We must end it before the Blood Moon rises

We must end it before the Blood Moon rises
Aria’s POV

The battlefield is thick with the stench of blood, smoke, and death. Even now, long after the last clash of steel has faded into silence, the air feels heavy, as though the earth itself is mourning. The gates are scarred with claw marks and scorched with shadow, their iron hinges bent but still holding, while the ground before them is littered with the bodies of friend and foe alike. The wounded lie in neat rows in the courtyard, warriors stripped of armour, their bodies marked with deep gashes and burns where Lilith’s darkness touched them. Normally, Lycans heal quickly. A torn muscle will knit within minutes, broken bones pull themselves back into place, and blood stops spilling long before a healer arrives. But tonight, the process is slower. Too slow.
Florence moves among them, her hands glowing faintly as she cleanses each wound, her face pale with strain. Every time her light touches torn flesh, black tendrils of shadow writhe and hiss before they fade. It is not natural. Lilith has poisoned even their ability to mend. I kneel beside one of the fallen, a young warrior whose chest rises and falls shallowly. His side is torn open, the wound blackened around the edges, the skin sluggish to close. His eyes flicker, and he grips my wrist with a strength born only of desperation.
“Do not let me fall into her shadows,” he whispers.
“You will not,” I promise, pressing my hand over his wound. Light blooms from my palm, searing away the blackness inch by inch. His body relaxes, the flesh finally beginning to knit itself together, though far slower than it should. It takes nearly all I have just to keep him breathing.
Everywhere around me, it is the same. The warriors live, but their healing lags. Each breath of darkness they inhaled, clawing at their bodies from the inside. Lilith’s power has marked them, slowing what should be their greatest strength. Darius moves among his men, his voice low but firm, steadying them even as exhaustion hangs over his broad shoulders. He helps lift a fallen soldier to the healers, presses a hand to another’s chest as they grit their teeth through the pain. His presence alone is strong enough for them to endure. But when his eyes meet mine across the courtyard, I see what he will not say out loud. This was only the beginning.
I stand and go to him, my steps dragging from weariness, my light dimmed but not gone. The fires along the wall flicker in the night wind, shadows curling long across the bloodstained stone. For a moment, it almost feels as though the darkness is still reaching for us, even though Lilith is gone.
“They will return,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Lilith will not accept defeat. Not with the Blood Moon so close.”
Darius’s jaw tightens, his golden eyes narrowing as he looks toward the mountains where Ethan and Lilith fled. “Five days,” he answers, his voice low, carrying the weight of that truth. “When the Blood Moon rises, she will be stronger. So will Ethan. So will we. But if we give her time to recover, we may not survive what comes.”
I glance back at the wounded, at the slow pace of their healing, at the witches struggling to keep their wards intact, though the enemy is gone. “She will not only return with her strength,” I murmur, dread curling like ice in my stomach. “She will not come alone. She will call to others, the rogues, the outcasts, the witches who have already sworn to darkness. The Blood Moon will give her the power to bind them. They will fight as one.”
The thought makes my chest tighten. I can see it clearly in my mind, an army swollen with rogues who fear nothing but hunger, witches whose chants poison the air, and creatures so twisted by shadow that no blade could end them easily. Lilith will not waste her time licking wounds. She will gather, she will multiply, and when the moon crowns the sky, she will unleash them.
I turn back to Darius, my voice sharper now, urgent despite the fatigue dragging me down. “If we wait here, if we sit behind these walls and hope to endure another siege, we will face her at her strongest. And she will not come with only Ethan at her side. She will bring the darkness itself to our gates. We cannot give her time to gather them. We must go after her now.”
For a long time, Darius does not answer. His shoulders are hard, his gaze fixed on the mountains. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the low hum of Florence’s chants as she fights to purify the shadows in their blood.
At last, his hand tightens on the hilt of his sword. His eyes, when they meet mine, burn with the same fire that rises in my chest. “Then we hunt her,” he says, his voice like steel. “We will not wait for the Blood Moon to rise. We will strike first, while she hides in her caves and licks her wounds. We will not give her the chance to grow stronger.”
A breath escapes me, heavy with both fear and relief. “We owe it to them,” I whisper, my gaze drifting back to the rows of bodies laid beneath linen, to the warriors whose families will wake tomorrow to grief. “We cannot let their sacrifice be wasted.”
Darius’s hand brushes mine, his touch grounding me, strong even in this moment of weariness. His voice drops low, meant only for me. “The Blood Moon will test us, too, Aria. Its power burns, even as it strengthens. We will be stronger, but it will take something from us. We must be ready to bleed.”
I nod, my throat tight but my resolve steady. “Then we bleed. As long as it means she falls.”
Around us, the courtyard is filled with the sounds of grief and healing, of witches whispering their chants, of wolves howling for their dead. The night feels colder, the stars sharper, and above it all hangs the weight of the Blood Moon drawing closer, brighter with every passing hour. Five days. That is all we have. Five days before Lilith bends the darkness fully to her will. Five days before she unleashes her army. We cannot wait. We cannot give her enough breath to recover. We must hunt her down. We must end this before the Blood Moon rises.