The castle was in disarray.
The winds persisted as if in a rage. The air was soaked with the smell of wet earth when it had not began to rain yet.
There was mass hysteria to save the remaining harvests, to carry those wounded by shards, to pack up the broken glasses.
Strangely enough, the only shattered objects were glass.
The bewilderment in Relik's face showed that he had never seen anything like that before.
It was exciting and - until he saw a thin shard of glass impaled in a man's eye.
After ensuring his aunt was safe, he joined the workers knee-deep in the fields to move grains into carts bound for storage.
The winds howled relentlessly, the storm brewing closer from the east.
Their source of light came from their torches which floated above. Though, they shook as if against the cold.
Guards flanked the workers at four corners, watching for nightly creatures.
Relik was just a being interspersed with his kind in the large fields. They were trying to be as fast as they could.
Relik was slick with sweat as he worked, despite the biting cold. Mindlessly, the plucked grains were thrown into a huge pile.
After a while, he didn't have to look up to know that the storm was clearing. The grains became more visible.
In an ideal circumstance, the werewolves should possess excellent night vision. Blame the vampires.
The young prince was so into the work that he startled on realising that the grains were glowing with a soft light. Bewildered, he looked up at his torch.
"..." He looked beyond it.
Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Absolutely nothing.
He'd imagined his first reaction. Until now, only seen it in paintings, seen it in the memories of others.
Suddenly, the fields didn't need the lights of these hundred torches. Even a thousand couldn't compare.
It was as bright as he'd imagined, as gentle as jade, silvery like the stars.
It neither had the glare of the sunlight nor the extent of its shine, but it was just right.
This was the night sky's perfect completion.
The kind of luminescence one would never get tired of.
It was just perfect.
Relik staggered, knees weak.
In his features, wonder played with awe, awe played with wonder. Then, settled.
As the prince beheld the moon, that was the first time he knew true beauty.
"My Prince."
He recognised his personal aide without moving a muscle. "Your people await you," Shedrik said shakily.
Relik tore his eyes away from the magnificence to meet the awestruck, teary gazes of men.
The snapping of bones instantly filled the moonlit air. Muscles contorted, limbs transformed.
In its wake, stood werewolves in their true forms. Strength, agility, power.
The largest amongst them pranced along the circumference of the silver moon.
Relik purred huskily, sniffed around, nozzled the grass and howled tentatively until it was full on heartstopping.
Shedrik joined in with charisma. And the fields were descended upon by the pounds of wolves' paws.
Grains forgotten and robes laid bare, they leaped into the night, howling and hunting without care.
In front of a storage unit, where the king and his aides watched, he was obviously dismayed. Because of this, his howling had ended quickly and he had turned back to human form. The female werewolves had returned to their lodgings with hearts full of joy and their counterparts gone into the night to hunt.
With one last hard look at the queen of the sky, he flicked his sleeves and vanished.
The werewolves howled with deafening momentum in their territory.
The hunters bounded in the forest to thrill in sinking their fangs into live prey, their lost strength seeping back into their spirit cores.
The nightly creatures having met their match, retreated with fear.
The word was carried on the lips of many. It was another meaning to the appearance of the moon.
"The moonlight princess has been born."