Beneath the blazing Harvest Moon, Halanus rode alone across the wind-carved highlands, his black horse thundering over stone and fallen autumn leaves. In one hand he carried an ancient lantern whose golden flame never dimmed, a relic said to reveal paths hidden from mortal eyes. Ravens circled above as ruined towers and forgotten castles watched from the mountains, silent witnesses to a legend centuries in the making. Every harvest season the moon rose larger and brighter than any other night of the year, and with it came whispers that a shadow was awakening deep within the valley of mists. Guided by the lantern's glow, Halanus followed a silver river toward the heart of the darkness. There he discovered an ancient gate beneath the cliffs, sealed since the first age of kings. As the Harvest Moon reached its highest point, the gate trembled and began to open, releasing a storm of spectral winds across the land. Refusing to retreat, Halanus raised the lantern high and rode forward into the swirling gloom. The golden light shattered the darkness like dawn breaking through night, and the restless spirits were finally set free. From that night onward, songs were sung of the Rider of the Harvest Moon, whose courage preserved the realm whenever autumn's greatest moon returned to the sky.