Even in daylight, the season of shadow rides with him. Raider rears against the mountain wind, eyes burning, facing the fledgling griffin whose wings glint like rusted steel and bronze. Purple mist curls around his hooves, the earth trembling with a half forgotten spell, a reminder that wherever he wanders, autumn follows. Every battle, every dawn, carries the chill of All Hallows, the whisper that some spirits never left the season they were born to.