CHAPTER 6 — WHEN THE MOON BREAKS OPEN

The ceiling groaned. Dust drifted from the cracks as if the earth itself had begun to breathe. The air turned heavy, damp with the metallic tang of ozone and magic. Ayla gripped Kian’s arm, her pulse racing in sync with the faint tremor beneath their feet.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered.

  Kian’s gaze flicked upward, his silver eyes narrowing to slits. “The wards are failing. Someone’s breaking through the veil.”

  “The veil?” 

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed her toward the far wall, where sigils glowed faintly beneath the stone. His hand pressed against one of them, and the rune flared to life—lines of light threading across the wall like veins. “This place was never meant to hold more than whispers, ” he muttered. “Something’s forcing its way through.”

  A deafening crack split the chamber. The lanterns burst, plunging them into darkness. Only Ayla’s marks glowed now, tracing her skin in pale silver fire.

  Kian turned to her, voice low but steady. “Ayla. Look at me.”

  She did. The fear in her chest loosened just a little. His hand brushed her jaw, grounding her in the chaos. “Whatever comes through that crack—don’t run this time. Let the ink guide you, like before.”

  She nodded, even as her heart hammered so loud she could barely hear herself breathe.

  Then, the world ripped open.

  The ceiling exploded in a burst of crimson light. Fragments of stone and dust rained down, followed by a figure descending in a slow, unnatural fall—wrapped in chains that shimmered like bloodstained moonlight.

  When his feet touched the ground, the tremors stopped. The air went still.

  He looked young—no older than thirty—but power radiated off him like heat. His hair was white as chalk, his eyes the deep red of an eclipse. Each breath he took sent ripples through the air, bending light around him.

  Kian stiffened. “No. It can’t be.”

  Ayla stepped back. “You know him?”

  Kian’s knuckles whitened on his blade. “Lucen. The first rune-bearer.”

  Lucen smiled faintly, the expression soft and cold all at once. “I was wondering when you’d remember me, Kian Vale. You wear the blood mark well.”

  “Stay back,” Kian warned. “You’re supposed to be sealed beyond the ink realm.”

  Lucen tilted his head, eyes sliding to Ayla. “The seal broke the moment she woke.”

  Ayla’s stomach twisted. “Me?”

  Lucen took a slow step forward, the sound of his boots echoing like whispers in a cathedral. “You carry my creation, Runed Luna. My first and greatest mistake—the Alpha Rune. You shouldn’t exist.”

  The words hit her like a physical blow. “Excuse me?”

  Kian stepped between them. “She’s not your enemy.”

  “She’s everyone’s enemy,” Lucen said quietly. “The ink that revived her was drawn from forbidden veins—mine. Every time she breathes, the boundary weakens. The dead remember their names because of her.”

  Alya’s hands trembled. The marks on her arms began to glow brighter, faster, as though her body knew he was right. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” she said, her voice breaking.

  Lucen studied her, expression unreadable. “No one ever does. But the moon has already chosen you. Which means there’s only one way to restore balance.”

  Kian moved faster than thought, placing himself fully between them, blade raised. “Over my dead body.”

  Lucen’s voice was calm, almost kind. “That, wolf, can be arranged.”

  He raised a hand—and the chains that hung around him came alive, snaking through the air like living serpents. They struck with a metallic hiss. Kian blocked the first, then the second, sparks bursting where silver met rune.

  Ayla backed against the wall, the glow of her tattoos spreading up her neck, across her collarbone. The world blurred—every sound, every movement warped and distant.

  The whispers returned. “Remember the ink. Remember the moon.”

  Her vision flared white. Suddenly, she saw things not with her eyes but through the mark itself—threads of energy weaving through the room, pulsing from Kian, from Lucen, from the runes embedded in the walls.

  The ink was alive. And it was hers.

  She raised her hand, instinct guiding where logic couldn’t. Her voice came out low, unfamiliar. “Sirae lun aethern…”

  The marks on her skin exploded into light. The chains that had been striking at Kian froze mid-air, vibrating violently before turning to ash.

  Lucen’s crimson eyes widened. “You’ve already awakened the second phase.”

  Ayla gasped, nearly collapsing. Kian caught her, steadying her as the last of the light faded. “What did I do?” she panted.

  Lucen’s expression darkened. “You tore through a binding older than time. You don’t know what you’ve unleashed, little Luna.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, breathless. “If this mark is mine, then so is the power in it.”

  Lucen’s gaze softened, almost with pity. “Power always comes with a price. And yours hasn’t been paid yet.”

  Before Kian could react, Lucen raised a hand and pressed his palm against the air. The walls around them rippled like water, and a symbol formed above the crack in the ceiling—an enormous blood-red crescent.

  “The moon will bleed,” Lucen whispered. “And when it does, your true form will rise… or fall.”

  The symbol flared once, blinding, and then everything went still. Lucen was gone.

  Only silence remained—thick, humming, and full of unspoken dread.

  Ayla looked at Kian, her voice barely a whisper. “He said I shouldn’t exist. That I broke something.”

  Kian nodded slowly, his face pale beneath the dust. “He’s right.”

  Her heart skipped. “Then why save me?”

  His eyes met hers—haunted, fierce, and heartbreakingly gentle. “Because the world ended once before, Ayla… and it started again with you.”

  Before she could answer, the red moon above the crack shivered—and a single drop of blood fell through, splashing against her mark.

  The ink screamed.