Friday of the third week of September fell on the thirtieth day of the seventh lunar month, the very end of the month. A waning crescent hung in the eastern sky, spilling thin, dim moonlight over the shrubs and trees of the hunting grounds and deepening the shadows in the night.
Faint sounds that did not belong to this night drifted from afar.
A White-headed Bulbul pulled its head out of a curled leaf, stretching its slender neck to peer cautiously toward the sounds. These Grass Sprites were something between shrubs and plants of the daisy family, with slender, reedlike bodies and fluffy balls of down resembling dandelions. Their heads were hidden inside those white puffballs, as though crowned with thick white hair, which was why wizards called them "White-headed Bulbuls."
White-headed Bulbuls lived in groups. When one poked its head out, it meant dozens, even hundreds, had been awakened. The Grass Sprites stretched their necks, opened eyes the size of black beans, and looked into the distance in perfect unison.
Then they saw a gleam appear among the shadows of the night.
At first, it was tiny, no bigger than a grain of rice. As time passed and it drew closer, the gleam kept growing, from a grain of rice to a soybean, then a fist, a bowl's rim, and a wagon wheel. The rounded point of light kept changing shape as it moved, its radiance stretching outward like a mass of blazing flame.
"Faster! Faster!"
"They're catching up!"
Young wizards shouted over one another inside the flames. "Stop wasting your energy! Just run with a first-tier battle formation... a second-tier one isn't that easy! We've tried several times already, and all we've done is waste Magic Power!"
Behind the flames came a pack of creatures resembling galloping steeds.