Moonrunners

Thanks for the shoutout, Eco!

Radalan's eyes narrowed. "Red. You were supposed to be scouting the eastern ridge." "I was," the big wolf replied, flicking an ear speckled with scars. "Until I ran into three trackers skulking around the cave entrance." He shifted, and fresh droplets pattered from his chest fur onto the stone. "Well it seems you’ve taken care of the problem," Shadowpaw said, "So why the hurry?" "Scouts are weak," Red replied, "Their purpose is not to fight, but to find. It’s what comes after them that I am not particularly fond of. Collect your prophesied woman and let us leave this place before it is too late." "You heard him," Radalan commanded, "Luna, I’m afraid we must–" he paused, scanning the cavern chamber. "Wait, where is she?" Red tilted an ear down the passage he’d emerged from and sighed. "By the sound of it, running directly into the jaws of our enemy."

Is crypto winter over yet?

He dipped his head toward the silver-furred elder in a gesture that managed to be both deferential and commanding. "Lord Radalan," he rumbled, "I’m afraid the remaining introductions will have to wait. We've been followed. Their hounds caught our scent at the upper vents. The vanguard is minutes out, maybe less. We must move or this cave will too become our tomb." The pack tensed. The black wolf, Fangor, showed raised hackles while Shadowpaw's cloak seemed to deepen into pure darkness.

A heavy tread echoed from the deeper in the passage. Slow, deliberate, menacing. Luna recoiled and fell backward, tripping on a stone. The footsteps got closer. Before long, a massive wolf emerged into the moss-glow. At first glance, his fur looked deep burgundy, rich and almost regal, the color of aged wine under candlelight. Then her eyes adjusted. The crimson deepened only at the chest, the shoulders, the muzzle. Thick, matted, the unmistakable consistency of dried blood that had soaked in and never quite washed out. Farther back along his flanks and haunches, the fur bleached to a purest white. He was bigger than the others, taller, broader across the chest, scarred in ways that suggested a lifetime of brutality. His eyes burned a steady gold, calm but carrying weight she did not yet understand.

Luna pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let me get this straight. You summoned me from a sprint planning meeting to," she looked around, "wherever this is…for me to build you some sort of product?" "No," the silver wolf replied, "of course not." Luna exhaled in relief. "Oh, good. I’m so glad to hear that because–" "We want you to build us an army." She laughed. "Okay, I think I’ve had about enough of this. I need to walk this off." She turned to leave but realized there were several passageways from which to choose. She paused, turning back to the wolves and their companions, who tilted their heads, curious. "Sooo, which way is out?" "I would not choose any of those." The cloaked wolf said, gesturing to each passage individually. "That one has a pit fiend den, that one rot hollows, and that one…the spirits of our ancestors that never left this cave." Luna sighed, "How cheerful." She walked to the fourth passage at the rear of the chamber. “Alright then, it must be this one.” "Yes, but–

The elder wolf flicked an ear. "A millenia ago, ancient and powerful blood was spilled in the very caves you now stand in. That event triggered a cascade of –" "--maybe a condensed version?" Luna interrupted. The silver wolf sighed. "The essence of it is this: Primordia is being strangled by an aristocracy of mages, those who seek to seize complete control over the magical networks that run through this world. They are consolidating power ruthlessly, willing to enslave non-mages and eliminate any rival mages who stand in their way, all to hold the ultimate authority for themselves. Our resistance, therefore, is not just a fight for survival, it's a movement to decentralize Primordia's power, to tear down their silo, to bring balance back to the world." The frog croaked in a way that somehow implied a stately tone: "Feels good man." The goblin cackled letting out a puff of smoke in agreement. Maybe this was ayahuasca…

Luna stood slowly. "Prophecy? Shit, I haven’t had a trip like this since—" The black-furred wolf bared its fangs. Maybe she should play along. "Look, I think there's been a mistake. Someone like me would never be a part of your prophecy. Not unless your prophecy revolves around regret and" The silver wolf tilted its head. "You are a builder, a leader, like your ancestor who aided us so very long ago. We have been waiting for you for nearly a thousand years." A thousand years? "Okay, I’ll bite–" The red-eyed wolf took a step forward, “Try it and I’ll gut you where you stand.” Luna raised her hands in defense, “Oh god, no, it’s a figure of speech! Look, you’re going to have to meet me halfway until I come out of whatever this is. What exactly is going on here that you need my help with?”

Awoooooo for a wonderful summer!

She blinked. The panel didn't vanish. "Okay," she muttered. "Either I'm having a stroke or Bill put mushrooms in my coffee again. Either way I guess HR will be involved." A low growl echoed from deeper in the cave. Three wolves stepped into the moss-light. They were massive, shoulder height to a grown man, and pixel-perfect, as if someone had rendered 8-bit sprites into living fur and muscle. One had scarred black fur and burning red eyes. Another was sleek gray with a hooded cloak that seemed woven from shadows. The third was silver-furred, older, with wise amber eyes and a necklace of carved bones. Behind them hopped a bright green frog wearing a tiny crown made of bottle caps. Next to the frog scuttled a goblin no taller than Luna's knee, green-skinned, grinning with too many teeth that clenched tight around a cigar. The scarred wolf spoke first, voice like gravel. "The prophecy was true. The Builder has come."

Luna Brooks stared at the Jira board on the conference room screen, its many columns a rainbow of sticky notes that no one had bothered to update since last sprint. It smelled here, like stale coffee and expired deodorant as she and her coworkers spent desperate hours chasing OKRs that upper management had pulled out of thin air. "Luna," her director said, leaning forward with earnestness, she must’ve finished that leadership podcast. "Walk us through the roadmap for the new onboarding flow. We're really trying to move the needle on user retention here." She opened her mouth to deliver the polished script, the one she’d rehearsed over a minibottle in the women's restroom. prioritized backlog, A/B testing, north star metrics. . . that's when the regret hit her. . . Ten years ago, her college roommate Sara had slid a napkin across the dorm room table. "Co-found this with me," she'd said. "It's going to be huge." Luna laughed, citing some shit about stability, taking the safe offer from a FAANG feeder company. Sara went ahead and built it anyway and sold it for eight figures during the AI boom. Now Sara yachted in Monaco while Luna optimized button colors for a subscription app that no one would remember. Luna shipped features. She hit deadlines. She built things that made other people rich. When was it going to be her turn? Was it ever going to be her turn? Would she have the courage to do something about it? She glanced at her calendar. It was one of those corny ones with inspiration quotes for whichever day it was. Today was June fourteenth. "New moon new you," it said. She scoffed. Then the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Three times now. She went to reach for her phone to check the weather, but the conference room dissolved into white. Luna felt weightless, like she was falling upward. A notification chime rang in her ears, the same one her phone used for Slack mentions, but deeper, resonant, like it came from inside her skull. When the light faded, Luna was on her knees in a cave lit by bioluminescent moss. The air smelled like her childhood, the wet stone and pine reminiscent of days at the cabin her parents had owned. Somewhere far above, wind howled through cracks in the rock. A blue translucent panel hovered in front of her face. Welcome to Primordia, Summoned Hero

No moon. No light. No warning. The blood beneath Primordia did not die. 🩸 It waited for the dark. Sunday, June 14th. 7:54 PM PT / 10:54 PM ET 🕚 With the new moon 🌑, the old stories 🔖 are opening their eyes. Watch the sky, runners. 🐺🌙

If you were hunting in the woods with us, this would be the least of your problems.

Forget about blood moons when it's a blood market.

Looks like a good ole' Monday morning coup d'état.

Conquer this new week like a king.

Happy Mother's Day! 💐

Awooooooooooooooooo