The Shadow of Ulster: A Tale of the Ulster Cycle

The sky above Emain Macha was a shifting gray, streaked with clouds like old, torn tapestries. The early morning chill had settled into the bones of the city, a harbinger of something weighty, something that sat like a dull blade against the horizon. It was a quiet morning, but not one of peace; it was as if the land itself held its breath, waiting.

King Conchobar mac Nessa stood at the balcony of his hall, the gold embroidery on his cloak catching the dim sunlight. The great stone walls of his stronghold surrounded him, and he watched as a flock of ravens circled far above, their shadows darkening the fields below. His eyes narrowed. Ravens were never a good omen, especially on the eve of a feast—a celebration meant to mark the passage of the spring equinox.