The season's end announced itself on a cool, clear evening when a scout returned at a dead run, breathless and pale.
"The sky," she gasped, barely able to form the words. "Come see. Now."
The village gathered in the open square, faces tilted upward, and Kael felt his chest tighten at what greeted them.
The moon hung low on the horizon, its usual pale silver bleeding slowly, unmistakably, into a deep, dull red.
For now, the glow was rather faint, barely more than a tinge, but growing more pronounced with every passing minute.
"It's beginning," Doran said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of old, half-believed rumors finally proven true. "Not fully. Not yet. But it's beginning."
Kael felt Night-Fang flare hot against his hip, sudden and sharp, the dagger's presence surging with an eagerness he hadn't felt from it since the massacre.
"How long," he asked, "until it turns completely?"
