Semua Bab Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart: Bab 1 - Bab 10

NyraThe gray, icy light of dawn brought no salvation.It only promised another day, its weight already pressing on me before my eyes had even opened. I woke as I always did: shivering from the cold, my ears still ringing with the screams that haunted my dreams, my stomach hollow and twisting as if life itself had been torn out of me.The cell where I spent the nights was no larger than a storage room. The stone walls sweated with damp, winter’s breath seeping through the cracks. The rag I had for a blanket clung to me, wet and heavy, more like the lining of a coffin than shelter. For a moment I lay still, listening: the distant clatter of pots from the kitchens, the faint howling of dogs, the steady, dull rhythm of guards’ footsteps pacing the yard outside.The weight of steel shackles on my wrists and ankles reminded me once again what I was in this world: no one. A tool. A shadow among wolves. Before the guards even kicked the door open, I had already forced myself up. Every moveme

AedanThe night draped itself over the forest like an ancient, weary shroud, steeped for centuries in blood, suffering, and shadow. Trees cast grotesque silhouettes in the moonlight, their trunks swaying, whispering secrets to the wind. I rode forward in silence, straight-backed, as if my spine itself had been forged from steel. In my eyes, a faint golden glow pulsed — the embers of old oaths that still burned within me.With every breath, I felt the fabric of the world tremble around me, as though fate itself longed to intervene and turn me onto a new path. My black stallion — wild, untamed, a beast no one but I could master — moved noiselessly over the forest floor. His hooves scarcely touched the earth, as if he, too, sensed that this night was different. It was not only the weight of the crown that had drawn me here, but something older, something rooted deeper than blood.The owls’ hoots, the murmur of a stream, the sigh of the wind — all receded, for I could hear only the strang

AedanI leaned against the doorframe in silence. My eyes followed patiently as the two healers approached her. They were seasoned women, their hands tempered into gentleness by tending to hundreds of wounds. I did not move. But my body was taut, like a forest before a storm: still, yet every leaf quivering, waiting for the first strike of lightning.Nyra sat at the edge of the bed, wrapped in a blanket. In her gray-blue eyes flickered the shadows of her past, panic lingering in every breath, every twitch. I could see how every nerve in her rebelled against touch — even if these women came not to harm, but to heal. Every cell in her longed to run — and yet she stayed. She stayed in my shadow. With the first fragile shoot of trust in her soul.“Little one, we must cleanse your wounds,” said Galena, the elder healer. Her voice brushed the air so softly, as if afraid that a single harsh note might shatter her. “With warm water and herbs. It will not hurt, I promise.”Nyra trembled, then n

NyraThe door creaked softly as he entered. He carried a tray in both strong hands, as though bearing something fragile, something precious. The room filled with fragrance: fresh bread, steaming broth, the sweet aroma of fruit. The crackle of the fire mingled with smoky warmth.I lifted my head. My eyes widened, and a shiver ran through me. But this time, it was not from fear. It was something else. Something unfamiliar — and more terrifying, because I had never known it before.He said nothing. He only set the tray quietly upon the table. His movements were careful, respectful. The bowl steamed with broth, beside it crisp bread, a small piece of cheese, a few dark red apples. There was no show, no arrogance. Only food. Real, nourishing food.I stared rigidly at the tray. I didn’t understand. My mind rebelled: food had never been life before, but humiliation. Dry, moldy crusts, cold water poured over my head if I drank too quickly. Food had always been punishment.And yet now, broth s

NyraThe late-morning sunlight painted golden kisses across the window, spilling onto the stone floor in shimmering patterns. Peace wrapped itself around the room like a soft cloak, and yet uncertainty still lingered inside me, like an old wound that refused to heal. With the blanket pulled tightly around my shoulders, I sat half-turned toward the window. For a fleeting moment, the light reminded me of something I had never truly known: the world’s beauty.He watched in silence, his arms folded loosely in front of him. The chair where he sat had been his post for hours, but he did not complain. I could see it in him—every moment spent beside me was a quiet victory.We listened to the birds outside. Then his voice broke the stillness, warm and encouraging, like the first rays of dawn.“Would you like to go outside?” he asked gently. “Into the garden. It’s quiet there. Fresh air. No one else, just you… and me, if you’ll allow it.”My stomach clenched. The thought of leaving this room bo