---
The twin moons rose—mirrored and red—above the broken spires of Narethil. When they aligned, time itself seemed to falter.
And the Lunavynx changed.
It arched its silver-spined back atop the moon-tree, fur bristling as starlight poured into it, warping its form into something both celestial and monstrous. Wings of glass and void unfolded from its sides, and its many eyes—once feline—opened like constellations.
Kaelith watched with solemn reverence. "Ascend, little one."
The air cracked.
A ripple of impossible color swept across the city, and the Lunavynx moved—not walked, not flew, but shimmered between moments, a whisper between heartbeats.
Below, the Silverguard battalion—an elite force still loyal to the High Council—saw only flickers of moonfire before the slaughter began.
No blade touched the Lunavynx.
None ever would.
It slipped through steel, bent past wards, and sang a deathsong of no known tongue. Men and women screamed—not in pain, but in memory, as visions poured into them: their childhoods, regrets, lost loves, the faces of enemies forgiven too late.
And when they fell, there was peace in their eyes.
Kaelith descended to the courtyard long after the last breath faded. Bodies lay like broken prayers. The Lunavynx returned to his side, no blood on its claws—only stardust.
He knelt beside a fallen captain. Her hands still gripped her sword, even in death.
"You were brave," he whispered, brushing her eyelids shut. "But courage is no shield against destiny."
He raised his hand—and wove.
The memories of the Silverguard rose like threads of smoke, luminous and mournful. With precise care, Kaelith spun them into illusions: not of war, but of final moments—their families, their laughter, their dreams before Narethil turned to rot.
He sealed them into crystal shards and sent them on wind currents, drifting like petals through the city—toward the Six.
---
Elsewhere, Aelric paused mid-step as one landed in his palm.
The crystal pulsed faintly. Within, he saw a vision: a young Silverguard dancing with her sister in a summer courtyard, years before war.
Lyra caught one, too. She watched a child watch stars with his father. Watched that same child become a soldier.
Selene saw a face she knew. A friend she thought had escaped the purges.
Vaelorith crushed his without looking. "He's taunting us."
"No," Aelric said, closing his hand gently around the crystal. "He's reminding us we still bleed."
Korrak growled. "Or he's softening us for the kill."
Thorin stared into the sky, jaw set. "We bury them later. We end him now."
They moved forward, faster now.
But behind them, the path twisted subtly—as if the city itself mourned what they must do.
---
And high above, Kaelith watched it all from the moon-tree sanctum.
The Lunavynx curled around him, its breath cold and steady. Its Celestial form shimmered, beginning to fade.
Kaelith removed his mask—just for a moment—and gazed down at the city, eyes glowing with threads of future and flame.
"They call me cruel," he murmured. "But I only ever showed them the truth."
The mask hummed in his hand.
The storm approached.
---