Long ago, when the veil between realms thinned in October, a pact was struck between Embercoil, a golden-scaled dragon of warmth and warding, and Nyx, a shadow-born cat whose purr could quiet restless spirits.
Each year, as the Harvest Moon waned and Halloween approached, Embercoil would descend from the high reaches to nestle among the pumpkins—lanterns of the living—while Nyx curled beside him, her fur absorbing the chill of wandering ghosts.
Together, they kept vigil.
Embercoil’s breath lit the gourds from within, casting protective glows across the fields. Nyx, ever watchful, listened for the rustle of forgotten souls seeking passage. If one grew too bold, she’d rise, tail flicking, and whisper a lullaby only the dead could hear.
It is said that if you visit the patch and acknowledge the pair in silent respect, your dreams would be guarded until winter’s first frost.
But disturb them—laugh too loud, steal a pumpkin, mock the pact—and you’d wake with golden scales on your skin and a cat-shaped shadow that never quite matched your own.
This year, the pair rests in the pumpkin patch again. Their pact holds. And the pumpkins glow.