A spectral moon hung low over Fenwood, its pale light filtering through drifting clouds to dance across the cobblestones. Lanterns glowed like fireflies in the dusk, but their warmth did little to dispel the chill of unease that gripped the town. Whispers had begun from the taverns to the guard towers—talk of blood-red moons, omens, and dark prophecies.
Roland Farter emerged from the keep's barracks, breathing in the cold night air. His cloak was drawn tight, and his boots made soft echoes on the deserted courtyard. The day's training drills felt distant now, replaced by a hungry tension that pulsed through every soldier and civilian alike.
He paused beneath the archway leading to the market square. There, a knot of townsfolk huddled around a hastily erected platform. Atop it stood a slender figure draped in white robes, his head shaved clean—Brother Aldric, Fenwood's wandering seer. Lantern light revealed the seer's deep-set eyes, luminous as half-opened moonstones. In his hand he held a brass censer, its smoke curling into the night.
Roland pushed through the curious onlookers until he stood at the edge of the crowd. Aldric's voice rang clear, humming like wind chimes:
> "Hear me, children of Ardenia!"
"When the full moon bleeds red upon the realm's crest,
The hearts of men shall tremble in unrest.
Collateral blood will stain the fertile fields,
And only unity its healing hand can yield…"
A gasp rose from the crowd as the seer's words took root in their fears. Roland's pulse lifted. He recognized the rhyme—it was the prophecy from the lost manuscript's ending, the very lines he had read in Master Cedric's hidden notebook. He'd sworn never to act on such spoilers… yet here they were, playing out in reality.
Behind him, a merchant clutching coin pouches turned pale. A pair of recruits exchanged anxious glances. Roland felt the shift in the air: panic, curiosity, dread. The seer continued:
> "When shadows lengthen and darkest powers rise,
The hidden heir must claim the dawn's surprise.
If blade or blood do not end the tyrant's reign,
All shall fall to sorrow's unending pain."
The final line cut through Roland's thoughts like steel. The hidden heir… the accursed blade… He stifled a groan. The world was entering the eclipse chapter he'd once written—and he was supposed to sit idle?
Aldric raised his arms, incense smoke spiraling around him. "Beware the crimson glow, for doom walks beneath it. Pray you have the courage to stand against the coming storm!"
With that, he stepped down, disappearing into the night as quickly as he'd arrived. The crowd dispersed in murmurs—some seeking comfort in ale-soaked taverns, others rushing back to the keep's safety. Roland lingered, mind racing.
He spotted Talia and Lira weaving through the retreating townsfolk. He beckoned them over. Under a lamplit arch, the three exchanged urgent whispers.
"It's the prophecy," Roland said quietly. "The one in the notebook."
Lira's eyes widened. "You read it?"
He nodded. "Lord Everyne's Observations…" He hesitated. "We can't ignore this."
Talia frowned. "But we agreed: no spoilers. We follow the story, not try to rewrite it."
Roland pressed his lips together. "If we don't act, civilians die. The corridor's trap chapter is real."
Lira lifted a hand to hush them. "Keep your voice low." She looked around—empty streets, silent windows. "We need Master Cedric's counsel."
They slipped through side alleys toward the scribe's tower. Every shadow here felt alive, every stone a silent witness. Roland's mind replayed the prophecy's lines and the implications: a red moon… collateral blood… only unity could heal. It was a call to arms—an omen that the Dark Lord's forces would strike soon, and Fenwood must prepare.
In the scribe's chamber, Master Cedric waited by a stack of candles, eyes reflecting their glow. He did not greet them—his expression carried the weight of the world. When they entered, he gestured to a table strewn with ancient maps, scrolls, and a single crimson-inked drawing of a blood-moon rising.
"You have listened?" he asked.
Roland nodded, laying out the manuscript's notebook beside the drawing. Cedric traced the lines with a shaking finger. "So the prophecy was never rumor. It is written here—yet I did not write it."
Talia exhaled. "What's to be done?"
Cedric's gaze shifted to Roland. "You know the prophecy's end—not the method. Fate demands the heir and the blade. But the text is vague. We must prepare Fenwood for what is coming."
He unrolled a map of Ardenia, pointing to Fenwood's location. "Within two nights, the moon will redden. Enemy scouts will scout the pass. They will test our defenses. We must fortify walls, train militia, and warn villagers to take shelter. Unity is our greatest weapon."
Roland leaned forward. "And the hidden heir? The blade?"
Cedric sighed. "That remains a question. Some say the hidden heir is Sir Alaric's kin lost in the north. Others claim an unknown bloodline among commoners. The blade… legend says it lies in the Shrine of Souls, beyond the Iron Pass—but the text is unclear which path."
Lira punched her palm. "We don't have time for quests for blades. We need to protect people now."
Cedric nodded. "Agreed. First: strengthen the realm's resolve. Gather the lords, rally the peasants. Next: seek the heir in secret—if found, he or she will inspire unity."
Roland's pulse quickened. "I'll ride to Glenmere, warn Marshal Ivor. Talia and Lira can organize the militia here."
Cedric placed a gnarled hand on Roland's shoulder. "Go safely—and remember, knowledge without action is folly."
They departed as midnight loomed, each carrying a shard of urgency. Outside, Fenwood's streets were empty but for the flicker of torches. A lone owl called from a nearby belfry. In the distance, the Iron Pass lay silent, waiting.
Roland climbed onto his horse, Talia and Lira mounting behind. He swallowed hard. "To Glenmere—tonight."
They rode beneath the looming walls and out into the border road, no music or cheers to accompany them—only the soft clop of hooves on stone and the cold promise of a red moon to come.