Ningyan ran out of the manor and stopped dead.
The visible crescent moon had turned blood-red. It loomed above Sunland, vast and swollen, staining the snow and rooftops with a sickly crimson glow.
His chest tightened. "The moon…"
Wuhen was already beside him, Xuanli and several guards spilling out behind them, weapons half-drawn as the air itself seemed to thicken.
"Have the guards protect as many clan members as they can," Wuhen's voice cut through the tension, calm and commanding. "Bring them to the manor. If necessary, move them into the woods."
Xuanli immediately clasped his hands together and bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Highness."
The guards followed suit, bowing to Wuhen before turning and rushing off in coordinated motion.
Wuhen lifted his gaze to the sky.
The wind grew sharper, colder, carrying with it a suffocating wave of dark spiritual pressure that pressed down on the land.
Ningyan looked at him. "What do you think is out there?"
Wuhen turned at once.
