Prologue: The One Who Played the Wrong Song
They never remembered the musician.
Not his face, not his name.
Only the final note he played before the massacre began.
His name was Jungkook, and in the original story of Thorns of the Blood Moon, he appeared once—in Chapter 11—as a background soul.
A fragile court minstrel, with hollow eyes and a trembling voice.
He wasn’t born to be brave.
He was born to be forgotten.
On the night of Kael’s rebellion, when fire climbed the palace walls and the Hollowed screamed through broken halls, Elian was in the throneroom, cradling his harp. He had been told to play something soft, something that would calm the nobles while the King prepared to spill blood.
He played a song of hope.
A song not written by the King’s will—but by his own trembling fingers.
And that was his mistake.
The Moon King turned, slowly, crimson eyes gleaming beneath the weight of betrayal.
He asked, voice sharp as obsidian.
Because he knew the next line in the story. The line the readers hardly noticed, buried between the blood and the rising smoke:
“A nameless musician was the first to die. His harp snapped in two, strings slicing through his throat like silk.”
That was his end.
No name. No mourning. No change to the plot.
Just another corpse on the marble floor, as Serenya entered with fire on her breath and Kael drew the blade destined to wound the King’s heart.
But stories are fragile things.
They bleed when read too many times.
And somewhere, far from Arskiel, a lonely boy named Elias closed the book, tears in his eyes, heart aching not for the hero or the queen—
—but for the nameless musician who had dared to play a different song.
When I opened my eyes, I was somewhere else.
Somewhere wrong. Trees loomed overhead, twisted and weeping. The moon was red—the Blood Moon.
The air was thick with magic, the taste of it heavy on my tongue.
I looked down. My hoodie was gone. I wore a tunic stitched with sigils.
And around my neck hung a silver chain I’d never seen before.
I wandered for hours. Or maybe minutes. Time felt fluid here, like it breathed.
I kept whispering to myself,
？？？
"This isn’t real, this isn’t real,"
But the thorned branches that cut my arms felt very real.
His voice. Low. Familiar. Echoing like a forgotten melody:
？？？?
“You are not from this world.”
I turned—and everything I had read, everything I had imagined, shattered.
The Moon King stood before me.
He wasn’t just beautiful—he was terrifying. A god carved from sorrow.
Hair like shadows. Eyes like galaxies at war. His presence made the world quieter. Still.
And he was looking at me.
？？？?
“But I have waited for you.”
My mouth was dry. My thoughts, scrambled.
I wanted to say something—anything—but my voice was gone.
He stepped closer. No weapon drawn. No spell on his lips.
？？？?
“You do not belong to her,”
He whispered, almost to himself.
？？？?
“You are not written in her thorns. You are something else. Something... unwritten.”
And I knew—whatever fate this world had planned for me, it had changed the moment he looked into my eyes.
The story I read was over.
A new one had just begun.
And this time… I was not a side character.
Comments
mystic illusion 95
The beginning of the End hmmm
2025-05-06
1