Chapter 1 – An Old Tale
It starts with a rumor — a story whispered from lip to lip, passed down through generations like a
warning carved into the bones of the land itself. There was once a village perched precariously at
the edge of the northern cliffs, where the sun's last light did not bring peace or promise, but a
creeping dread that settled deep into the marrow of those who lived there.
The village was called Vale. To outsiders, it was little more than a forgotten smudge on old maps, a
place too harsh, too isolated to thrive. But the villagers knew better. They knew the truth hidden
beneath the brittle coastal winds and the cold salt spray. Every evening, as the sun began its slow
descent beyond the horizon, the elders would hastily bolt their doors and shutter their windows.
For it was said that when the final ray of sunlight disappeared — swallowed whole by the sea mist
rolling in from the vast northern ocean — something ancient stirred from the depths.
The story begins with a boy. Not a hero or a prince, but a boy with a reckless curiosity and a heart
too big for the small world around him. He was drawn to the shadows of the coastal woods, the
place where the trees stood like silent sentinels watching over the cliff's edge, where the moss clung
thick and the ground was soft beneath his boots. It was there that he met her — a woman no one in
the village dared to name, for her face was always hidden in shadow, her presence more felt than
seen. The villagers spoke of her in hushed tones, calling her a witch, a spirit, a curse incarnate.
No one could agree on what the boy had done to anger her. Some said he had stumbled into one of
her secret rituals, a ceremony old as the rocks themselves. Others swore he had stolen something
precious, a relic she guarded jealously like a hawk guards its nest. But whatever the truth, the result
was the same: she cursed not only the boy, but the village that raised him.
From that day forward, when the sun's last light kissed the horizon, eerie cries would echo from the
cliffs — ghostly wails that seemed to rise from the sea itself. Shadows would move where there
should be none, and people who lingered outside after dusk vanished without a trace. The villagers
whispered of eyes watching from the fog, of hands reaching from the darkness, of curses that would
not be broken by blood or fire.
The boy did not live long enough to regret his mistake. In their fear and desperation, his own
neighbors ended his life, believing that such a sacrifice would lift the curse. But it did not. The
darkness remained, thickening like a stain on the land, and Vale became a place where even the
bravest dared not linger when the sun slipped away.
Whistlllll…
The sharp whistle of the locomotive pierced the salty air as the brass fittings of the steam engine
caught the late morning sun, gleaming like scattered coins along the tracks. The train wound its way
along the rugged coastal rail line, following the jagged contours where land met sea. Steam hissed
from every joint, while the steady thump of pistons beat beneath the murmur of passengers like a
rhythmic heartbeat.Ren lounged sideways in his seat, his boots propped on the opposite bench, the worn leather of his
jacket creased and patched with brass rivets that caught the sunlight with every small movement.
His sharp brown eyes flicked from the pages of the Nareth Historical Review, fingers stained with
ink from hours of note-taking. "One thing's for sure," he muttered, "I'm never writing another paper
about folk tales again. Three nights wasted chasing Vale's so-called curse."
Across from him, Elli closed her leather-bound journal, the worn edges soft and frayed from
constant use. Her chestnut hair was loosely tied back, a few stubborn strands framing her keen
green eyes that seemed to miss nothing. "You barely touched the records," she said quietly, a slight
frown creasing her brow. "You skipped the immigration logs entirely — the ones that prove Vale's
settlers came from the northern continent, not some fairy tale."
Ren smirked, a half-grin curling on his lips. "Because I prefer facts over romanticized history spun
by drunken sailors after their third glass of rum."
John, rugged and steady with a mop of blond hair, leaned forward from the adjacent seat. "Funny,
coming from the guy who wrote three whole paragraphs describing the witch's eyes."
"That's called flavor," Ren shot back, "which you wouldn't understand."
Liza, curled into her corner with a sketchpad balanced on her knees, pushed a fiery curl behind her
ear and smirked. "You're impossible, Ren." She gave him a sideways look. "Honestly, if we somehow
end up in a place that looks like your paper, I'm staying on the train."
Max, tall and composed, adjusted the brass buttons on his tailored waistcoat and glanced at his
pocket watch, its chain glinting in the sunlight. Seated behind them, he lowered the railway
timetable he'd been studying. "Relax," he said, voice calm and steady. "Mare Rosso's just a port city
— beaches, coffee houses, noisy markets. No cursed villages, no witches lurking in the mist."
John grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "That's exactly what people say before trouble starts."
Ren, visibly annoyed, crumpled the corner of his review paper between his fingers and said with a
frustrated sneer, "In the first place, who the fuck gives a damn about folklore as part of history?
Most folk tales are bullshit."
Outside, the landscape shifted from soot-stained suburbs to long stretches of copper grass bending
in the wind like waves frozen in time. Beyond the rolling hills, the sea shimmered silver under a
thin veil of clouds, the horizon hazy and endless.
Elli closed her journal, her gaze lingering on the passing view. "It's strange," she said softly. "While
packing, I found an old map of this coast tucked between some books. Mare Rosso is clearly marked,
but north of it… there was a faded notation. It looked like it said 'Vale.'"
Ren waved a dismissive hand. "Probably an abandoned fishing hamlet. Old ink blots and
imagination — a dangerous mix for any historian." He shook his head with a faint smirk. "Besides,
Vale's supposed to be way up north, beyond where Mara Rosso sits. Not anywhere near this stretch
of coast."Elli frowned, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the landscape. "Maps can get messy with time.
Names change, places shift. Sometimes, things get forgotten or misplaced on paper, especially when
stories get passed down more than facts."
Ren scoffed lightly but said nothing more, eyes returning to his worn pages. Yet, the faintest crease
of doubt flickered across his brow as the train rattled on.
The train rattled onward along the coast, its windows framing a patchwork of wild landscapes.
Beyond the copper grasslands, a cluster of ancient stone houses clung to a rocky headland. Their
roofs were steep and sharply pointed — far steeper than the designs typical for this mild temperate
coast.
Elli leaned closer to the glass, brow furrowed in concentration. "That's not local architecture," she
murmured, voice low with fascination. "Those steep, pointed roofs… they're Northern. You still see
them in Karsden."
Ren didn't bother looking up from his paper, voice calm but dismissive. "Probably built by
immigrants during the old Northern civil wars. Half the coast's towns have something like that
because of immigrant influences. Nothing unusual."
Elli's eyes lingered on the distant rooftops, a spark of curiosity hidden beneath her quiet skepticism.
Elli said nothing more, but her gaze stayed fixed on the disappearing rooftops until the curve of the
rail swallowed them from view.
The train picked up speed as the coast opened out before them. Somewhere beyond the copper
grass and stone ruins lay Mare Rosso — a city of steam and salt, where old world craftsmanship
met the restless energy of the sea. It was a place rumored to be bustling with merchants and sailors,
inventors and storytellers, where brass machines hissed and clattered beneath skies streaked with
smoke and sunlight.
But for Ren and his companions, Mare Rosso was more than a destination. It was a crossing point —
a gateway from the familiar to the unknown. A place where the past, with all its legends and
shadows, might finally reveal its truths.
And somewhere, in the fading light of a day not yet ended, the old tales of Vale waited to be
unearthed once more.