From Cursed Scum to Supreme Sovereign

The Blood Moon Memory

The pale moon hung above the temple square like a milky eye, watching the preparations below with ancient indifference.

Kael stood shackled at the arena’s center, iron chains weighing down his arms as servants scurried to light torches around the combat ring.

He tilted his head back, studying that distant orb, and his mind drifted away from the present moment… away from the jeering crowd, away from the rattling sounds beneath the temple, away from the certainty of approaching death.

Memory pulled him backward through time, to another moon, another night…

***

Nineteen years earlier

The blood moon had painted the world crimson.

The birthing chamber reeked of sweat and fear. Shadows danced on stone walls as candle flames guttered in the draft from shuttered windows.

Outside, the eclipse moon hung like a wound in heaven’s flesh, its light filtering through gaps in the wooden shutters to stain everything the color of old blood.

“Push, my lady,” urged the head midwife, her voice tight with strain. “The babe comes whether we will it or not.”

Lady Elara Draven gripped the birthing chair until her knuckles went white, dark hair plastered to her skull with sweat. She had labored since sunset, and now the cursed moon reached its peak.

“Something’s wrong,” whispered Marta, the youngest midwife. Her hands shook as she wrung out blood-soaked linens. “The moon… look how it bleeds. This is no natural birth.”

“Hold your tongue,” snapped the elder woman. “What will be, will be.”

But even she glanced nervously at the shuttered windows, where crimson light seeped through like spilled wine.

The baby’s first cry split the night… not the healthy wail of new life, but something else. Something that made the candle flames dance and the very air seem to recoil.

“By the Light,” breathed the head midwife, stumbling backward from the birthing chair. “Look at him. Look at his chest.”

There, carved into the infant’s pale flesh as if by some divine blade, lay a mark unlike anything in the holy texts.

Black lines twisted together in the shape of an eclipse, dark moon consuming light, and the sigil pulsed with its own inner fire.

“Cursed!” Marta shrieked, dropping her linens to flee toward the door. “The child is cursed!”

“Wait,” called the elder midwife, but Marta was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she ran to spread word of what she had seen.

Lord Aldric Draven pushed through the chamber doors moments later, his face flushed with wine and celebration. He had been toasting his heir’s birth with the other nobles, confident that his bloodline would continue unmarked by shadow.

“Is it done?” he called out, grinning. “Is my son—”

The words died on his lips as he saw the infant in his wife’s arms.

“Aldric,” Lady Elara whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Our son. He’s… he’s beautiful.”

But Lord Draven saw only the mark. Only the twisted sigil that branded his child as other, as wrong, as a stain upon the noble blood of House Draven.

Heavy footsteps in the corridor announced the arrival of High Hierophant Malrick, still young then but already radiating the cold authority of the divine. His pale eyes took in the scene… weeping mother, stunned father, midwife crossing herself in the corner.

“Show me the child,” Malrick commanded.

“No.” Lady Elara clutched her baby closer. “You cannot have him. He is mine.”

“The child bears the Eclipse Mark,” Malrick said, as if stating the weather. “A blight upon the blessed bloodline. His fate was sealed before he drew breath.”

“What fate?” Lord Draven asked, though his voice carried the weight of a man who already knew the answer.

“The mark speaks of shadow, of corruption that spreads like plague through pure blood. This infant is no son of yours, my lord. It is a vessel for something far darker.”

The baby stirred in his mother’s arms, tiny fist closing around her finger. The Eclipse Mark pulsed once, faint as a dying ember.

“Please,” Lady Elara begged, looking between her husband and the priest. “He is just a child. Innocent. Whatever this mark means, surely mercy…”

“There is no mercy for corruption,” Malrick cut her off. “But the divine in its wisdom provides a test. If this cursed thing can prove its worth through trial, then perhaps… perhaps it may be suffered to live.”

“And if it fails?” Lord Draven asked quietly.

“Then the curse dies with it, and your bloodline is cleansed.”

Lady Elara looked to her husband, desperate hope shining in her eyes. “Aldric, tell him no. Tell him our son stays with us.”

But Lord Draven had already turned away, unable to meet her gaze. Shame bent his shoulders, and when he spoke, his voice came out hollow as a broken bell.

“Do what must be done.”

Malrick approached the birthing chair with measured steps. From his robes, he withdrew an iron brand, its surface carved with holy symbols that seemed to writhe in the candlelight.

“This mark will remind all who see it what this creature truly is,” he announced. “Let none mistake corruption for innocence.”

“No!” Lady Elara screamed, but temple guards had appeared in the doorway. Strong hands pulled her away from the birthing chair as Malrick heated the brand in the nearest candle flame.

“Please,” she sobbed. “He’s just a baby. Please don’t hurt him.”

The baby’s second cry echoed through the chamber as holy iron met tender flesh… a sound of pure agony that seemed to shake the very stones of the temple.

The Eclipse Mark flared brighter, and for one terrifying moment, the shadows in the room deepened until even the torches couldn’t drive them back.

Then it was done.

The infant lay gasping on blood-soaked linens, the holy brand seared into his chest just below the natural mark. Two brands now… one given by fate, one carved by man’s fear.

“It is finished,” Malrick declared. “Let all who see this child know what it carries. Let none forget the price of harboring corruption.”

Lady Elara reached for her son with trembling hands, gathering him close despite the guards’ protests. Her tears fell like rain on his burned chest.

“Kael,” she whispered, the name a prayer and a promise. “My little Kael. Mama’s here. Mama will always be here.”

But even as she spoke the words, they both knew it was a lie.

***

A crash like thunder split the night, jerking Kael back to the present. The memories dissolved like smoke as the temple square filled with screams and shouts.

The iron cage beneath the temple had burst open with the sound of breaking worlds. From that darkness came something that had once been human… a creature twisted by corruption, eyes blazing red as forge coals, muscles bulging with unnatural strength.

The Eclipse Mark on Kael’s chest flared with answering heat, burning through fabric and flesh like a brand reborn.

The beast’s gaze found him across the arena and fixed there with terrible intelligence.

Then it lunged.

Time slowed to honey as claws longer than daggers reached for his throat, as fetid breath washed over his face, as death approached on legs thick as tree trunks.

The Eclipse Mark pulsed once more.

And something deep inside Kael began to wake.