Later that evening, the Archduke summons me again.
When I enter his room, the familiar warmth greets me. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting a golden glow across the room, and the scent of aged whiskey lingers in the air. Outside, the moon hangs impossibly large in the sky, shining brighter than before, its silvery light spilling through the window like liquid starlight. If this were Earth, it would be called a supermoon—nearly five times the size of a regular moon.
And it's only going to get bigger. In two weeks, when the moon reaches its peak, the Silver Moonlight Festival will begin.
The Archduke sits in his usual chair by the fireplace, a cigar in one hand. He takes a slow drag, exhaling a plume of white smoke that swirls lazily upward.
"So, your group will be leaving tomorrow, correct?" he asks.
