The Red Moon (5)

Seraphina's POV

Without another word, I tugged Stephen along with me, and we began to sprint through the winding paths of the Moonbane estate toward the ancient castle where our mother resided. The castle had been our family’s stronghold for generations—since the birth of the Moonbane lineage itself. Its towering spires, cloaked in shadow, loomed ominously in the distance, like a silent sentinel watching over our cursed bloodline.

It had always been a place we visited sparingly, and only when absolutely necessary. Though it was our home, the castle had always felt more like a relic of the past, its stone walls cold and unwelcoming. Stephen and I had spent most of our lives in the smaller residences on the outskirts of the estate, closer to Helena’s warm, comforting presence.

But now, as we raced through the castle’s grand entrance, the weight of its history pressed down on us like never before.

The corridors were vast and empty, the eerie silence broken only by the echo of our footsteps as we rushed down the hallways. The air inside was thick with an oppressive energy, as if the castle itself was aware of the red moon outside and the curse that lingered in its shadows.

We reached Mother’s chambers first, throwing open the heavy doors with a force that rattled the hinges. The room was exactly as I remembered it—ornate, regal, and perfectly still.

But she wasn’t there.

Panic clawed at me again, tightening around my chest as we hurried from room to room, searching every corner of the castle for any sign of her. Each empty room deepened the dread gnawing at my insides, but I refused to give up. We had to keep going.

Finally, our search led us to the highest tower of the castle. A place we had rarely been before, and one we had always been told to avoid. The stairs spiraled endlessly upward, and by the time we reached the top, my heart was pounding not just from exertion but from the overwhelming fear of what we might find.

At the summit of the tower was a massive stone door, intricately carved with ancient runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. I could feel the power emanating from behind it, a dark, foreboding energy that made my skin crawl. Whatever was beyond that door, it wasn’t going to be good.

With one last glance at Stephen, I pushed the door open.

What greeted us was a sight I would never forget.

In the center of the room stood an enormous altar, a massive stone structure surrounded by flickering candles and scattered remnants of a long-forgotten ritual. Atop the altar was a six-pointed star, glowing red with an unnatural light. And standing in the center of that star was a figure cloaked in shadows—so dark that it seemed to absorb the light around it.

This figure was twisted and distorted, its movements slow and deliberate. There was a sense of deep malevolence emanating from it, a force that made every instinct in my body scream to run, but I was frozen in place, unable to tear my eyes away from the shadowy figure.

Before I could react, the figure shifted. And then, in the blink of an eye, it lunged at us with blinding speed.

I barely had time to register what was happening before the dark figure was upon us. Its form twisted and contorted as it moved, and in the blink of an eye, it had closed the distance between us, its hands reaching out to strike. Stephen and I shifted immediately, our wolf instincts taking over as we prepared to defend ourselves.

We moved as one, our bodies transforming in a blur of motion. Claws extended from our hands, fangs elongating as we leaped into action. The air was filled with the sound of claws clashing against shadow, a violent dance of strength and speed. I could feel the sheer power radiating from the figure—an ancient, primal force that made my every bone ache with the effort to resist it.

Stephen was at my side, his movements precise and controlled, but the shadow was relentless, its attacks coming faster and faster. It struck with a strength that should have been impossible, its limbs lashing out like whips, forcing us back with each blow. But we fought on, refusing to give ground.

For every strike we landed, the shadow seemed to dissolve and reform, like smoke slipping through our fingers. My mind raced, panic beginning to set in. This wasn’t a battle we could win.

And then, in the midst of the chaos, something strange happened. The shadow hesitated—just for a moment, but long enough for me to notice. Its movements faltered, and I could sense a conflict within it, as if the figure was wrestling with itself, struggling to maintain control.

"Seraphina!" Stephen’s voice cut through the noise, and I turned toward him, catching the fear in his eyes. "Say the word—Helena’s word!"

In the panic of our escape, I had almost forgotten. Before we had left, Helena had given us a name—a single word that might bring the shadow back to reason, if only for a moment.

It was our father’s name, a name our mother had not spoken since the day he died.

Without thinking, I shouted the name. "Lucian!"

As soon as the word left my lips, the shadow recoiled, the darkness around it seeming to shudder and pull back. For a brief moment, the figure stilled, its form no longer shifting and writhing. And in that instant, I could see something—someone—trapped within the shadows, struggling to break free.

"Lucian?"

A woman’s voice, weak and trembling, echoed through the room.