Midnight’s Embrace: The Curse of the Crimson Moon

Snow returned on the third night after Yuria's re‑appearance—tiny flakes twirling like lost feathers in the moonlight.

I should have been asleep; school came early, and midterms loomed.

Instead, I stood on my apartment roof, hunched in my coat, waiting for her silhouette to break the skyline.

Since our promise—"Stay, just for tonight"—she hadn't come again. Not at the bench, not in dreams.

Yet the mark on my neck burned warm each time I whispered her name.

"Yuria… where did you vanish to this time?"

Wind answered with a hollow sigh. Streetlamps flickered below like dying embers. I sighed and turned toward the stairwell door.

"Planning to catch a cold?"

Her voice. Soft, teasing, entirely real.

I whipped around. Yuria sat on the rooftop ledge, legs swinging above four stories of empty night. Hood down, silver hair glowing beneath the moon, she looked almost carefree—until I noticed the faint tremor in her hands.

"You're freezing," I said.

"I'm undead," she countered. "Freezing is my default."

I shrugged off my coat and draped it over her shoulders. She rolled her eyes but didn't resist. Vampire or not, she still craved warmth.

1 ◇ Awkward Silence

For a while we just listened to snow land on tar paper.

I wanted to ask her everything—about the Crimson Chalice, about the vow that tied our blood. But the words tangled behind my teeth.

Instead, I offered the only thing I could think of:

"Hot chocolate. I have instant packets."

"I… don't drink food," she whispered. Then, quieter: "But thank you."

Her gaze wandered across the city. Lights reflected in her crimson eyes like galaxies trapped behind glass.

"Why here?" she murmured.

"My safest place," I said. "No hunters, no whispers. Just height and silence."

Yuria smiled sadly. "Height and silence—sounds like a vampire's comfort zone."

"Sounds like ours, then," I replied.

2 ◇ The Moon‑fire Spark

I sat beside her on the ledge. Snow melted where our shoulders touched.

When I exhaled, faint violet sparks danced on my breath—moon‑fire flaring from within me. It happened whenever she was near now, like my blood recognized hers and couldn't stay dormant.

Yuria traced one spark with a fingertip. It fizzed, warming her pale skin.

"Your power grows fast," she said.

"I don't understand it."

"Neither do I. Moon‑fire is rare—born only when vampire and human fates collide under a cursed moon."

"Lucky me," I muttered.

She lowered her hand. "Lucky us—or doomed us. Hunters call moon‑fire the harbinger of Last Sunrise."

"What's Last Sunrise?"

Yuria hesitated, eyes drifting toward the crimson halo waxing around the pale moon.

"It's when night and day bleed together—when the curse consumes both vampire and host unless the vow is sealed."

"And that's why we need the Crimson Chalice," I finished.

She nodded. "If we fail, I burn in daylight… and you freeze in eternal night."

I swallowed. "Then we don't fail."

3 ◇ Plans and Promises

We mapped a rough plan on the back of my math notebook. Northern Ruins lay beyond the city's ice forest, fifty kilometers north. Hunters patrolled the highway; rumors said wolves haunted the woods.

"I'll steal a scooter," I joked.

Yuria cocked an eyebrow. "Or we could take the night bus like normal people."

I laughed. A vampire suggesting public transport—strangely comforting.

But humor faded when she touched the fang‑marks on my throat. Her fingers trembled.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only when I worry I'll lose you again."

She drew back, startled. "You… care that much?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

Her eyes glistened. She looked away quickly, wiping a tear before it froze.

"I've lived centuries, Ren. Everyone I touch eventually dies. Caring is dangerous."

"I'm already in danger," I said. "Might as well enjoy caring."

A weak chuckle left her lips—half disbelief, half gratitude. Snowflakes clung to her lashes like shattered stars.

4 ◇ Crimson Shadows

A sudden gust snuffed the rooftop vent's pilot light. Shadows stretched unnaturally across gravel. My moon‑fire sparks extinguished.

Yuria stiffened. "Someone's watching."

I followed her gaze—nothing on the next roof. But the feeling was unmistakable: eyes in the darkness.

"Hunters?" I whispered.

"Maybe worse," she said.

A black silhouette unfurled from the air itself—tall, robed, face hidden behind a porcelain mask painted with a red eclipse. A silver brand glowed on its gloved hand: the insignia of the Order of Nocturnum.

"Hand over the moon‑bride and die swiftly," the figure intoned—voice layered, male and female at once.

Yuria's nails lengthened into obsidian claws. "I'm no one's bride."

The masked specter pointed at me. "The host bleeds the vow. Kill him, the curse bends; bind him, the chalice awakens."

"Over my ashes," Yuria hissed.

The mask cracked a smile-shaped fracture. "As you wish."

It lunged—quicker than any human, leaving smoke‑trails in its wake. Yuria shoved me aside, intercepting the strike with her arm; silver runes on the intruder's blade splashed sparks against her skin.

I hit the gravel hard, rolling to avoid a follow‑up slash. My palms ignited violet—moon‑fire surged unbidden. I thrust both hands forward and released a burst of shimmering light.

The specter screamed—a choir of overlapping voices—staggering backward as moon‑fire singed its cloak. Yuria seized the opening, delivering a spinning kick that shattered rooftop gravel and sent the masked creature skidding.

But it righted itself instantly, cloak reforming like liquid night.

"Moon‑fire… Prophecy quickens," it hissed. "We shall return with dawn's first blood."

It dissolved into black mist. Snow whipped in sudden silence.

Yuria knelt, panting. Silver burns laced her forearm. I rushed to her side, moon‑fire flickering around my hands.

"Let me—"

"Too bright," she gasped. "But… do it."

I pressed glowing palms to her wound. Light seeped into smoking flesh; burns closed slowly, leaving pale scars. She winced but didn't pull away.

When it was done, she rested her forehead on my shoulder, exhausted.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Always."

5 ◇ A New Promise

We sat against the rooftop vent until snow covered our shoes.

"That wasn't a hunter," I said at last.

"No," Yuria agreed. "That was an Inquisitor. They enforce the prophecy. They'll keep coming."

"Then we leave tonight," I said. "Northern Ruins… bus depot at 2 a.m."

She looked up, eyes searching mine. "You're sure?"

I grinned, though my heart pounded. "I'm sure of two things: I don't want midterms, and I don't want you burning at sunrise."

Her laugh sounded like wind chimes—fragile but real. She stood, pulling my coat tighter around her shoulders, and offered me her hand.

"Then let's chase this foolish hope together," she said.

I took her hand, and for the first time since the bite, warmth flooded my chest—not moon‑fire, not fear. Something simpler.

Trust.

We climbed down the fire‑escape and disappeared into the sleeping city, leaving the rooftop—and the crimson shadows—behind.