Year 15,000 BCE – Cycle 6
The skies over Westfield split with jagged silver fire, and the city's walls groaned under the assault of a winter storm. Snow and ash swirled together, whipped from the northern plains by a wind that carried the scent of blood and the echo of distant war drums. Above the storm clouds, two moons watched — one pale as polished bone, the other burning crimson as if the heavens themselves bled in warning.
The capital's gates were shut, its streets emptied under the curfew bell, but in the highest tower of the West Keep, the night was far from silent.
Aleric West stood at the balcony, foxfire flickering faintly at his fingertips as he watched the horizon. Beyond the storm, three points of crimson light pulsed — beacon flares from the clan watchtowers. The code was unmistakable: enemy movement. He didn't need the messenger pounding up the stairs to confirm it.
Inside the keep, the air was thick with incense and the hushed, urgent voices of healers. Selene lay on the birthing bed, her silver hair damp with sweat, her breathing slow but unbroken. The Moon Priestess who tended her murmured in the old tongue, a prayer not just for life, but for protection — though whether it was from death or from what came after, none could say.
Selene's eyes opened briefly as another contraction racked her body. She locked her gaze on Aleric as he entered.
"They will know," she whispered, voice rough but steady. "The moment they see them… they will know what we have done."
Aleric didn't flinch. He had known the risk from the moment their fates intertwined. "Then let them come," he said, his tone like drawn steel.
The cry of the first child split the air, sharp and clear even over the roar of the storm. A moment later, the second followed — two voices, neither weaker than the other, ringing into a night that would be remembered for millennia.
Far beyond Westfield's walls, war horns answered. Above them, the silver moon slid behind clouds while the crimson one blazed brighter, staining the snow like fresh blood. Somewhere deep in the storm, the prophecy's first line seemed to stir: When the twin moons weep, their blood shall drown the clans.
The storm did not end when the twins were born. If anything, it deepened — as though the sky itself had taken offense.
The Moon Priestess swaddled the infants in silver-threaded cloth, her hands trembling as she examined them. Their eyes, barely open, carried an unnatural clarity; one child's irises mirrored Aleric's molten gold, the other's shone pale silver like Selene's under moonlight. But both carried something else — something ancient — that made the priestess avert her gaze.
"Lord West…" Her voice wavered. "They are… touched."
Aleric dismissed her with a flicker of foxfire. "They are mine. That is all that matters."
But below, in the council hall, that declaration meant little. A hastily assembled meeting of clan envoys argued under the dim glow of rune-lamps.
"They will divide the races!" growled Tharos Bloodfang, the wolf's amber eyes glinting like a predator's. "You have spat in the face of bloodline purity. A fox and wolf? And there are whispers—" he slammed a clawed hand on the table "—of something older in their veins!"
Vaelrik Stormtalon leaned forward, wings twitching with unease. "If the rumors are true, it is not just a matter of purity. It is prophecy. You know the verses as well as I — two born under a storm's eye, whose blood will call to the lost age. Do you think the other clans will stand idle?"
"They will have to," Aleric's voice cut from the doorway. His presence froze the room, foxfire lighting the edges of his silhouette. "No one touches my bloodline."
Outside, horns blared again — this time from the east. Scouts burst through the doors with news: multiple warbands were on the move.
Selene, resting in the upper chamber, felt the vibrations of those horns through the stone floor. She held both children close and whispered their secret names — Henry and Harry — knowing that before the sun rose, the world would already be plotting their deaths. Overhead, the red moon refused to fade.