Silence enveloped the summit of a giant mountain under the shining Blood Full Moon.
It was flat as a table, as if some celestial blade had sheared it clean in a single stroke and left the summit forever scarred. No snow clung to its surface even though it was very high. And no wind dared to disturb the stillness that hung over the place like a held breath.
Instead, the ground was covered in blood.
Shallow—barely an inch deep, but it stretched across the entire summit perfectly.
Like a dark mirror that reflected the terrible reddish sky above.
And though the blood had been there for countless years, had been there long enough that the coppery scent had seeped into the very stone beneath and thickened the air until it became a physical presence— it was still fresh based on its bright color.
Just breathing in this place would make someone taste iron and salt and the ghosts of the slaughtered.
