The Last Moon of Eldervale

Chapter 3 : Aftermath of the Red Moon

Alden’s POV

Pain dragged me awake before sound did.

A dull, throbbing ache pulsed at the side of my skull slow, stubborn, and angry. At first I didn’t know where I was. The world came to me in fragments: the sharp scent of smoke, the gritty feel of dust on my tongue, the cold bite of morning air brushing my skin.

Then came the sound that finally finished pulling me out of the darkness.

A crow cawed somewhere above me shrill, loud, and painfully alive in the midst of so much death.

My eyes snapped open.

For a moment, the world tilted. The sky swam overhead, pale morning blue smeared by lingering smoke. It took a few seconds before shapes came into focus. Trees. Ruins. A burned fence post leaning at a slant.

And bodies.

Dozens of them.

The memories struck next. Hard. Vicious. Like blows to the chest.

Mara.

My family.

The wolves.

The red moon.

My breath hitched in my throat, and I sat up so fast I nearly passed out again. A sharp sting shot through my head, but I ignored it. The world steadied slowly, and I realized I was lying beside what used to be our village square.

Everything was gone.

And I meant everything.

Houses burned down to charred skeletons. Ash floating through the cold morning air. Blood dried into the dirt in muddied, nearly black stains. What few bodies remained were unrecognizable limbs at unnatural angles, clothing torn, faces pale and stiff.

“This… this isn’t real,” I whispered, though the taste of smoke and the pain in my ribs told me otherwise.

A quiet voice spoke behind me.

“You’re awake.”

I turned.

Standing a few feet away were two men one in priest’s robes, white now stained grey with soot, and another older man leaning heavily on a staff. His weathered face wore a grief that made him look twice his age.

The priest stepped forward.

“Child,” he said softly, “I feared you wouldn’t wake.”

His eyes held the kind of sorrow people carried only after witnessing the unspeakable.

The elder bowed his head. “Alden… I am so sorry. We found you unconscious near the well. It seems you were the last survivor.”

The words hit harder than the wolves did.

Last survivor.

My throat closed. I forced my voice through it anyway.

“My… my family?” I choked out, even though I already knew. Even though the memory of their bodies was carved into me deeper than any wound.

The priest exhaled slowly. “We found them. And we prayed over them.” He paused. “May the gods receive them gently.”

The world tilted again, but I clenched my fists into the dirt, grounding myself. I refused to fall back into darkness. Not again.

The elder placed a hand on my shoulder, shaking slightly. “Alden… you are strong. Stronger than any boy your age has the right to be. But you must hear this.”

My jaw tightened. “What?”

The priest glanced around, as if afraid the ruins might rise and strangle him. “This massacre… it is not the first.”

My stomach twisted.

The elder nodded gravely. “Three villages before ours have been wiped out in the same way. Always under a red moon. Always by beasts no ordinary hunter can fight.”

Beasts.

Wolves.

Monsters that ripped the world apart in a single night.

I swallowed hard. “Then… then how do we stop them?”

“That,” the priest said, “is why we needed you to wake. We plan to seek help. The King must hear of this curse.”

The elder lifted his chin toward the distant mountains. “The Pegasus Knights have already begun mobilizing. Word is they are the only force strong enough to stand against the beasts.”

A flicker of something hope? stirred faintly inside me.

The Pegasus Knights. Legends in armor. Warriors said to ride winged steeds and wield magic blessed by the heavens. Even as a child, I had looked at their posters and carvings with awe.

The priest continued, “We must travel to the Capital. We need protection, guidance… salvation. If the curse continues to spread, all of Lyria will fall.”

I stared at the ruins of Greywood, at the smoke curling from houses that once held laughter.

Salvation.

The word tasted foreign on my tongue.

“How far…?” I asked hoarsely.

“Two days on foot,” the elder replied. “But we will go. The King must know what happened here.”

The priest knelt beside a burned cart wheel, his voice softening. “Before we leave, we must bury the dead. All of them.”

My chest tightened. “Why the urgency?”

The priest met my eyes. His expression hardened.

“Because if we do not bury them by nightfall,” he whispered, “they will rise.”

Cold washed over me.

“What?”

“It is part of the curse,” he said. “Those killed during a Red Moon… their bodies do not remain at rest. They begin to change as night approaches.” He swallowed heavily. “Into the very creatures that killed them.”

Nausea twisted my gut. My gaze drifted to the bodies scattered across the ground.

My family.

Mara.

The priest placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Alden… we must lay them to rest before the sun sets. Will you help us?”

My legs trembled, but I stood.

“Yes,” I breathed, though my voice cracked. “I’ll help.”

What else could I do? Running wasn’t an option. Grieving would have to wait. The people I loved deserved peace—if peace was even possible in a place where death itself refused to sleep.

We worked for hours.

The priest marked the graves. The elder dug until his hands bled. And I, shaking, numb and breaking with each shovel of dirt helped carry the bodies one by one.

Mothers. Brothers. Children.

Friends I had grown up with.

Faces I would never see smile again.

I held my mother’s body last.

Her skin was cold. Her eyelids would not close. Her hand a hand that used to brush my hair when I cried was stiff and pale. I laid her gently beside my father, my sister, and little Tomas.

My vision blurred.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I didn’t even know what I was apologizing for. For living? For not saving them? For running? For hiding?

Maybe all of it.

The priest murmured prayers. The elder placed flowers wilted though they were over their still chests.

Tears dripped from my chin onto the earth.

It was done.

By the time the final grave was filled, the sun had begun to dip behind the distant hills, staining the sky in orange and purple. The air turned colder, sharper.

The priest wiped his brow. “We must be ready to leave at dawn tomorrow. There is nothing left here for us but ghosts.”

The elder nodded wearily. “Let us rest.”

I wanted to say something. Anything. But exhaustion had hollowed me out. I could only nod.

A sudden sound broke the quiet.

Hoofbeats.

Rhythmic. Hard. Echoing across the ruined village like thunder.

The priest froze. “What… what is that?”

The elder’s eyes widened. “It can’t be”

A gust of wind blew ash into the air.

The hoofbeats grew louder.

Then, through the veil of smoke and fading light, a formation of armored riders emerged. Silver and white armor glinted like shards of dawn. Their cloaks fluttered behind them. Their helmets bore the crest of the Kingdom a soaring wing.

Pegasus Knights.

Eleven of them.

At their head rode a man taller than the rest. His armor was darker, polished steel etched with intricate runes. A long, crimson mantle draped behind him. His helm was shaped like a falcon’s beak, sharp and imposing.

He removed it as he approached, revealing ash-brown hair and hard eyes the color of storm clouds.

He radiated authority. Power. Determination.

Rowan.

Captain of the Pegasus Knights.

The man whispered about in legends.

The man who might be our only hope.

I stared at him, frozen, breath caught in my throat.

The hoofbeats slowed as Rowan drew closer.