A shallow pond sprawls out like a mirror in front of you. When you approach, the reflection shows flying banners, marching polearms and tents – not the silent battlefield you stand in. Do you dare look at your own reflection amidst the thrum of war?
x
Legend says that the Harvester is more likely to come out during the full moon that bears his name. Do you wish to meet him under the Harvest Moon? Or do you shelter somewhere to stay clear of its blood-red beams?

The following day yielded no sign of Terrence, and Logue was beginning to lose hope. It was difficult to tell time in the depths of the dungeon, but his travel clock told him that night had fallen on the surface once more. “We should probably settle in for the evening,” he sighed, dreading another day with The High Priestess.

“Nonsense!” she chuckled. “The night is still young. We could still find Terrence yet.”

The brindle Courser shook his head. “...We've been at this for days, ma'am. If Terrence is still alive--”

“Then we've little time to dawdle,” the old mare asserted.

Logue sighed. The journey thus far had taught him there was little use in arguing with The High Priestess; the only thing he had to gain from it was a migraine. The only thing he could do for now was grit his teeth and endure, and so he said nothing and let his gaze drop to his hooves. What he saw beneath him sent him rearing back in shock.

“Logue!” called The High Priestess, hurrying through the shallow water to his side. “Logue, what is it?!”

“In the water!” he gasped, “I thought I saw--” But the ripples of their movement had broken the illusion on the pond's surface, and he no longer had the context to make sense of what he had seen. Instead, he simply stared at the murky pond, feeling a bit dumb. Following his lead, The High Priestess stared too, and in their stillness, the scene reformed on the water.

It was the battlefield, some thousands of years earlier. In this mirror world, the war was in full swing, and the illusion spared no detail as it replayed images of humanoids and Coursers slaughtering each other. Above them was an inky black sky and a brilliant, red moon.

The Harvest Moon.

“That's a bad omen if I've ever seen one,” Logue mumbled, averting his eyes from the grim scene upon the water.

“Not bad,” The High Priestess corrected, “It's an omen of the Harvester.”

“Exactly.” Logue said flatly. “A bad omen.”

“Do you think the moon in the reflection counts?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Counts to what?”

“They say you can summon the Harvester under the moon which bears his name. Do you think it counts if you're over the moon?”

Logue shook his head. He didn't like where this was going. “I don't want to find out.”

“He could tell us whether Terrence has died,” she noted in a singsong voice.

“At a price!” Logue sputtered. “Legend says the Harvester always has a price!”

“Why, you make it sound so sinister!” laughed the old mare. “Everyone has a price, darling. You're a mercenary; you should know that as well as anyone!”

Logue couldn't believe his ears. “Gods, woman! Payin' a mercnary ain't like dealin' with ghosts n' spirits!”

“You're right,” mused The High Priestess. “Working with spirits is so much more effective.”