Iowyn
The hour before dawn carried a particular silence—not absence of sound, but a waiting quality, as if reality itself paused between darkness and light. I stood at the eastern boundary of Bloodmoon territory, frost patterns tracing complex configurations around my hands as I studied the void-corruption that had manifested overnight.
Black tendrils stretched across the forest floor in an unmistakable pattern—a crescent moon laid on its back, like a smile mocking our defenses. Where the corruption touched, nothing lived. Not just plants withered and animals fled, but the very concept of life seemed absent, leaving behind a wrongness that disturbed even my ancient senses.
"The third such manifestation this week," I murmured to the pre-dawn stillness. "Each closer to the packhouse than
