The Scent of the Fated

Midnight arrived, and with it, the peak of the Blood Moon Solstice. Outside the high arched casements of Gunnar’s private redoubt, the winter sky had turned into an ocean of deep violet, dominated by the colossal, blood-red disc of the eclipsed moon. The crimson lunar light spilled through the stone arches, painting the cedar floorboards, the thick wolfskin rugs, and the roaring embers of the great stone hearth in shades…