Level Up The Colony
Chapter 42: Moonlight

Chapter 42: Moonlight

Timothy’s decision to support his sister’s education showed his trust in his uncle’s judgment.

The moment she expressed her determination to take the exams, Timothy had no objections after all, there was no harm in trying.

However, his uncle hesitated, feeling that she was rushing things.

She was barely eighteen, still had a year or two before taking the exams at the right time, and needed to pass at least two other qualifying tests before she could even be eligible.

The discussion stretched on, a lighthearted yet persistent argument as both sides stood firm in their views.

Time passed quickly, and soon, they needed a moment to reflect on their thoughts.

Later that night, under the rising moon, Timothy sat alone on a wooden bench outside, lost in contemplation.

The evening breeze was cool, the silence around him only broken by the occasional rustling of leaves and cricket sounds

His uncle soon joined him, standing quietly for a moment before speaking.

"Are you leaving so soon?" he asked.

Timothy chuckled.

His uncle always had a way of reading his intentions.

"Let me grab my shirt and walk you out," his uncle added before heading inside to retrieve it.

Timothy blinked in surprise.

Now, this was just outright chasing him away.

"I’m not in a hurry, Uncle," he protested.

"You should be," his uncle responded.

"And you can’t stay here." With that, he walked ahead.

Timothy sighed.

He wanted to say goodbye to his sister properly, but before he could, his uncle interrupted.

"Don’t make me walk alone!"

Left with no choice, Timothy stood up and followed.

They walked in silence, the house soon disappearing behind them.

Out of nowhere, his uncle pulled a cigar from his pocket and placed it between his lips.

"Light this for me, will you?" he asked.

Timothy’s eyes widened as he shook his head.

"I don’t have a match." frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

"Oh? I thought you hunters could use fire," his uncle scoffed, chewing the cigar instead.

Timothy raised an eyebrow.

"I didn’t know you smoked."

"I don’t," his uncle replied.

"Then the cigar?"

"Just wiping my mouth. It suddenly felt wet."

Timothy chuckled.

His uncle still treated him like a child.

"Smokers are liable to die young," Timothy remarked casually.

"Yeah, well, everything dies in the end," his uncle responded.

The tone of his words caught Timothy off guard.

It felt like there was something deeper behind them, something left unsaid.

"Tim, everything fades," his uncle continued.

"My father did. My brother did. My sister... your mother did."

"She’s not dead," Timothy interrupted sharply.

"Yet," his uncle said solemnly.

"The sooner you accept that everything in life is temporary, the sooner you’ll understand that nothing lasts forever, not joy, not pain, not despair, not even victory. Love, hope, even this moment... all of it will pass, and eventually, it will just be a memory."

Timothy clenched his fists.

"So... you don’t love your wife and kids?"

"Conditionally."

"I thought you were a pastor," Timothy said, his voice heavy with disbelief.

"Before I became a pastor, I was just a man in a church. Before I started saving souls, I was destroying them," his uncle admitted.

"I do love my wife on the condition that she remains who she is"

"How can you say that?"

"Because it’s the truth, Tim. No love is unconditional. As long as we’re human, true unconditional love is a myth. You need to start seeing life from a wider perspective. I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into that makes you talk about money so boldly, but there’s a difference between being rich and being wealthy. Standards define that.

"You have your siblings to take care of, but don’t forget yourself. You need to live your own life, too. Your mother did her part. I did mine, and I still am. Don’t rush. Do your part at your own pace."

Timothy exhaled slowly.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because something you said earlier reminded me of something from my past. I felt like you needed to hear it," his uncle replied, then abruptly stopped walking.

"Is that why you didn’t want me to sleep over?" Timothy asked.

"No," his uncle scoffed.

"You just have a bigger appetite than all of us combined."

Timothy couldn’t help but chuckle.

He had nothing else to say except a simple,

"Thank you."

His uncle stretched, sighing.

"I’m getting old. This is as far as I go. You’ll find a motorcycle down the road to take you home."

Without another word, his uncle turned back toward the house, leaving Timothy standing alone in the middle of the dimly lit street.

He shook his head, but thankfully, the road was a straight path.

It didn’t take long before he found a motorcycle for hire and made his way home.

By the time he arrived, it was nearly 10 p.m.

Exhausted from the journey, he barely checked his phone or anything else before collapsing onto his bed.

His conscience felt lighter, he had done what he needed to do.

Now, his focus would shift to living as a hunter, growing stronger, and chasing his dreams.

---

Meanwhile, in an isolated church somewhere deep within Port Harcourt, Nigeria, a congregation gathered in eerie unison.

Rows of people stood in reverence, their eyes fixed on a large, semi-transparent glass mural at the altar.

The image on the glass depicted a figure with a headband and a book in hand, exuding an almost supernatural aura.

The congregation’s hushed murmurs rose in intensity, their words unintelligible, yet filled with deep devotion.

At the heart of the ceremony, the altar remained empty until a towering, broad-shouldered man emerged seemingly from nowhere.

His dark skin gleamed under the dim candlelight, his muscular frame accentuated by the simple robe he wore.

A thick mustache adorned his face, but his jaw was clean-shaven.

His mere presence commanded silence.

Immediately, the congregation’s whispers turned to solemn chants, their voices merging into a rhythmic hum.

Then, one by one, they stepped forward.

Each worshiper ascended the altar, extending their hands as they received a ring.

And as they did, they spoke in a language unknown to the outside world.

Yet none of them put the ring on immediately.

Instead, they clutched it tightly in their palms, whispering hushed, unintelligible words, murmurs so low that, from a distance, they might have been mistaken for the humming of a beehive.

The ceremony continued in its eerie silence until something changed.

The man standing at the pulpit, leading the ritual, suddenly stiffened.

His expression twisted into something unreadable as his gaze fell on the small cotton cloth draped over the box he was holding.

There, resting alone, was a single remaining ring.

A hush fell over the gathering.

"Stop!" his voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

Every murmur ceased in an instant.

His eyes swept across the assembly.

"Who has yet to take their vows?"

No answer.

No movement.

His expression darkened.

"Is there someone among us who refuses to attend this ceremony?"

Silence.

And then, he noticed it, a gap in the front row.

The first line of devotees, those positioned closest to the pulpit, should have had seven standing figures.

The seven figures who were acknowledged as promising by the church

But there were only six.

His brow furrowed.

Had he overlooked this before? No, that was unlikely.

Everyone here was equal in his eyes.

No one should have gone unnoticed.

Lifting a hand, he pointed to the empty space.

"Who was supposed to stand here?"

Still, no one answered.

But it wasn’t ignorance, it was fear.

The gathered followers knew exactly who should have been there, yet none dared to be the one to speak it aloud.

Finally, a woman from the front row took a bold step forward.

"Yusuf Dilal, my lord. He has not returned since the First Blood mission assigned to us."

For a moment, the name rang familiar.

Then, realization struck.

"Dilal... Dilal," he muttered, once in recollection, once in recognition.

His eyes narrowed.

"I see. It is unlike him to fail. A kin has fallen... and of royal blood, no less."

Though his voice remained calm, the air around him shifted.

A quiet, simmering rage rippled through his aura, pressing down on those in attendance.

He turned to the woman who had spoken.

"Fadila Dhahab, you and the remaining five royals will investigate and deal with this matter as you see fit.

Consider this an opportunity to sharpen your fangs."

"Yes, my lord," Fadila answered firmly, stepping back into line.

With that, his focus returned to the ceremony.

"Now, let the 65th generation of the Nightborns witness the moonlight."

As if on command, every individual holding a ring slipped it onto their finger.

The moment they did, the semi-transparent glass at the front of the chamber shifted.

It became entirely clear, yet the faint outline of the image engraved upon it remained.

Behind the glass, the full moon loomed, partially obscured by the structure.

The light bent in a way that altered the image.

No longer was it a mere depiction of a holy figure.

Instead, the shadows merged, forming the grotesque silhouette of a monstrous beast, furred, fanged, clawed.

And in unison, as if awakened by the sight, every person standing before it opened their eyes.

Each and every one of them now glowed red.

---