He lingered a moment longer beneath the Rudy column. The etched name glowed faintly in the low light, the edge of the statue's blade catching a final streak of sunlight as it disappeared behind the ridgeline. With it went the tension in Tarn's shoulders. He let the silence settle.
Kenosha Shibuya would already be stirring for the Banquet of the Twin Moons. The festival came once a year—when Kaelith and Voryn crossed paths in the sky above, silver and amber layered together in a way that washed the capital in strange, protective light. It was said the moons drove back things that had no names. That no beast of the dark could stand in the radiance of the crossing.
Whether that was true, Tarn didn't know.
But it made the people feel safer. That alone was worth something.
