Hades
The weight on my chest refused to recede, the ringing in my ears amplifying with every second that passed.
The Bloodmoon was less than two months away.
Two months.
Though in my head I had long begun to calculate the supplies and contingencies, the scale of what lay before me now demanded sharper precision. Food caches, rationing schedules, and water reserves—all of it would be useless without ensuring transport, storage security, and the ability to outlast a siege when and how Silverpine turned their hunger outward.
Weapons. I saw their silhouettes behind my closed eyes—blades, firearms, silver stockpiles, and the reserves of wolfsbane gas that still lay dormant beneath Obsidian Tower. Not enough. Never enough. We'd need to forge more, refine more, and test what could hold against a body maddened by lunar corruption. Every man and woman who could bear arms would need to be outfitted, trained, and drilled until obedience became instinct.
