His Silent Luna (Verity and Felicity) novel Chapter 22

WHISPERS FROM THE CORNER

Verity’s Perspective

Sleep eluded me.

No matter how many times I shifted beneath the heavy covers or how deeply I tried to breathe myself into calm, the silence around me felt like a weight, pressing down relentlessly. It was stifling. Caleb had been away for several days now, caught up in duties that kept him from our lessons, and without that steady rhythm to anchor my days, I found myself sinking into a dull boredom that gnawed at my spirit.

Quietly, I slipped out of bed, my bare feet making no sound against the cold stone floor as I wandered through the dim corridors. At night, the castle transformed into something altogether different—its usual grandeur softened into shadows and whispers. The air was cooler, the halls hushed except for the occasional murmur of a guard’s footsteps or the faint rustle of a servant sneaking about, perhaps on some secret errand. Without quite understanding why, my feet carried me toward the library, as if drawn by an invisible thread.

Crossing the threshold, I was immediately wrapped in the familiar scent of aged paper, worn leather, and a fine dust that seemed to settle in every corner. It was a scent that felt like home, reminding me of afternoons spent at a heavy wooden table with Caleb’s patient voice guiding me through letters and words. Yet tonight, the atmosphere was different—thicker, heavier. The silence wasn’t just an absence of sound; it felt as if my very thoughts had quieted, pulled by something unseen.

My gaze drifted toward a shadowed corner of the library I had never dared to explore before. A narrow, dim aisle beckoned me, darker than the others, as if hiding secrets beneath its veil. My heart quickened, a mix of apprehension and curiosity stirring within me, but I stepped forward regardless.

At the far end of the aisle, concealed behind a crooked row of neglected books, I discovered a large, leather-bound tome. Its spine was cracked and worn, the edges frayed from years of neglect. A faint silver symbol, unfamiliar and intricate, gleamed faintly across the cover, dust clinging to it like a second skin. I reached out and pulled it free, a small cough escaping me as a cloud of dust rose into the air, disturbed after so long.

I carried the heavy book over to the nearest reading table, the wood groaning softly under its weight as I set it down. Opening it carefully, I found the parchment inside yellowed with age, the ink faded but still clear in its elegant, flowing script. Across the first page, a title shimmered in black and silver:

“The Chronicles of the Four Realms and the Darklands.”

My eyes caught on an illustration that spread across the page—a moonlit kingdom, bathed in soft silver light, framed by towering forests that shimmered like glass and rivers that sparkled like crystals. Beneath the image, bold letters declared:

Kingdom Valcaryn — The Moon-Blessed.

I began to read, each word unfolding slowly as I pieced together the story.

There was one final note in the passage that made my breath catch.

—

“Twins shall be born under the red moon in Valcaryn—one of light, one of darkness. Yet neither light nor shadow shall be a blessing or a curse, for their paths will be shaped by the choices they make. Together, they hold the power to bring either salvation or ruin, for their light will burn hotter than any before, and their darkness will draw the other ever closer. In the end, only one shall ascend the throne and rule all.”

I closed my eyes, letting those words echo in my mind. Born under a red moon… The phrase gnawed at me, stirring something deep within that I couldn’t yet understand.

—

Turning the page, the book moved on to describe other kingdoms—Shadow Fang, Duskwatch—but my fingers hesitated, lingering on the image of Valcaryn, on the proud white wolves standing beneath the silver glow of the moon.