Blood Upon the Moon
The moon still hung above the ruins like a pale wound in the sky, spilling its cold light over the city that once called itself Vellore.
Leon stood at the edge of what used to be the palace courtyard, the ground cracked and dark from his earlier landing. The air carried the faint scent of burnt stone and iron—a quiet reminder that peace hadn't been kind to this place in years.
Beside him, Natsha sat on a broken step, her cloak draped loosely over her shoulders, her head bowed. The moonlight touched her black hair, turning it silver at the tips. She hadn't said much since the crater. Her silence wasn't cold anymore—just empty, like someone still listening to echoes of screams that had already faded.
Below them, the capital stretched out like a bleeding heart.
