All of Stormborn territory seemed to thrum with unspoken dread. Even the wind held its breath. On the eve of the feared Crimson Eclipse, the night sky glowed with a faint, otherworldly shimmer, as though the moon already bled its ominous light upon the realm.
Ronan stood on one of the fortress parapets, eyes fixed on the heavens. Beneath him, torch-bearing guards paced along the walls—vigilant, yet unsettled by the oppressive energy prickling their senses. He felt it in his blood, a thrumming pulse that reminded him all too well of the Blood Moon War’s final nights.
Footsteps on the stone alerted him to Layla’s approach. She joined him by the battlements, clasping her cloak against the chill. “It’s worse than before,” she whispered. “I can feel the eclipse’s pull… like the air itself wan
