Mela Hue arrived in the town, her entrance like a dark omen across the cobblestone streets. The iron gate creaked open as she passed, her crimson robe trailing behind her like blood on the stone. Fearful murmurs rippled through the few remaining townsfolk, eyes wide with terror as they whispered her name—The Bloodhound of the Silver Moon.
An old woman, hunched by a market stall, raised her trembling eyes to meet Mela's cold stare.
"A young knight named Sir Adrian has been searching for you," she rasped, her voice shaking like the leaves in a storm.
Mela's gaze sharpened, her sapphire eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Where?"
The old woman pointed a shaking hand toward an imposing manor down the street. Mela's lips curled into a smirk, devoid of any warmth. "Thank you..." she replied flatly, and without a second glance, made her way toward the looming structure.
As she neared the estate, the iron gates groaned open as if compelled by her mere presence. The courtyard was still, bathed in the eerie glow of moonlight. The silence was shattered by the panicked cry of a sentry from within. "The Bloodhound of the Silver Moon is here!" His voice echoed in the empty halls, carrying with it the weight of impending doom.
A ripple of panic spread through the manor. Guards trembled as she walked inside, some bolting for the nearest exits, others huddling in corners, frozen in place. But when Mela approached one guard, his body shaking as he pressed himself against the wall, eyes squeezed shut in prayer, until he heard. "Hey."
His heart skipped. Sweat ran down his face, his body betraying him as he refused to open his eyes. But then—
"Look at me."
The command in her voice was impossible to ignore. He hesitated, then slowly, cautiously, peeled open his eyes. He started at her feet—slowly, ever so slowly, his gaze rose, his terror mounting with every inch. When their eyes locked, his gaze met the cold, unfeeling eyes of the Bloodhound.
"Where is Sir Adrian?"
The guard immediately fainted, his face frozen in fear. Mela looked down at him, unimpressed. "Seriously…" Before her gaze swept over the now-abandoned manor. No guards remained. Just silence.
Her brow furrowed in dissatisfaction as she made her way toward the entrance. As she reached the doorway, the sound of hurried footsteps caught her attention. She turned her head to see a group of guards fleeing, running from the very heart of the estate.
Mela sighs in utter disappointment. Then, she heard a noise from upstairs. She turned and a wild grin spread across her face.
"Found you."
With deliberate, measured steps, Mela ascended the stone stairs. When she reached the door, she slammed her spiked mace into the thick oak, splinters exploding outward with a thunderous crash. The door crumbled inward, revealing the grand interior—and standing in the center of the room, awaiting her, was Sir Adrian.
He was youthful, strikingly beautiful even in the dim light, with his golden hair and piercing green eyes gleaming with a mix of defiance and fear. His polished armor reflected the moonlight, but there was nothing polished about the way his jaw tightened as he recognized her.
"It's... you?" His voice was steady, but his wide eyes betrayed the dread that had settled in.
Mela strode into the room, her mace hanging loosely in her grip. "Sir Adrian," she said, her voice laced with cruel amusement. "Tonight, you're just another obstacle."
Adrian smirked. "I've been waiting for this moment," he said, raising his claymore. "I'm Sir Adrian, Royal Elite Guard of Highborn Lady Elara. You will not leave here alive!"
Instantly, Adrian lunged. His claymore sliced through the air. Mela dropped into a split, narrowly avoiding the blade. As she sprang upward, she swung her mace low, aiming for his legs, but Adrian was faster. His boot slammed into her chest with brutal force, propelling her backward through the manor wall.
Mela crashed through the stone wall into the air of the moonlight sky, the impact jarring, but a thrill of exhilaration surged through her. Her breath was steady, and her heart raced in anticipation. This was the challenge she sought.
Adrian leaped through the shattered wall, his claymore raised high. The knight descended upon her, blade shimmering in the moonlight, but Mela twisted mid-air to meet his strike, deflecting the blow with a thunderous clang.
They collided into the ground, debris exploding around them as their weapons met. Sparks flew from their clashing steel. Mela swung her mace in wild arcs. Adrian countered with his own, but each blow came with increasing desperation.
The townsfolk watched from the shadows, too frightened to interfere, recoiling in terror at the sight of these two forces of nature clashing with no restraint. They could feel the ground tremble beneath them as Mela and Adrian tore into each other with frenetic energy.
For a moment, Adrian hesitated, his mind flashing with the image of Lady Elara. She had always been there for him—his closest friend, his beloved. The thought of her suffering drove him to fight harder. But deep down, he knew this was the end.
As his resolve wavered, Mela seized her chance. She spun with terrifying speed, her mace crashing into Adrian's side with brute force. He staggered, blood staining his armor, and dropped to one knee.
His breath came in ragged gasps, a tear slipping from his eye. 'My beloved Lady El—' He was cut off as Mela's mace collided with his skull, shattering bone. His body crumpled into the dirt, lifeless.
Mela stood over him, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. She looked down at the once-beautiful knight, now broken and lifeless at her feet. For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a cold, detached glance, she turned and walked away, her mace dripping with fresh blood.
Time passed…
In the Kingdom of Valoria, Outside Of The Grand Halls, Sir Castor received the grim news as a pigeon flew through the open window of the Knights of the Old Order's headquarters, its feathers ruffled from the flight. It landed gracefully on his outstretched arm, a letter securely fastened to its leg. Castor gently petted the bird, unfurling the message, his worst fears were confirmed: Sir Adrian, the beloved knight and Royal Elite Guard, was dead. The words burned into his mind—The Bloodhound had struck again.
Castor, a stoic knight of the Old Order, felt a wave of sorrow wash over him, quickly igniting into a burning rage. Adrian was more than just a comrade; he was cherished by all in the kingdom, and Lady Elara had adored him. Castor's jaw tightened, and a single tear escaped his eye before he wiped it away with his gauntlet.
"Sir Adrian... I will avenge you," Castor muttered under his breath. Thoughts of revenge consumed him; he would not allow the Bloodhound to go unpunished.
Without hesitation, he rose to his feet and summoned his men. "We leave today!" He ordered, his voice hard as iron. The knights of Valoria prepared for battle, their resolve as strong as their armor. As they rode out of the city, Castor's mind swirled with visions of vengeance, each heartbeat echoing his desire to see the Bloodhound fall.