A moth with wings lit like auroras flits at the edge of Dialla’s vision. No one else sees it fluttering down the street trailing specs of light; a wake of tiny comets.  As it hovers in the middle of the street a guard walks right through it, completely oblivious. The guard captain at her side is speaking to her, relaying her report but Dialla stops paying attention when a second omen-moth joins the first. 

They dance, one fluttering around the other. They merge, ephermeral glow coalescing into one light before splitting again, one star breaking into two. 

One omen-moth that acts as the Lady’s Guidance Dialla can ignore, but two is a harder sight to put from her mind. Especially when in the moments she stands there letting her tired thoughts wander, a third moth joins them. 

A priestess of the Lady of Graves, the Mother of Fate, She Who Claims All, whatever a sect calls her, cannot ignore three omens beginning to float down the street away from her. They move slowly, never in a hurry, but Dialla fears losing sight of them none the less. She turns to the woman beside her. 

Valindra, one of several Briar Guard Captains, looks down upon her with her brow knit in frustration. Her ornate armor with it’s iron briars spreading across her breastplate and curling around her gauntlets does not harm Dialla when she places an apologetic hand upon the smooth metal. 

“You weren’t paying an ounce of attention were you?” 

Once Dialla dreamt of softening that stern tone, of hearing it slip from discipline into desire and companionship but like her armor, Valindra is steadfast and unyielding. Her expression is as tight as the braid her brunette hair is woven into, revealing slender pointed ears. All Dialla can do is offer a sheepish smile. 

“My apologies Captain Valindra,” she lets her hand fall. “The North Gate needs my presence momentarily, then I can see to the blessings of your units.” The priestess cannot know for certain it is the North Gate of Elhyrst that the moths flock towards, but she considers it a good guess. The main through way they stand upon leads straight from the North Gate into the heart of the city. 

“The North Gate?” Valindra’s look is one of doubt. “Then I shall accompany you. It should be closing just prior to dusk.” Night is already beginning to descend. The glow of the sun setting over the ocean sends forth only the barest streams of gold across the city. 

“So any moment now,” Dialla murmurs. Unseeing of the confused expression that furrows Valindra’s brow, Dialla turns and moves down the road. Night is rising. The Lady’s guides are no longer waiting for her, but rising and falling on an invisible wind as they fly down the empty street.

Empty. 

The street shouldn’t be empty at all. This close to sunset the people who live just beyond Elhyrt’s massive walls should be flooding in through the North Gate, setting up temporary camps where they can and filling the inns and stables. It shouldn’t be so quiet. 

“We need to hurry.”