Irithia had always been different. Born under the silver gaze of a blood-red moon, she was marked from the start. The people of her village had whispered about her, some with fear, others with admiration, but all had agreed on one thing: Irithia was destined for something beyond their simple, mundane lives.
Her mother, Althira, had been the village healer, a woman known for her quiet wisdom and gentle touch. She had raised Irithia with tales of the ancient moon trials, the mystical tests that every child born beneath the blood-red moon would eventually face. But those trials were stories told in hushed voices, never meant to be believed. Until, of course, Irithia turned sixteen.
The sun had just dipped below the horizon on the eve of Irithia’s sixteenth birthday when the call came. It was a soft whisper on the wind at first, the kind that could easily be mistaken for the rustle of trees. But Irithia knew. She had always known.
The call grew louder, clearer, until it could no longer be ignored. It was time.
The villagers gathered in the clearing just outside Irithia’s home. They stood in solemn silence, watching as Irithia stepped into the moonlight. The blood-red moon hung high in the sky, its eerie glow bathing the land in a strange, otherworldly light. Irithia’s heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t hesitate. She had been preparing for this moment her whole life.
“Remember the tales,” Althira whispered, her voice trembling. “You must trust your heart, Irithia. The trials will test you in ways you cannot yet understand, but you are stronger than you know.”
Irithia nodded, her eyes focused on the dark path that wound through the ancient forest. The villagers had warned her of the dangers that lurked within the woods — strange beasts, treacherous landscapes, and dark magic. But Irithia wasn’t afraid. At least, she didn’t think she was.
With a final glance back at her mother, she stepped forward into the shadows of the trees.
The forest was different than she remembered. The air was thick with magic, and the trees seemed to whisper secrets that only the night could understand. Irithia walked cautiously, her every step careful, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that the trees were watching her, their gnarled branches reaching for her like skeletal hands.
As she ventured deeper into the woods, the path began to narrow. The moonlight barely filtered through the dense canopy above, casting long, eerie shadows on the ground. It was then that she felt it — the presence. Something was following her, its movements swift and silent, too close to be a mere animal.
Irithia gripped the hilt of the dagger at her side, her senses on high alert. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but she knew something was about to happen. The presence grew stronger, and soon a figure emerged from the shadows.
It was a wolf, but unlike any wolf she had ever seen. Its fur shimmered like starlight, and its eyes gleamed with an intelligence that sent a chill down her spine. It stood tall, much larger than any wolf she had known, and there was something in its gaze — something that told Irithia that it wasn’t just an animal.
“I am Fenris,” the wolf spoke, its voice deep and resonant, “Guardian of the Trials.”
Irithia stared in shock. The wolves of the trials were legends, stories told to scare children into obedience. But this was no legend. This was real.
“You must pass through the trials,” Fenris continued, his eyes never leaving hers. “To prove yourself worthy of your birthright. You are destined for greatness, Irithia, but first, you must face the darkness within you.”
Irithia swallowed hard, her mouth dry. She had heard the stories, of course, but never had she imagined herself as part of them. She was just Irithia from the village, the healer’s daughter. Yet here she was, standing before a mythical creature, facing something far bigger than herself.
Fenris stepped aside, allowing her to move forward. “The first trial begins now. Face the storm.”
Before she could ask what he meant, the wind picked up, howling through the trees. The air grew colder, and the sky darkened as if a storm were brewing. But it wasn’t a storm of rain or thunder. It was a storm of shadows, dark and twisted, swirling around her like a living thing.
Irithia raised her arms instinctively, her body bracing against the overwhelming darkness. She felt it clawing at her, testing her, pushing her to give in. The shadows whispered her name, and she could hear voices — her mother’s, the villagers’, even her own — calling out her doubts, her fears, the things she had kept buried deep inside.
You’re not ready. You’ll never be enough. You’ll fail.
Her knees trembled, but she forced herself to stand tall, to ignore the whispers, to push through the storm. She knew this trial wasn’t about strength or magic. It was about facing the deepest parts of herself.
With a fierce breath, Irithia spoke aloud, her voice steady despite the storm. “I am Irithia, daughter of Althira. I will not be broken by fear.”
The shadows paused, the storm stilled. The wind died down, and in the stillness, Fenris nodded approvingly. “The first trial is complete. You have faced your fear and overcome it.”
Irithia’s heart pounded in her chest, but she stood proud. The storm had been overwhelming, but now she felt something stir within her — a new strength, a deeper understanding of herself.
“You are not yet done,” Fenris said, his voice grave. “There are two more trials. The second begins now.”
The path ahead of her twisted into a narrow gorge, the walls of stone rising high on either side. At the end of the gorge stood a massive door, adorned with ancient runes that glowed faintly under the moonlight. Fenris stood before it, his eyes fixed on Irithia.
“The second trial is one of choice,” he said, his voice echoing through the gorge. “Behind this door lies your greatest temptation. What you choose will define your future.”
Irithia’s heart quickened as she approached the door. She could feel the power emanating from within, and she knew that whatever lay beyond it would challenge her like never before.
With a deep breath, she pushed open the door.
Inside was a vast chamber, its walls lined with treasures — gold, jewels, weapons, books, and artifacts of unimaginable value. But in the center of the room stood something more precious than any treasure: her mother, Althira, sitting on a stone throne, bathed in a soft, golden light.
“Irithia,” her mother’s voice called out, tender and familiar. “You’ve come so far. Take what you need. You’ve earned it.”
Irithia’s heart ached at the sight of her mother, but something felt wrong. Her instincts screamed at her to turn away, to resist. This was a temptation, a trap designed to sway her from her true path.
“Mother,” Irithia whispered, her voice trembling. “What is this? What is this place?”
Althira smiled softly, but there was an unsettling edge to her expression. “You can have it all, Irithia. All the power, all the wealth, all the love you’ve ever wanted. All you need to do is accept it.”
Irithia stood silent for a long moment, her eyes scanning the treasures around her. She could feel the pull of the riches, the comfort, the safety of a life without struggle. But deep down, she knew this was not the way. This was not her true path.
“No,” Irithia said, shaking her head. “I cannot take what is not mine. I choose my own destiny, not what is offered to me.”
The chamber seemed to shift, the treasures fading away, and Althira’s figure dissolved into the shadows. Fenris reappeared, his eyes gleaming with pride.
“You have passed the second trial, Irithia. You have resisted the temptation, choosing your own path over false promises.”
The third trial was the hardest of them all. Irithia was brought to a vast, empty plain where the ground was cracked and barren. The sky above was a deep, endless black, and in the distance, she could see a faint glow. As she approached, she realized it was a fire, burning in the center of the plain.
When she reached the fire, she saw what it was: a single, dark figure standing before the flames. It was a shadow of herself — the person she feared most, the version of herself that had been shaped by doubts, fears, and regrets.
“I am you,” the shadow spoke, its voice hollow and cold. “You will never escape me. You will always be the same. Weak. Insecure.”
Irithia stepped forward, her heart heavy. But she didn’t turn away. She knew that this final trial was about accepting who she truly was — the light and the darkness, the strength and the vulnerability.
“I am Irithia,” she said firmly, “and I will not be controlled by fear.”
With those words, the shadow dissolved, and the fire went out. The plains turned to lush green, and the moonlight grew brighter.
Fenris appeared once more, this time smiling. “You have passed the trials, Irithia. You have proven yourself worthy.”
Irithia stood tall, her heart finally at peace. She had faced her fears, resisted temptation, and embraced her true self. The trials had changed her, but in the end, she was still Irithia — and she was ready to face whatever came next.