The Sky Lights

It was the midsummer festival on High Day, but the sun had long since set. The muggy heat hung thick in the air and the smell of powder from fireworks was carried on the wind. People were gathered now, waiting for the great spectacle of every High Day in Ysrindil: the sky lights. Cavaliers came together, and in a great ritual, painted the night. The coruscating colors danced and mingled, blossoming bright as dusk. It was of the rift; but unthreatening. Beautiful, so unlike the horrors and sorcerers the rift bred. Argen was no less impressed than the common folk.