Scattered across the Northern Alliance, minds became alert. It had been a night of high magic. Full moons often were. Blue moons more so. Those with even the most rudimentary mystic training had, unknowingly, felt the summoning ceremony in Entwell as a dull pressure in the back of their minds. Its result, though, was not so easily missed. A smoldering ember of intense magic streaked a searing line across the minds of every wizard, witch, seer, and shaman the world over. It burned brightly, but briefly, like a shooting star in the mind's eye. Most dismissed it. Others took note of it. Some, though, were deeply affected.
In his office in Northern Capital, General Bagu sat forward in his chair. He held his eyes tightly shut and trained his mind on the fading glint of power. Hungrily, even desperately, he focused on the distant power. It had a quality--some texture or color--that he knew all too well. Years of searching had sensitized him to it.
One of the long-sought Chosen was awake. While the detection was fresh in his mind he tore a book from its shelf and threw it open to a well-worn page. Five brief descriptions were there, only one of which did not have extensive notes beside it. The shadow of a smile flickered across his face. The moment of truth would soon be at hand.