The Prohibited Page
1175 Words
Blackridge Keep was not built to welcome the forest.
It was built to survive it.
Stone walls rose like jagged teeth against the winter sky, their surfaces slick with frost. Iron torches burned along the battlements, casting trembling light into the mist below. Beyond the fortress, Ash Valley stretched endlessly—dark pines, frozen rivers, and secrets older than any human kingdom.
Elara Voss hated the way the valley watched.
Even from here, behind stone and steel, she could feel it.
As if the forest had eyes.
She pulled her cloak tighter and hurried through the corridor, boots clicking against cold flagstones. The Keep was quieter than usual tonight. Guards spoke in hushed voices. Servants moved quickly, heads down.
The Blood Moon had risen.
Humans feared it almost as much as wolves did.
Elara reached the library doors and paused.
Two sentries stood outside, spears crossed.
“Halt,” one barked.
Elara lifted her chin. “I’m expected.”
The second guard frowned. “At this hour?”
Elara’s lips tightened. “Captain Marrow gave me permission.”
The guards exchanged a look.
Finally, the spears lowered.
Elara slipped inside.
The library smelled of dust and old parchment, of candle wax and forgotten prayers. Rows of towering shelves stretched upward into shadow, packed with books most people in Blackridge would rather burn than read.
Knowledge was dangerous here.
Especially the wrong kind.
Elara moved deeper, her lantern casting golden light over cracked spines.
Legends of the Wilds.
Beasts Beyond the Border.
The Moonborn Curse.
Her stomach tightened at the last title.
She glanced over her shoulder.
No one followed.
Good.
Elara had spent years pretending to be like everyone else in the Keep—obedient, fearful, unquestioning.
But she had never been able to stop asking why.
Why did the wolves never cross the river?
Why did hunters vanish in the pines?
Why did her father lock certain books away as if words themselves could bite?
Tonight, the questions felt heavier.
The Blood Moon always brought death.
Elara reached a narrow staircase spiraling down into the restricted archives.
A padlock hung on the iron gate.
She drew a key from inside her sleeve.
Stolen.
Her pulse quickened as the lock clicked open.
The air below was colder, damp with age. The lantern flame flickered uneasily, as if even fire hesitated down here.
Elara descended, each step echoing.
At the bottom, the archives waited—ancient shelves lined with scrolls wrapped in leather, books bound in strange hides, ink faded to ghosts.
Forbidden history.
She moved straight to the far corner, where a single chest sat beneath a layer of dust.
Her chest tightened.
She knelt, brushing grime away.
On the lid was carved a crescent shape wrapped in claws.
Elara froze.
The same symbol from her dreams.
Her hand trembled as she lifted the latch.
The chest creaked open.
Inside lay one book.
No title.
Just that mark burned into the cover.
Elara swallowed hard and opened it.
The pages were brittle, filled with sharp, unfamiliar script. She flipped carefully until she found the illustration.
A wolf.
Its chest glowing with the crescent claw-mark.
Beneath it, words written in an older dialect of the northern tongue.
Elara leaned closer, translating slowly.
When the Blood Moon rises…
Her breath caught.
…the Moon Mark shall awaken.
Elara’s skin prickled.
She turned the page.
The marked one is neither wolf nor man…
A chill crawled down her spine.
…but the bridge between worlds.
Elara’s lantern flickered violently.
She swallowed.
This was real.
Not bedtime stories.
Not hunter superstition.
Prophecy.
Another page.
The packs will hunt him.
The humans will fear him.
The Moonborn will claim him.
Elara’s heart pounded.
Moonborn.
The cursed bloodlines her father spat like poison.
Werewolves.
Her fingers tightened on the page.
The next line was smeared, as if written in haste.
And the Hollow Wolf shall rise…
Elara’s breath left her lungs.
She had heard that name once, whispered by an old hunter drunk on grief.
A monster before monsters.
The first curse.
She flipped faster now.
The book spoke of a war centuries ago, when wolves and humans slaughtered each other beneath crimson moons. When Moonborn creatures walked openly, neither pack nor village able to stop them.
And at the center—
A marked Alpha.
One who could unite them.
Or destroy them.
Elara’s throat tightened.
Why had this been hidden?
Why had her family never spoken of it?
A sound above.
Footsteps.
Elara froze.
Lantern held close, she listened.
Voices drifted faintly down the stairwell.
“…missing hunters…”
“…blood in the snow…”
“…something tore them apart…”
Elara’s stomach twisted.
The patrol.
They were talking about tonight.
She shut the book quickly, heart racing.
The voices grew closer.
“Elara?”
Her blood went cold.
That voice—
Her father.
Lord Voss.
Elara’s pulse thundered.
She blew out the lantern.
Darkness swallowed her.
The iron gate creaked.
Light spilled down the stairs.
Her father descended, lantern in hand, his shadow long and sharp against the stone.
Behind him came Captain Marrow, face grim.
Lord Voss’s gaze swept the archives.
“You’ve always been curious,” he murmured.
Elara held her breath, pressing herself behind a shelf.
Her father stepped forward slowly.
“Curiosity is a dangerous hunger in Ash Valley.”
Captain Marrow’s voice was low. “The Blood Moon is rising, my lord. The wolves will be restless.”
Lord Voss’s expression darkened.
“And so will the Moonborn.”
Elara’s stomach clenched.
Her father knew.
He always knew.
Lord Voss stopped at the chest.
His lantern light fell on the disturbed dust.
Silence.
Then—
He sighed.
“She’s been here.”
Captain Marrow stiffened. “Should I—”
“No.”
Lord Voss’s voice was quiet, almost sad.
“Not yet.”
Elara’s nails dug into her palm.
Her father closed the chest gently, as if tucking away a corpse.
Then he spoke words that made Elara’s blood freeze.
“The mark has awakened.”
Captain Marrow’s head snapped up. “Impossible.”
Lord Voss’s gaze was distant.
“A hunter died tonight. Torn apart. Not by wolves.”
Elara’s breath caught.
A werewolf.
Lord Voss continued, voice like stone.
“And somewhere in Ash Valley…”
He touched the crescent carved on the chest.
“…the Moonborn heir has returned.”
Captain Marrow whispered, “What do we do?”
Lord Voss’s eyes hardened.
“We find him.”
Elara’s heart slammed.
Lord Voss turned, starting back up the stairs.
“And pray the wolves kill him first.”
Their footsteps faded.
Elara remained frozen in darkness, trembling.
The prophecy was real.
The marked one was real.
And her father intended to hunt him.
Outside, the Blood Moon burned.
And deep in the valley, something ancient had awakened.
Elara did not know why…
But she knew, with terrifying certainty—
Her life was about to collide with the forest.
With wolves.
With Moonborn blood.
And with the marked outcast running for his life.
- Writer
