The Cursed Luna's Rebellion: She Refused To Bow

THE MOON THAT BLEED RED

"A BLOOD MOON! IT'S A BLOOD MOON!!!" 

Somewhere on an island just beyond the Northern seas, screams were heard erupting. Chaos at the mention of a blood moon…a rare moon that only occurred once in every one thousand years and was believed to be a sign of warning of impending danger from the moon goddess.

On that same night, in a hut too tiny to hold no more than one person, a woman was bent over double from the pain that racked through her body. She shuddered as yet another contraction pang overtook her body.

The night I was born remains a myth to me, a distant foggy memory I chase but can not truly hold. Although I do not remember it, I hear it in the whispers all around me.

“The cursed one,” that is what they call me. 

According to the tales they recount, that night, my mother had laboured long and hard in that tiny hut. As the only pregnant omega at the time, she feared what a blood moon would mean for us both. Even as her cries filled the room, her body too weak to take any more of the pain that passed through her, she hoped to the moon goddess that the Moon council would not come.

It was a futile thought and she knew it. By now, they were probably on their way already. She begged for the moon to look away, at least this once, but it taunted her even more, deepening to an even redder shade of red.

The night I was born, I made no sound, no cry or scream could be heard, almost like there was no life in me but my shallow and soft breath. My eyes were already opened, sharp in a way that was meant to observe the world around me. My eyes, an odd mix of crimson and a side of blue like the sky on a clear day, worried the Moon Council the most. 

That night, the Moon council appeared with the winds on their trail. The wind howled through the trees, threatening to blow the little hut away. 

“It is indeed a miracle how the hut was even able to withstand the winds as it howled and tore through the night," those who were there that night would later recount.

There were seven of them who made their entrance into the hut that night, walking in like they owned the night that witnessed my birth. The silver black cloaks they donned looked even darker under the glow of the moon. In their wake, they left a trail of cold authority, like no one dared to even question them. They paid no attention to my mother, their attention locked on me with absolutely precision that was unyielding. 

"She does not bow," one of them said, his voice a mix of perplexity and a tinge of disgust.

Another one of them leaned closer trying to get a better look at me. "You're right, she does not lean towards the moon either."

"Her eyes!” He exclaimed then. “She is exactly like the legends foretold. A child born under the blood moon with eyes like crimson and the blue sky."

"She shall not be allowed to live!!"

Murmurs rose from all different angles around us, most clamoring for the death of the child of chaos. By now, my mother's hands shook uncontrollably, beads of sweat forming around her forehead as exhaustion threatened to overtake her.

"She is nothing but a child," she said. "Please spare her, she has done nothing wrong." She begged, risking her life for us both.

The elder with ice cold eyes, had slowly tilted his head in my mother's direction, almost like he was just coming to the realization of her presence.

"Exactly that," he had answered with such calm, "that is the problem."

They had dragged her outside that night, the moon hanging above, a witness.

"Please, take me instead. She has done nothing wrong, she begged, hands clinging to me in desperation. They had spared me just like she wanted.

But she? In one clean strike, she was there one minute and then she was no more. A silver blade to the throat, her blood spilled all over the earth while the moon had watched on, not even blinking for a single second.

When they recount these stories to future generations, even to children as bed time stories or tales under the moon around the fireplace, they would speak so glowingly of how deserving of death I had been, but they had spared me mercy. Only the seven elders from that night know the real truth.

The silver blade had been meant for my throat as it had been for my mother's, but it never fell. It had trembled, stopping midway before it shattered like glass hitting the bare ground.

The moon had surged violently and wolves were thrown backwards, their bodies slamming into the trees. More wolves could be heard howling in the distance, the sound a discordant disconcerting sound, like iron scraping glass. 

But, through all the chaos, not a single cry had escaped my lips. One breath from me and the moon went silent, pacified from her anger.

That night, the Moon council had learned fear. Fleeing for their lives, they had left me there alone on the frozen ground, my mother's blood soaking the cloth I was wrapped in. I was left untouched, unharmed. 

I was not supposed to, but somehow, I survived. Of all the mistakes of the Moon council, I was perhaps the gravest.

No one knows how long it was, until I was found by Slaon, the one I would learn to call my mother. She was a dying wolf banished by the moon council. Taking one look at me, she could not bring herself to abandon me.

“Mayari,” she had named me. She was the only act of kindness in my life that I ever experienced, but life is indeed a cruel thing, because she died by the time I turned ten.