When Beasts Walk Beneath Red Skies

Table of Contents

The Crimson Moon: Night of the Beasts

The village of Elder Hollow had always feared the blood moon. Once every twenty years, when the moon turned crimson, old stories came alive—of beasts that walked like men and eyes that glowed in the forest shadows. Most thought it was just folklore.

But not Elara.

She stood at the edge of the woods, clutching her lantern. The trees swayed in the cold wind, whispering warnings in a language only the brave or foolish dared to interpret.

“You really going through with this?” came a voice from behind.

She turned. Kellen, her childhood friend, approached with a wary expression. He wore a long coat and had a hunting knife strapped to his side.

“I have to,” Elara replied. “My brother vanished during the last Crimson Moon. No one ever looked for him.”

Kellen frowned. “Because no one came back. The forest changes under the red light. You know that.”

She stared into the trees. “Then it’s time someone faced it.”

Together, they stepped into the woods, leaves crunching underfoot. The deeper they walked, the quieter it became. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

The light from Elara’s lantern flickered. Above them, the moon began its ascent—white at first, then blushing, then bleeding into a deep, ominous red. The Crimson Moon had returned.

And the beasts would follow.

They first heard the howls near the old well—low, guttural, and far too close. Kellen gripped his knife tighter.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered.

“No way,” Elara snapped. “I’m not here to hide.”

The first creature emerged from the mist. It walked on two legs, fur matted with blood, yellow eyes gleaming. Its jaw unhinged wider than any wolf or man should allow.

“Don’t move,” Kellen breathed.

But Elara raised her lantern. “You know me, don’t you?” she said to the creature.

It stopped, tilting its head. For a second, the beast’s snarl faded. Then it let out a piercing screech and charged.

Kellen tackled Elara aside as claws tore through the air where she’d stood. He slashed upward with his blade, catching the creature across the chest. It howled and vanished back into the fog.

“What were you thinking?” he shouted.

Elara’s eyes were wild. “It paused. It remembered me. I saw it.”

“You’re talking about that thing like it’s human.”

She nodded. “Because I think it is.”

They moved deeper into the woods, passing shrines long forgotten and symbols carved into trees. The forest seemed to breathe around them, branches shifting like limbs, eyes watching from the shadows.

“Do you ever wonder,” Elara asked softly, “what causes the change?”

“Curse? Magic? Blood pact? All of the above?” Kellen replied grimly.

“My grandmother told me once,” Elara continued, “that long ago, the beasts were guardians. Spirits that protected these woods. But the villagers betrayed them—burned their shrines, hunted them like animals. So when the moon turned red, they stopped protecting… and started devouring.”

Kellen didn’t respond. They both knew stories were never just stories in Elder Hollow.

They reached the ruins of the ancient chapel by midnight. The crimson light bathed the stones in a haunting glow. In the center stood a stone circle etched with old runes.

“This is where they performed the Rite,” Elara whispered. “To bind the beasts during the last cycle. But it didn’t hold.”

Kellen scanned the trees. “We don’t have time to decode magic, Elara.”

She knelt beside the runes, pulling out her brother’s journal. Pages worn and stained with age, filled with frantic handwriting and sketches of beasts. One page showed the same stone circle, and beneath it: *Only blood remembers blood.*

“Kellen,” she said, “I think I can end this.”

More howls. Dozens. Surrounding them.

“No,” Kellen said firmly. “We run. Now.”

But Elara was already cutting her palm with a silver blade from her satchel, letting her blood drip into the runes. The moment the blood touched the stone, the circle ignited with crimson fire.

The beasts stepped into view—five, then ten, then more. They encircled the ruins, snarling, snapping. But none attacked.

Then one stepped forward. Larger than the rest. Its eyes locked with Elara’s—and she knew.

“Garen?” she whispered.

The beast’s expression faltered. It looked pained, confused… almost human.

“They turned you,” Elara said, tears streaming. “But you’re still in there.”

Garen—her brother—let out a low growl. Then he stepped into the circle, claws shaking, resisting some unseen force.

“You can fight it,” she begged. “Remember who you were.”

He raised his claw—and slashed at her face.

Kellen tackled the beast, screaming, “Run, Elara!”

But she didn’t move. She reached for the runes again, blood now dripping freely from her hand. “Only blood remembers blood,” she repeated. “Only blood can undo it.”

She recited words from the journal—an incantation in the Old Tongue. The fire roared. The beasts screamed in agony.

One by one, they collapsed into the ground, disintegrating into ash and bones. Except Garen. He staggered backward, howling in torment, and fell to his knees. His form shifted—fur receding, claws shrinking.

Until a naked man lay on the stones, weeping.

Elara rushed to him. “Garen! You’re back!”

He looked up at her, eyes now blue like hers. “You did it,” he whispered.

Kellen limped over, bruised and bloodied. “Remind me to never follow you into cursed woods again.”

Elara smiled through her tears. “Next time, I’ll bring more torches.”

They sat in silence for a while, as the moon slowly faded to silver. Garen’s breathing steadied. But he kept looking toward the woods.

“There are more,” he finally said. “Far beyond Elder Hollow. Not all were bound to this place.”

Elara nodded. “Then we’ll find them.”

Kellen groaned. “You mean *you’ll* find them. I’m going back to the inn, getting drunk, and pretending this night never happened.”

But they all knew it wasn’t over.

Back in the village, people gathered to watch the fading crimson light. Whispers began—some in fear, some in awe. And deep beneath the chapel ruins, the stones pulsed faintly, storing the blood that had been spilled, remembering the names, the screams, the truth.

Garen sat beside the fire later that night, wrapped in a heavy cloak. His voice was barely audible. “The beasts don’t just hunt. They remember. They mourn. And they punish.”

Elara placed her hand on his. “Then we must help them find peace.”

“It’s not peace they seek,” Garen replied. “It’s justice.”

Outside, clouds drifted past the moon. The forest, for now, was quiet.

But the cycle had begun again.