The moment Juston Morzeth moved, the air in the tavern changed. It wasn't loud or violent — just quiet, too quiet.
Every step he took pressed down on the room like gravity. Conversations broke mid-sentence, spoons froze over half-eaten stew, even the marrow-lamps seemed to dim as his shadow crossed them.
I didn't breathe. Neither did anyone else.
His coat dragged against the wood floor, that deep black fabric lined with faint gold trim. The light caught on it every time he passed through a beam from the lanterns, bending around him like it was afraid to touch him. His hair hung low, hiding most of his face — but that didn't matter. Those red eyes burned through the dark.
Isabella leaned closer, whispering, "Who is he—"
"Don't," I cut her off quietly, my eyes never leaving him. "Don't say a word."
She froze, the sound dying in her throat.
Juston stopped in the center of the tavern, where every pair of eyes could see him. The floor creaked beneath his boots. For a heartbeat, the whole room seemed to be waiting for a verdict.
Then, in that low, steady voice that could silence storms, he spoke.
"Everyone needs to get home. Now."
No one moved. He let the silence drag a little longer before he added,
"The Red Moon is coming."
The words hit like a tremor.
Someone dropped their mug — the crash echoed across the walls. A chair scraped back, followed by another, and then the noise began. Shuffling feet, startled gasps, panicked voices trying to find a reason not to believe what they'd just heard.
"The Red Moon?"
"Already? It's only been two months!"
"Gods above…"
Every breath in the room turned to smoke and prayer.
One hunter near the door pressed both hands together and began forming the old hand sign — two fingers curled across the palm, thumb pressed to the heart — murmuring something under his breath. Another joined him. Then another. Within seconds, half the tavern was whispering in panic, a low, disjointed chorus of fear and ritual.
Isabella's eyes darted around, her voice a trembling whisper. "Why are they—"
"Quiet," I said again.
The marrow-lamps flickered harder now, their golden light fading into pale gray as if even fire didn't want to burn under those words.
Juston didn't need to raise his voice. He just stood there, looking at all of them — at all of us — until the last whispers died down. His expression never changed.
"You have one hour," he said. "After that, the streets are closed. Anyone still outside will not be retrieved."
Then he turned and walked out.
No farewell. No blessing. Just that.
The moment the door shut behind him, the tension exploded.
Chairs slammed. Hunters shoved past one another, rushing for their weapons, for the door, for any sense of safety they could grab hold of. The tavern filled with the sound of scraping boots and rattling buckles.
Outside, the bells began to toll. Slow, heavy, each one shaking the marrow of the street.
I looked around — Rogan, Veil, Tamsin, even Yara — all moving fast. Fear painted across their faces, the kind that even seasoned hunters couldn't hide.
Tamsin caught my arm on her way out. "Dagian—get her home. You know what happens."
I nodded once. "I know."
She left without another word.
The room emptied in seconds until it was just me and Isabella standing in the middle of the wrecked tables. Her breathing was shallow, her fingers fidgeting against her sleeves.
"That man," she said finally. "He—he wasn't normal."
"No one who says those words ever is."
I looked at her, then at the door. The faint toll of the bells kept echoing outside, each ring slower, heavier.
"We have to go, I can't let you get caught up in the rush." I said, grabbing my coat.
"Why does everyone looks so—"
"This is the norm," I said, cutting her off as I pulled the hood up. "They live with death every day, and they're still terrified. That should tell you enough."
I took a step toward the door, but she didn't move.
"Come on," I said, turning back.
She blinked, startled by my tone, then hurried after me.
The air outside the tavern was thick — not just with fog, but with noise.
Boots, shouts, the constant toll of the Citadel bells pounding through the night like the heartbeat of a dying beast. Every street felt alive and wrong at once, trembling under the rush of bodies moving in every direction.
I grabbed Isabella's wrist and pulled her forward. She nearly tripped trying to keep up.
"Dagian—what's happening?"
"Home," I said, cutting her off. "We need to get home."
She stumbled again on a loose cobblestone, gasping as a group of hunters in dark coats sprinted past us. Their armor clattered, weapons strapped across their backs. They didn't even glance our way.
It was like that everywhere — hunters and civilians, running opposite directions but never colliding, as if fear itself was guiding them.
Marrow-lamps flickered, one by one, their golden glow fading to pale white. People leaned out of windows, shouting for family members to hurry inside. The air smelled like rain and ash.
Isabella tugged at my sleeve as we turned a corner. "Is it always like this when the moon changes?"
"Sometimes."
"Then why do they all look like they're—"
"Because it's been too long," I said, forcing my way through a crowd of shopkeepers locking their shutters. "Last time the moon bled, we lost an entire block of hunters. They remember."
Her voice faltered. "Lost…?"
"Don't ask."
A pair of bells clanged somewhere above, followed by the low hum of machinery — the Citadel activating the barriers around its walls. The sound vibrated through the air, low and steady, until the ground itself seemed to breathe.
The light from above flickered again.
Blue.
Yellow.
Gold.
Blue again.
Too fast, too chaotic.
The cycle wasn't supposed to shift this quickly. Normally, each color lasted hours — tonight, they flashed like lightning, painting the city in confusion.
Isabella looked up, eyes wide. "It's… beautiful."
I didn't look. "It's wrong."
We crossed the market square — empty now except for a few hunters scrawling symbols onto the cobblestones with chalk, forming the same hand sign over and over as they whispered.
The old prayers.
I hadn't heard them since the last Hunt.
Isabella slowed down, her head turning as if trying to take everything in — the flickering sky, the frantic people, the city twisting between light and shadow.
"Are they praying?" she asked.
"Trying to."
"To who?"
I almost laughed. "Whoever's still listening."
We passed a row of shuttered homes, the smell of burning incense thick enough to sting my nose. Every door had a sigil carved into it — circles, moons, lines running through names. Some were fresh, others faded from years of carving over the same wood.
"Is this… normal?" Isabella asked, her voice trembling.
"It's normal to be afraid," I said, scanning the rooftops. "The Red Moon makes beasts restless. The Pit stirs. They come crawling out like they've been waiting for it."
"And you… fight them?"
"That's what Hunters do."
Her steps faltered again, but I didn't stop. "Then why does it sound like even the Hunters are scared?"
I tightened my grip on her wrist. "Because we bleed."
We reached one of the narrower streets leading back toward the citadel's base — the one that cut through the old district where the houses leaned too close together and the fog never left. It was quieter here, but the silence wasn't comforting.
It felt heavy.
Like the air itself was holding its breath.
Above, the moons flickered faster. Blue light washed over the rooftops, followed by gold, then yellow — all in the span of seconds. The shadows twisted in every direction, shapes moving where nothing should move.
I felt the hairs on my neck rise.
We were close.
"Dagian…" Isabella whispered. "Something's wrong with the sky."
I finally looked up.
The moons were shaking. Not visibly, not like orbs in motion — but the light trembled, pulsing unevenly. The fog above Evervale rippled with each pulse, distorting the glow into streaks that danced across the streets.
I'd seen many Red Moons before. But this felt different. Like it wasn't just the sky that was changing — like something underneath the city was waking up with it.
"We're almost home," I said, keeping my eyes forward.
"But—"
"Don't look at it."
She obeyed without question.
The air grew colder the closer we got. Hunters were fewer here; most had already gathered near the Citadel gates. The ones that remained stood on rooftops, looking upward with weapons drawn, their silhouettes motionless against the chaotic light.
One of them noticed me and nodded. I returned it.
We both knew what came next.
The bells tolled again. This time only once — long and deep.
The signal.
The shift had begun.
**
By the time we reached the small road leading to my house, the fog was thicker than smoke. Isabella's hand was slick in mine from sweat, her breath quick. She kept glancing over her shoulder, flinching at every echo — distant doors slamming, dogs barking, glass breaking somewhere far away.
The smell of ozone filled the air, sharp and electric.
The light above changed again — now all three moons glowed at once, overlapping colors bleeding across the city like oil in water.
Blue, yellow, gold — shifting so fast it hurt to look at.
Then came the howls.
Faint at first, from somewhere far below Evervale. Long, drawn-out, too human to be beasts, too broken to be men.
The Pit was stirring.
I felt Isabella tense beside me. "What is that?"
"The reason everyone's afraid."
Another howl joined it, closer this time. Then another.
"Dagian…"
"Keep walking."
We turned down the final street leading toward my home, and I caught sight of the familiar lamplight in the window. For the first time all night, I exhaled.
**
Evervale had gone quiet. Not silent — quiet in the way the air feels before thunder hits. The streets were deserted now, doors sealed, marrow-lamps dimmed. The sound of distant bells rolled through the fog like something breathing beneath the city.
I pushed open the door, and the familiar warmth hit me — the scent of herbs, damp wood, and the faint crackle of the small fire still burning in the hearth.
Ma was standing near the window, a hand resting against the sill, staring out at the flickering moons. Her face was pale in the light, and even through the foggy glass I could see the sky twisting faster than it should.
She turned the moment she heard the door.
"There you are," she said, relief loosening her shoulders. "I was starting to worry."
"I told you, I'd be fine," I said, locking the door behind me.
Her gaze shifted past me to Isabella, who hovered quietly by the threshold, breath still uneven from running. Ma's expression softened. "You poor thing," she said, moving toward her. "You must be terrified."
Isabella shook her head, though she was clearly trembling. "I just… I didn't know what was happening. Everyone was running and—"
Ma gave her a reassuring smile and guided her to sit. "You don't have to explain. The Red Moon catches everyone the same way. No one's ever ready for it."
Her calm tone helped steady the air in the room — just a little.
I hung my coat on the rack and leaned against the doorframe, scanning the flickering shadows outside the window. The moons above were cycling too fast — blue, yellow, gold — flashing across the glass like lightning. It was disorienting, unnatural.
"How long do we have?" Marissa asked quietly.
"Not long," I said. "A few minutes, maybe less. The Eidolon himself gave the warning. Everyone's scrambling."
Her hand froze over the kettle. "An Eidolon?"
"Juston Morzeth."
That name hung heavy in the air. Even Isabella felt it — I saw her glance between us, confused by the shift in tone.
Ma's voice dropped lower. "If he's come down to Evervale himself…"
"Then it's not a normal moon," I finished for her.
The room fell silent except for the faint hiss of the fire.
Marissa finally turned from the window, forcing another smile. "Well, we've made it through plenty before. We'll make it through this one."
I wanted to believe that.
"Ma," I said, voice firm. "When it starts, lock the doors and don't open them for anyone. Not even me."
She frowned. "Dagian—"
"I mean it."
Isabella shifted in her seat, her voice quiet. "Why would anyone open them?"
"Because when the Red Moon rises," I said, "you start hearing voices. Ones that sound like people you know."
She froze, wide-eyed. "That's—"
"Not a story," Marissa said softly, pouring water into a cup. "It's how the moon tricks the living. Fear makes you listen."
The cup rattled slightly as she set it down, and I could tell her hands were shaking.
I turned to Isabella. "You stay here. No questions, no wandering, no matter what you hear outside. Got it?"
She nodded, trying to steady her breath.
Marissa smiled faintly at her again. "Don't worry. He always comes back."
I didn't respond to that. I was already checking the bindings around my wrists, making sure they were tight.
Outside, the wind was picking up — that strange low hum in it, the kind that carried the moaning of distant beasts.
I walked to the door. "Ma, if the moon shifts before I'm back, keep the lanterns low."
"I will."
She reached out, resting a hand on my arm. "And you be careful. Don't let the blood get too close."
"I know."
I could feel Isabella's gaze on my back as I reached for the latch.
"Dagian," she said softly, "you're still going out there?"
I glanced over my shoulder. "That's what hunters do."
"But it's dangerous."
I gave a small, humorless smirk. "That's why I'm still alive."
The words came out colder than I meant them to, but it was easier that way. Fear didn't help anyone — least of all her.
**
Cold air swept through the small home, snuffing out half the warmth in a single breath.
Then I stepped outside.
The world had shifted again. The fog rolled low, glowing faintly as the moons above flared in rapid succession — blue to yellow to gold, faster and faster, until it hurt to look at. The air hummed, the kind of vibration you could feel in your bones.
Somewhere far off, a howl rose — long, hollow, distant.
Another answered it.
And another.
The Red Moon hadn't even appeared yet, but the beasts could already feel it.
Tonight was going to be long.
The street outside was empty — not a single voice, not a single echo of life.
Only the fog.
It swirled low around my boots, the color shifting with the light bleeding from above. The world felt trapped between heartbeats — still, tense, and waiting for something that everyone knew was coming but couldn't stop.
I walked down the center of the road, the sound of my footsteps dull against the cobblestone. The air was heavy — every breath came with the faint taste of metal, like blood already hung in the sky.
The moons above were restless.
Three of them — Blue, Yellow, Gold — each shining through a thin veil of cloud, their lights spilling into one another until the colors bled and flickered. They weren't supposed to be out all at once. They weren't supposed to hum. But tonight they did both — trembling in place, their glow pulsing like veins under skin.
Evervale looked alive in their light, every shadow twitching as if something underneath the city stirred with the rhythm of the sky.
And beneath it all — the howls.
Low, distant at first. Then closer.
The kind that crawl beneath your ribs and settle there. The kind you can feel before you can hear.
I'd heard it before.
But never like this.
A door creaked open somewhere behind me — just a sliver — before I turned and heard Isabella's voice, muffled slightly.
"Dagian…"
I didn't look back. "Stay inside."
The door shut again.
I rolled my shoulders and stretched out my right hand. The air around it warped faintly — shadows curling around my fingers before gathering into a single thread of black smoke that stretched, twisting, condensing into shape.
The weight came next — familiar, cold, grounding.
Vireth.
The scythe's blackened shaft gleamed faintly under the shifting moons. The blade caught the colors — blue, gold, yellow — before bleeding them into red.
I twirled it once in my grip. The hum of its presence sang softly in my head, like it recognized the night and was already hungry for it.
A faint vibration followed — a whisper in my chest, one I hadn't felt in months. The air rippled.
Then the sky changed.
It started as a flicker — light stuttering across the rooftops.
Then, slowly, the moons began to move.
Blue overlapped yellow.
Yellow sank into gold.
All three trembled, edges glowing white-hot where their light collided.
Every window in Evervale flared with color. Every alley, every rooftop, every blade of grass glowed beneath that violent shift. The city breathed with it — one, two, three — until the air itself screamed.
I could feel the pressure building in my chest, a weight pressing down like the world was collapsing inward. The cobblestones rattled beneath my boots.
And then, for one brief moment — everything stopped.
All three moons merged.
Blue. Yellow. Gold.
They became one blinding orb — a sun in the night sky — before vanishing completely.
The world went black.
A single heartbeat passed.
Then the light returned — crimson.
The Red Moon burst across the sky like a wound.
Its glow poured over Evervale in sheets, staining every surface, every drop of rain, every shadow. The fog turned to liquid scarlet, the rooftops dripped with the reflection of its light.
The sound came next — a wave of screams, howls, and shattering glass as the first creatures began to emerge. The Pit had awakened.
I stared up at the sky, that burning red sphere reflected in the steel of Vireth's blade.
My pulse slowed. The dread that had been building for hours dissolved into something sharper. Something calm.
The kind of calm that only comes before killing.
I let out a slow breath, and with it came a whisper of dark mist curling around my neck, spreading upward across my jaw. The black smoke solidified into smooth, bone-white fragments that locked together across the right side of my face.
My mask.
The Nivalen.
Cracked and imperfect — its fractured edge running from my cheek down to my jawline. The golden etchings glimmered faintly in the moonlight, veins of light tracing through the broken surface. Two short horns curved from the upper right, their tips stained a deep, unnatural red.
The wind picked up — sharp, carrying with it the first scent of blood. I could already see movement in the distance: shapes shifting through the red fog, crawling across the walls like shadows learning to walk.
I gripped Vireth tighter.
The blade hummed — that low, resonant tone that always meant one thing.
The Hunt had begun.
I tilted my head back, staring into that endless crimson sky.
The Red Moon hung above me, enormous and alive.
It pulsed once, sending another wave of energy through the air — a pulse that rippled across the rooftops and set every beast howling in unison.
The sound tore through Evervale like thunder.
My lips curved into a small, wicked smile beneath the mask.
"It's time to hunt."