The evening air was alive with excitement as the Festival of the Black Moons was in full swing. The village of Borollai seemed to shimmer with joy, the sounds of laughter and music filling the cool breeze. Drakel and Mehrat alike roamed the festival grounds, their voices and movements blending together in a jubilant celebration. Tents and stalls lined the edges of the grounds, filled with trinkets, food, and colorful wonders that drew in crowds from all corners of the village.


    The Mehrat convoy, a group of rodent-like people with sharp eyes and nimble hands, had set up a vibrant array of tents and stalls. The edges of the grounds were decorated with silks in vivid hues of red, orange, and blue, and strange symbols from their distant homeland adorned the tents. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting flickering light across the silks and filling the festival with an exotic, mysterious ambiance.


    At the center of the grounds, huge bonfires crackled, their orange flames reaching high into the night sky. The warmth of the fires illuminated the gathering, and the smell of roasted meats and sweet pastries wafted through the air. It was intoxicating—an evening filled with merriment, with every sense overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells of the festival.


    Nearby, a small stage had been set up where Mehrat musicians played lively, exotic tunes on their reed flutes and stringed instruments. Master Berro and Bailon had joined the musicians with their own instruments, their music flowing through the grounds and setting a festive mood. A crowd of drakel and Mehrat danced wildly in front of the stage, their forms blending as they spun and swayed, their laughter rising above the music in a joyous chorus.


    On the edge of the festival grounds, Rowen stood by her small stall, watching the festivities with a mixture of longing and determination. Her stall, draped with a bright red cloth, seemed plain in comparison to the elaborate and vibrant displays of the Mehrat traders. But she had worked hard to set it up, and she was proud of what she had to offer.


    Carefully laid out in front of her were her handmade jewelry—delicate silver necklaces, polished rings, and intricately woven bracelets. Each piece had been crafted with care, her hands working late into the night to perfect them. She watched as the crowd moved by, her heart sinking slightly as few people paused to look at her work. The Mehrat stalls, filled with exotic fabrics, spices, and trinkets, seemed to draw the festival-goers with ease, while her jewelry sat mostly unnoticed.


    Rowen sighed, her frustration growing. She had hoped tonight would be her chance to stand out, to prove that she could create something valuable. She watched as people flocked to the brightly lit Mehrat stalls, their eyes wide with wonder, and felt a pang of disappointment. She knew her work was good—perhaps not as exotic, but still beautiful. Yet, it seemed to fade into the background amidst the excitement of the festival.


    Just as Rowen was beginning to feel disheartened, her black-scaled clutch siblings arrived. Haath, Taal, and Daani approached her stall, their faces flushed from the warmth of the bonfires and the excitement of the festival. Taal, clearly tipsy, stumbled slightly as he laughed, his arm around Haath''s shoulder. Daani had a gentle smile on her face as she waved at Rowen.


    “Rowen! Come on, you’ve got to join us!” Taal called out, his voice loud and cheerful. “The festival’s in full swing—dancing, drinks, everything! You can’t just stand here all night!”


    Rowen shook her head, smiling despite her disappointment. “I will, just… not yet. I want to sell at least half my stock before I join in. I promised myself I’d do that much.”


    Haath rolled his eyes, though he smiled. “Always so serious, Rowen. You know you deserve to enjoy yourself too, right?”


    Daani stepped forward, her eyes softening as she looked at the jewelry laid out on the table. “I think it’s all beautiful, Rowen. Here—” She picked up one of the delicate silver bracelets, slipping it onto her wrist. “I’ll take this one. How much?”


    Rowen blinked, her heart warming at Daani’s gesture. “You don’t have to, Daani—”


    “I want to,” Daani insisted, her smile kind. “Consider it my contribution to your success tonight.”


    Rowen hesitated, then nodded, her smile widening. She accepted the coins Daani offered and watched as her clutch siblings wished her luck before heading back into the festival. Their laughter echoed behind them, and Rowen felt a renewed sense of determination. She wasn’t ready to give up—not yet.


    As night settled in, the sky became a dazzling display of stars, the moonless darkness turning into a canvas filled with glittering light. Rowen paused, looking up at the sky, her breath catching at the beauty of it. The stars looked like diamonds scattered across black velvet, and for a moment, she felt a sense of peace. But it was fleeting, replaced by the growing weight of disappointment as she looked back at her stall.


    The evening had not gone as she had hoped. She had only sold a single ring to an elderly Mehrat woman who had kindly admired her work, and Daani’s bracelet. The rest of her jewelry remained unsold, and as the festival continued around her, Rowen knew it was time to pack up. She had dreamed of success tonight—of proving herself, of showing everyone that she could create something of value. But the reality had fallen short of her expectations.


    With a sigh, Rowen began to pack up her stall. She folded the red cloth carefully, wrapping each piece of jewelry and storing it away. She tried not to let the disappointment overwhelm her, but it was hard. She had wanted so much for tonight to be different.


    Once her stall was packed away, Rowen decided to explore the festival. She still had time to find her clutch siblings, to join in the celebration, even if her dreams of success had not come true.


    As Rowen wandered through the festival, her eyes caught sight of an exotic tent tucked away from the main grounds. It was adorned with shimmering white and silver fabrics, the lanterns outside casting a soft, inviting glow. Strange symbols were woven into the cloth, and there was something about the tent that drew Rowen in—something mysterious, something that whispered of secrets waiting to be uncovered.


    Outside the tent stood a white-furred Mehrat woman, her eyes sharp and knowing. She met Rowen’s gaze and smiled, gesturing for her to come closer.


    “Would you like to know what the future holds?” the woman asked, her voice smooth and inviting. “I am Illinca, and I read the runes of fate. Come, sit with me, and I shall tell you what lies ahead.”


    Rowen hesitated, her curiosity piqued. The disappointment of the evening still weighed on her, but there was something about Illinca’s words that pulled her in—a promise of something more, something beyond the mundane struggles of selling jewelry. She nodded, stepping forward and following Illinca into the tent.


    Inside the tent, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The air seemed to grow thick, heavy with a sense of mystery. The flickering lanterns cast strange, shifting shadows across the shimmering fabrics that lined the tent walls. The fabrics were adorned with intricate, swirling designs, and the symbols stitched into them seemed to pulse with a life of their own. Strange scents filled the air—incense, herbs, something sweet but with an underlying bitterness. Rowen felt as though she had stepped into another world, far removed from the laughter and noise of the festival outside.


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    Illinca led Rowen to a low table covered with a deep blue silk cloth. The cloth shimmered in the lantern light, as if it were woven from the night sky itself. In the center of the table lay the rune stones—small, polished, and engraved with symbols that seemed ancient, their meanings lost to time. Illinca moved with a quiet grace, her white fur catching the light and giving her an ethereal glow. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, met Rowen''s, and for a moment, Rowen felt as if Illinca could see straight into her soul.


    “Sit,” Illinca said softly, gesturing for Rowen to take her place across from her. Rowen did as she was told, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Illinca’s presence was almost hypnotic, her movements slow and deliberate, her voice low and calming.


    Illinca began by picking up the rune stones, her fingers moving deftly as she held them in her hands. She closed her eyes, murmuring something in a language Rowen did not recognize—soft, melodic words that seemed to hang in the air. Then, she opened her eyes and began to cast the runes, letting the stones fall onto the silk cloth. They landed with soft clicks, their symbols facing up, and Illinca studied them with an intense gaze.


    “At first glance, I see a path of light,” Illinca began, her voice smooth and melodic. “I see happiness, love, and fulfillment in your future. You will find joy in unexpected places, and your heart will be filled with warmth. There are those around you who care deeply for you, and their love will guide you through the challenges ahead.”


    Rowen listened, her heart lifting slightly at the fortune. It was what she wanted to hear—something simple, something comforting. Illinca’s voice was soothing, and Rowen allowed herself to relax, her shoulders loosening as she took in the fortune teller’s words.


    But then, Illinca’s hands stilled, her eyes widening slightly. The room seemed to darken, the lantern light flickering as if caught in a sudden breeze. Rowen felt a chill run down her spine, the sense of warmth and comfort vanishing in an instant. Illinca’s gaze grew distant, her eyes glazing over as if she were looking at something far away. Her voice, when she spoke again, was different—lower, almost a whisper, but filled with an eerie resonance.


    “I see scales kissed by fire,” Illinca said, her words coming slowly, as if pulled from her against her will. “Standing against a great darkness, a black lion whose shadow stretches across the world. It will not strike you first—it will come for those you love, seeking to devour their light and pull them into its endless hunger.”


    The temperature in the tent seemed to drop, and Rowen shivered, her eyes widening as she watched Illinca. The fortune teller’s face had gone pale, her eyes unseeing, her body rigid as if she were no longer in control of herself.


    “You will face the lion, but not in strength alone,” Illinca continued, her voice growing stronger, though still filled with that eerie resonance. “It is your heart, fierce and untamed, that will keep you standing when all else falls away. Ancient fire born anew in your will.”


    Rowen’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. The words filled her with a sense of dread, but also something else—something she couldn’t quite name. It was as if Illinca were speaking directly to her soul, revealing truths that she had always known but never wanted to face.


    “The lion will rise and with each roar, the world will grow darker. Whether you can stop its jaws from closing, none can say. But know this—your fate, and the fate of those you hold dear, are entwined with the beast. One must fall, and the world will never be the same.”


    The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. The lanterns flickered again, and for a moment, the entire tent seemed to shudder. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the trance ended. Illinca blinked, her eyes clearing, and she looked around in confusion. She seemed disoriented, her earlier confidence gone, and her gaze met Rowen’s with a hint of uncertainty.


    “I hope that was helpful,” Illinca said, her voice quiet. She seemed unsure of what had just happened, as if she couldn’t remember the words she had spoken. Rowen forced a smile, though her heart was still pounding, and she nodded.


    “Thank you,” Rowen said softly, standing and stepping away from the table. She felt a strange mixture of emotions—fear, confusion, a sense of inevitability. She thanked Illinca once more, her voice barely above a whisper, and then turned and left the tent.


    As Rowen stepped out into the festival once more, the noise and light of the celebration hit her all at once, a stark contrast to the strange, otherworldly atmosphere of the tent. But the sense of unease lingered, the words of the prophecy echoing in her mind. The black lion, the darkness, the danger to those she loved—it was all too real, and it left her shaken to her core.


    As she walked, Rowen couldn’t help but think of the fable Master Berro had shared with her—the tale of the red-scaled drakel and the Elder Power. Could this black lion be tied to that darkness? Could it be the same threat, rising again after so many years?


    The prophecy spoke of her fate, but also of those she loved. Rowen felt a growing sense of responsibility, a weight pressing down on her shoulders. The festival continued around her, the laughter and music blending together, but Rowen felt apart from it all. What awaited her, her siblings, her village? What was this darkness that threatened them?


    Rowen looked up at the sky once more, the stars still shining brightly, and took a deep breath. Whatever lay ahead, she knew she could not ignore it. The path before her was uncertain, but she would face it—no matter what it took.


    Feeling a need for comfort, Rowen decided to seek out Gallen. She found him near one of the bonfires, talking with some of the villagers. His green scales glinted in the firelight, and his warm smile made her heart feel lighter, if only for a moment.


    “Master Gallen,” she called softly, and he turned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.


    “Rowen, my dear,” Gallen said, stepping away from the group and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You look troubled. Come, sit with me.”


    Rowen sat down beside him on a low bench, the warmth of the fire chasing away some of the chill that had settled in her bones. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I went to see a fortune teller tonight. She… she gave me a prophecy. About a black lion and a great darkness. It spoke of danger, not just to me, but to those I love.”


    Gallen’s eyes softened, and he listened intently as Rowen recounted Illinca’s words. When she finished, there was a moment of silence between them, the crackling of the bonfire filling the space.


    “Rowen,” Gallen said gently, “prophecies can be… tricky things. They often speak in riddles, and it’s easy to let them weigh heavily on our hearts. I know you’re feeling scared, and I won’t dismiss your belief in a greater purpose. But I also want you to understand that the future is not set in stone. We make our own paths, one step at a time.”


    Rowen looked down, her heart sinking. She had hoped for something more—some confirmation that her fears were valid, that her sense of destiny was real. But Gallen’s words, though kind, were cautious. She could tell he didn’t truly believe the prophecy was anything more than a vague tale meant to stir her emotions.


    Gallen squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “You’re strong, Rowen. Whatever comes, you’ll face it, and you won’t be alone. But don’t let a few cryptic words overshadow the joy of tonight. You deserve to celebrate, to be happy.”


    Rowen forced a smile, nodding. “Thank you, Master. I appreciate it.”


    He smiled back, his eyes filled with warmth. “Always, my dear. Now go, find your siblings, and enjoy the festival. We’ll face whatever comes when the time is right.”


    Rowen stood, bidding Gallen goodnight. As she walked away, the sense of isolation deepened. Gallen’s words, meant to comfort, had instead made her feel more alone. He didn’t understand—no one did. The weight of the prophecy, the fear for those she loved, rested solely on her shoulders. She had to figure out what to do, how to protect her people, and she had to do it alone.


    The stars above still shone brightly, but the path before her felt darker than ever.