The Reaping.

The markets of Delia's capital, Drak's Hollow( formerly windstown during the Delian era.), were louder than usual. Merchants bickered over prices, beggars wove through the crowds, and street performers played lively tunes. But beneath the usual noise, there was a different kind of energy—one thick with fear and curiosity.

"Did you hear? The High Council met in secret last night!"

"Aye, and House Drakmoor saw a vision—the fall of Kinkland!"

"Bah! A bunch of smoke and mirrors, I say. Wizards and their tricks. This prophecy nonsense is just a story to keep the Delians hopeful."

"Then why are they arresting boys?"

The crowd hushed for a moment as a group of armored men marched through the square, their black cloaks fluttering. The emblem of House Nyxthorn—a silver dagger dripping with poison—was stitched onto their chests. They moved methodically, stopping at certain homes, dragging out bewildered young men while mothers screamed and fathers begged.

One unfortunate baker's son, Tomas, was just trying to carry a fresh tray of bread when a soldier grabbed him by the collar.

"Oi! What's this about?" Tomas protested.

"You were born on the last blood moon," the soldier growled.

Tomas blinked. "Was I?" He turned to his mother, who was swatting a soldier with a wooden spoon. "Mum! Was I born on a blood moon?"

"How should I know? I was a bit busy giving birth to you!" she snapped.

"Sounds like something a prophecy mother would say," the soldier muttered, tightening his grip.

"Wait, wait, WAIT! I'm just a baker!" Tomas yelped as they hauled him away. "The only thing I've ever rebelled against is overcooked crust!"

Another young man, Jorrik the Butcher's Son, was halfway through wooing a nobleman's daughter when soldiers grabbed him.

"You're under arrest," one of them barked.

Jorrik blinked. "For what? Being devastatingly handsome?"

"For being born under the blood moon."

"That doesn't even make sense!" he protested. "Do I look like a revolutionary? I'm afraid of chickens!"

The soldiers didn't care. They rounded up more young men, some fighting, some confused, some trying to flirt their way out of it.

---

Meanwhile, in Delia

The news had spread like wildfire. In Delia's villages, people huddled in taverns and whispering circles.

"The Kinks are taking our sons," an elderly woman muttered. "Every boy born on the blood moon. The prophecy must be true!"

"Or they're just scared," a grizzled fisherman grumbled. "The Kinks wouldn't waste time chasing myths unless they thought it was real."

A young girl leaned forward. "My grandmother told me the blood moon child would rise with the strength of ten men!"

"Rubbish," an old man scoffed. "I heard he'd be able to tame fire and turn steel to dust!"

"No, no, he's supposed to be the reincarnation of Delia's last king!"

A drunk at the corner slurred, "I heard he's got two heads!"

Silence. Then someone smacked the drunk on the head.

Regardless of the details, the truth was clear—the prophecy was no longer a forgotten myth. It was alive. And if the Kinks feared it, perhaps it was time for the Delians to believe in it again.

---

The Hunt Reaches Leo

Leo had kept to himself since the arena spectacle, but the chaos around him was impossible to ignore. When he heard that Lord Nyxthorn's men were taking young men, he knew it was only a matter of time before they came for him.

Sitting in the darkened corner of a small tavern, he listened as a few frightened villagers discussed the situation.

"Everyone born on the blood moon is being taken to the capital," a woman whispered.

"And then what?"

No one had an answer.

Leo clenched his fists. If the Kinks were hunting men like him, then they were afraid. And if they were afraid…

It meant he was dangerous.

He took a deep breath, staring into the flickering candlelight.

The time for hiding was almost over.