Askol, Neil and Erin

The night of the double moon. The crimson and silver moons hang over the great arena of Eirenholm, and in their light, the stone of the stands glimmers with blood and pearls. The stands are empty — still empty. The gates on the Eastern side are locked, and no one knows when they will open: the females come out when they deem it necessary. Not before.

For now, the arena is a vast sea of males. Tens of thousands: pairs, trios, quartets, quintets of brotherhoods — horns, tails, folded wings, smoke from pipes and cigarettes rises above the arena in a solid veil. It smells of ozone, sandalwood, frost, and nerves. The word "nervous" is not spoken here — but everyone feels it. They shift from paw to paw, adjust their decorations, check their sharpness for the hundredth time. Harpies at the edge of the arena are huddled together in threes, fluffing their feathers. A young couple nearby has pressed close together as if already afraid to lose someone.

Even Drax and Mal — ash twins, eternal chatterboxes — are silent. They stand at the lower row and endlessly roll their hoods from shoulder to shoulder. Orven stands behind the trio like a mountain, and the plume of smoke from his pipe rises more evenly than anyone else's.

Askol stands first, spreading his dark red wings to their full width — slowly, to the last joint. His tail sways lazily. But the ring on his finger has been spinning for about ten minutes.

Nervous, elder? Nail ruffles his lavender hair, and the lightning in his pupils flickers more often than he would like.

Me? No. It's the ring that's nervous. Without it.

How long have we been waiting?

All night if necessary. Patience is also part of the spectacle Askol smiles with the corner of his mouth, but the smile comes out strained.

Erin is silent. Only his knuckles — crack. Crack. And his tail, straight for its entire four-century life, stands on end. Nail glances sideways at the younger one and suddenly delivers the only non-mocking remark of the evening:

They will come out, Erin. They just need time to get ready. It's not our place to compete with them in that.

Erin snorts — almost laughter. Almost.

And suddenly — a rumble rolls over the arena. All heads turn to the Eastern gates. Locked. Silent. Behind them — silence. No footsteps, no voices.