The moon, round and pale, cut through the black sky where not a single star dared to shine. Its silvery light, cold and penetrating, bathed the landscape, lengthening the shadows of the trees.
A harsh breeze, laden with the damp moss of the night, crept through the weeds, making the stems rustle. The wild grass twisted in the wind, shaking in spasms, as if something invisible were stepping on it as it passed.
And in the thick air, the symphony of the night sounded sharper, more urgent than usual. Crickets scraped their legs frantically, owls hooted from the highest branches, and something—perhaps a wild boar or a smaller animal—scratched feverishly among the bushes.
The deafening roar of the waterfall drowned out even the beating of his own heart.
Kael advanced like a bolt of lightning, his coin-studded sword vibrating with a crimson aura. His eyes, cold as steel under the moon, did not blink for an instant as the distance between them closed.
