The crimson glow in the moonlight deepened.
At first, the feathers of those standing beneath it merely appeared tinted red. But gradually, the change was no longer superficial.
The color was not reflecting.
It was transforming.
Their feathers began to shift in hue from within, threads of dark crimson spreading along their barbs. Even their bodies seemed subtly distorted under the influence of the red light.
Muscles swelled unnaturally, bulging beneath thinning layers of down. Feathers that once lay smooth and dense now appeared sparse against expanding flesh.
Their eyes, once bright scarlet, darkened into a deeper shade. The change was slight, yet unmistakable.
But the greatest alteration was not physical.
It was spiritual.
"Why does Agu lead?"
"Why is Spiritfeather admired by so many?"
"They hold positions that produce visible results."
"And we measure the stars, work no one values."
These thoughts were not new.
They had existed faintly before, buried beneath discipline and routine. Subtle feelings of being overlooked. Quiet resentment at standing at the edge of recognition.
Under the red moon, those fragile emotions erupted.
They rose like towering trees in an instant, twisting and multiplying into darker thoughts.
"If they were gone, everything would belong to us."
"Status."
"Beauty."
"And the glory of God."
As they stared at the crimson disk overhead, their beaks parted slightly. Long tongues flickered against the air.
Fragments of distorted understanding formed in their minds.
God's glory was immeasurable.
Even Agu, the first of their kind, could not bear its full weight.
The sun carried divine radiance, but its power was softened when reflected by the moon.
The redness of the moon was divine overflow.
If they mastered that redness, they would become its chosen messengers.
They would hold higher authority.
Driven by this fevered logic, they dropped the clay tablets used to record star patterns and launched themselves toward the valley.
They would confront Agu.
They would seize power.
They would claim Bluefeather, the most desired among them.
Before reaching the valley center, they encountered others.
"Moonflare, what is wrong with you?"
The voice was cautious.
The valley had rules. Flying recklessly within its bounds violated the Ceremony.
Moonflare.
That was his name.
But when he heard it spoken, fury ignited within him.
"How dare you address me so casually?"
He hovered midair, wings beating violently. Thin streams of blood trickled from where feathers had split under swelling muscle.
In his mind, he had already ascended beyond them.
He was no longer equal.
He was chosen.
Just as the feathered people treated divine matters with reverence, believing ordinary things could not bear sacred power, Moonflare now believed ordinary feathered people were unworthy of speaking his name.
Offended, he acted.
His mind still functioned, but poorly. Intelligence dulled beneath surging instinct.
He dove.
Most feathered people had little experience with combat among themselves. When facing beasts, their method was simple.
Fly.
Strike.
Pierce the skull.
Return with prey.
Now, though he intended only to intimidate, instinct overrode intention.
His claws aimed for the head.
The other feathered man barely had time to react. He raised his wing too late.
The claws tore through feathers, then flesh.
Blood sprayed.
An eye was ripped free, still hooked on the curve of Moonflare's talon.
The scream split the valley.
Moonflare froze.
He stared at the eye trembling against his claw.
"What have I done?"
For a brief second, clarity returned.
Then the red light intensified.
A violent surge rose within him, drowning doubt.
He knew it was wrong.
He could not stop.
The wounded feathered man turned and fled, shouting that Moonflare had gone mad.
Moonflare pursued.
Two others, equally affected by the crimson influence, joined him. They moved with brutal intent, seeking to silence the witness.
Then a white figure cut through the red night.
Agu.
Even beneath the blood moon, his feathers seemed to carry their own pale radiance.
He arrived in an instant.
His wings spread wide. Tail feathers flared behind him like a mantle.
Compared to him, Moonflare's swollen form looked distorted and crude.
"Agu!" Moonflare roared, red veins pulsing beneath his skin.
He lunged.
Agu's claw struck first.
It pressed down on Moonflare's head, forcing him violently to the ground. The earth cracked beneath the impact.
The two others attacked from either side.
Agu's wings swept outward.
Both were struck midair and slammed into the ground.
By then, the rest of the feathered people had arrived. Together, they restrained the three attackers.
Gradually, the red glow of the moon began to fade.
Moonflare and the others weakened abruptly, their strength draining as if pulled away. Within moments, they collapsed unconscious.
Yet the crimson tint in their feathers remained.
Agu stood over them, his expression cold.
He had believed that even in conflict, the Ceremony would restrain them.
He had not imagined that within a single month, the law would be trampled so easily.
This displeased him deeply.
Not only because of violence.
But because it revealed weakness in the foundation.
On the edge of the gathering, Spiritfeather watched.
He had rushed over at the first scream.
What he saw unsettled him.
Agu's speed.
Agu's force.
The effortless suppression.
Even under the red moon, when others had grown stronger, Agu had remained dominant.
Spiritfeather felt something tighten within him.
Ambition did not disappear.
But for the first time, he felt distance.
The gap between them was still vast.
And that realization darkened his mood.