The torches danced in the night breeze, their flames flickering like restless spirits. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat filled the air. Laughter of children, the simple music of local musicians, and the rhythmic steps of the villagers turned the evening into a true celebration.
Eldarn Village held its harvest festival every year. From the farthest cottages, people gathered in the central square, dancing and feasting until midnight. Tonight, everything felt peaceful and beautiful… or at least, it seemed so.
Amid the crowd stood a boy with messy black hair and eyes full of dreams. His name was Arin—an orphan raised by the village elder, always longing for a life beyond the simplicity of his small world.
The elder, an old man with a wooden staff and gentle eyes, approached him quietly and said:
"Tonight, the stars shine brighter than ever… but behind their light, a shadow moves. Remember this, Arin… every celebration has its end, and every end marks a new beginning."
Confused, Arin asked, "What do you mean?"
But the elder only smiled, as if unwilling to say more.
The music grew louder, and the people drowned in joy. Yet, just as the laughter reached its peak, the sky suddenly changed. One by one, the stars vanished, swallowed by a crimson mist that spread across the village.
A dreadful horn echoed from the distance.
And on the horizon… black flames marched toward Eldarn.
Arin froze, holding his breath.
That night of celebration… was the night his simple life ended forever.