The dream begins with the sound of screaming.
Five figures stand beneath a blood-red moon. Shadows twist around them like smoke, but I know them…I feel them. The bond hums between them like stretched wire. Silver threads burn against the crimson light.
One figure falls to their knees. The others reach for them, too late.
The light flickers. Then the screaming stops.
A voice…soft and broken…whispers through the air.
“The Moon takes what it’s owed.”
I jolt awake.
My lungs drag for air, my heart pounding like I’ve just been running. My body’s shaking, slick with cold sweat. The room is dark, the only light coming from the faint silver glow on my arm.
The mark burns hot. Not painful, just alive. Too alive.
I push the blanket off, my hands trembling as I stare at the crescent shape etc
