The silence that followed was deafening. The Council remained on their knees, shaking off the residual "madness" Björn had stirred, while Yuki and the Paragons looked at one another with grim realization.
The prophecy was dark. The "Great Wolf" could only be the werewolves godlings, and the "Silver" was clearly their rivals to the north. But the "hook of cold light" and the "Red Harvest" suggested that this conflict wouldn't just be about territory. It was going to be a slaughter that would reshape the continent itself.
Across every corner of the continent claimed by the People of Björn, the sky bruised. A thick, oppressive red hue stained the clouds, and then the rain began to fall, not clear water, but a heavy, crimson liquid that carried the unmistakable, metallic tang of iron.
As the droplets struck skin, it didn't feel weird or stung, it felt like a baptism.
