic spires pierced the sky like the fingers of a corpse reaching for the moon. Walls of dark stone, etched with faintly glowing runes, stood unyielding. But to you… those walls had become a prison. A place where you had found love—and lost a part of yourself.       You remembered leaving for the front on the count’s orders. Elizabeth had stood in the garden. Her dress swayed in the wind, crimson eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t go.”       She had whispered, clutching your hand with her cold fingers. But you had brushed it off, filled with determination: “I have to fight. Not for you—but for us.”       An idiot. That’s what you called yourself now, regretting those words. Losing your arm wasn’t just physical. It had shattered your spirit. For a warrior, there is no greater loss than the inability to fight. You felt useless, like a broken weapon cast aside.       Your hatred for vampires, which had driven you to the front, now mixed with bitterness. They had promised protection from the Bloodthirsters, yet their magic hadn’t saved your arm. What can I do now?       You thought, limping forward. The medallion at your neck felt warm, as if trying to comfort you—but its symbol, the cross within a circle, now felt like a cruel mockery of your broken state.       The castle gates creaked open, and the guards—pale, with crimson eyes like Elizabeth’s—let you in. Those who remained inside greeted you with sorrowful looks. Half of you were wounded, others crippled, and some had never returned at all—left behind on the Empire’s border, sooner or later becoming prey for the Bloodthirsters. The inner courtyard was quiet. Servants moved like shadows, their glances sliding toward your sleeve with pity and disgust. You didn’t care. You headed toward the barracks, meaning to stop at the door—but your legs carried you further, toward the garden where you had parted.       Turn after turn, you walked without thinking, until you stopped by the fountain. Lowering yourself beside it, you let out a heavy breath. Your empty gaze drifted to the moon, faintly visible through leaden clouds. In response, the pain in your stump intensified. “Your parents… they called for you…”       The creature’s whisper echoed in your mind, just before it had dissolved into mist. You could only guess what it meant. The medallion warmed again when you touched it. A strange tingling spread through your fingertips. “So… you’re enchanted.”       You muttered to yourself, tucking it beneath your uniform. A heavy sigh followed. Emotions surged again, dragging you deeper into self-loathing. You were no longer a warrior—barely even a man. What would Elizabeth say if she saw you like this? —       Elizabeth wandered through the castle corridors. Her dress brushed against the marble floor, and her crimson eyes shimmered with barely restrained tears. The crimson moon cast faint light through the tall windows, long shadows dancing like ghosts of her fears. The air was thick with the scent of wax candles and dust from the tapestries. No matter how often she had them cleaned, everything around her filled her with loneliness.       She hadn’t slept. Vampires hardly needed sleep, but her mind begged for rest. It was exhausted, yet she kept pushing it further. You had gone to the front despite her tears, her vision, her desperate intervention. Yes, she had saved you—but at what cost?       Elizabeth felt weakness in her veins, as if part of her blood had left with you. “He will return.”       She whispered it to herself—but fear gnawed at her like a slow poison. One hundred and twenty years were chains. You were the key to freedom. She kept remembering your meeting in the garden—your warm hands, gentle eyes, your promise. “You’re different.”       You had said that, pulling the viscountess into your arms. But now she knew about your injury—and those words burned worse than silver.       Elizabeth descended into the library. Shelves towered with ancient scrolls, books, and tomes. In all her years, she had read only half of the collection. But one small corner—filled with texts on high blood magic—she had gathered herself.       In the dim light of a few candles sat her father, Count Walter Velmond. Beside him stood his favored cane, its handle set with a ruby. Few knew it was more than an accessory—it was a deadly weapon. The count was a master of fencing, though he never displayed it openly.       Noticing Elizabeth, he raised his gaze. Cold crimson eyes studied her with calculation. Nearby stood her mother, Liliana Velmond, looking out the window with quiet fatigue. Her silver hair was braided with a crimson ribbon, and a necklace of blood-red stones rested at her throat. “The company is back. They’ve returned.”       Walter said, returning to his scrolls, his hand carefully tracing runic symbols—so at odds with his cold voice. “And… Leon?” “He’s disabled. Lost an arm. His mind is broken.”       Liliana answered, turning toward her daughter. Elizabeth froze. Her heart tightened at the words. “What? How?”       She didn’t want to believe it. Liliana stepped closer, placing a cold hand on her shoulder. “A Bloodthirster. Magic is useless. He’s… worthless now.”       Elizabeth staggered back, pressing against a bookshelf. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “No… He’ll come back to me.”       Her voice trembled. Walter let out a faint chuckle. “Oh, he’ll return. But what will you do with him? A broken cripple is of no use to me.” “There must be a way…”       The aristocrats exchanged glances, then nodded. “There is. An ancient ritual.”       Walter began, sliding a scroll toward her. “High Blood Magic: Resurrection. He would become nearly immortal—able to fight as before. But the price…”       Elizabeth took the scroll and shook her head. She couldn’t condemn you to such a fate. And yet, the seed of doubt had long since been planted. She gave a brief nod to her parents and left the library. Her steps carried her to the garden—where you were. —       You sat silently on a bench, head in your hands, when you heard footsteps. Elizabeth emerged from the shadows. Her dress flowed behind her, runes flickering faintly, crimson eyes shining with tears. She rushed to you, pulling you into a tight embrace. Her cold body wrapped around your warmth. “Leon…”       She whispered, seeing the aftermath of battle with her own eyes. You pulled away, showing her the empty sleeve. “I’m broken.”       Your voice was hoarse with pain. She touched the stump, her fingers trembling as if afraid to hurt you more. “No. You’re everything to me.”       Her voice sounded firm—but fear flickered in her eyes. You noticed how pale she seemed. “That was your magic that saved me… wasn’t it?”       She nodded. “Yes. But the cost…”       Her gaze fell to your arm again. For a moment, you thought it would have been better to die back then. Anything would be better than seeing her like this.       You sat together in silence, holding each other. The moon watched without a word. Darkness pressed down on you both—you felt useless, Elizabeth felt guilty.       And from a window above, Walter and Liliana observed you. Their faces were devoid of emotion. “She’s already made her choice.”       Walter said.       Liliana nodded. “Soon, the castle will gain a new servant.”