Twilight crept slowly over the small village at the edge of the Kiyora Valley. The last rays of sunlight lingered on the thatched rooftops as if reluctant to sink behind the Ardent mountain range. The evening air was warm, yet the breeze carried with it a faint scent of scorched earth from the far north the lingering trace of wars that had never truly ended.
At the edge of the village, among bamboo stalks swaying gently in the wind, stood a fourteen year old girl, gazing silently at the reddening sky. Her thin shoulders were wrapped in a faded, threadbare cloth. This was Lin an orphan who could no longer even recall the faces of her parents. Since she was a child, she had been raised by an elderly woman she called Grandma Wei, the only family she had left.
Lin clutched a woven pouch filled with medicinal leaves she had spent the day collecting by the riverbank to sell at the small market the next morning. Her large dark eyes lingered on the shadows of the village stretching toward the rice fields there was something in the twilight that felt heavy and strange, as though the air itself was holding its breath.
"Lin!"A raspy voice called from behind her. "Come inside quickly the night air is getting colder. Do you want to catch a chill?"
Lin turned to see Grandma Wei standing in front of their humble hut. The old woman was small and slight, her skin creased by years, but her eyes were still as sharp as thorned roses. Lin jogged toward her with a quick nod.
"I just wanted to watch the sunset, Grandma," Lin said softly."The sun will set again tomorrow, child," Grandma Wei replied, suppressing a small cough. "But your body won't last long if you keep letting the night wind bite at you."
Their hut was built of dark aged cedar wood, its thatched roof already fraying in several places. In the corner stood a simple shelf lined with clay jars, pieces of charcoal, and a few rolls of worn fabric. There was nothing grand about the place, yet the warmth they shared made the fragile home feel alive.
Lin placed the pouch of medicinal leaves on the low table, then sat near the hearth where only embers remained. She watched the little tongues of flame dance among the last scraps of firewood. Fire had always fascinated her beautiful yet dangerous, like the stories the village elders often told about the ancient wars of a thousand years past.
"Grandma…" Lin's voice broke the silence. "Is it true the Black Lotus once grew in our valley?"Grandma Wei glanced at her, her expression dimming. "That's only an old tale. Don't dwell on it. The flower brings misfortune to anyone who goes near it.""Then why do people still search for it?" Lin asked, curious."Because humans always crave what they were never meant to touch," Grandma Wei answered curtly, stirring the porridge in the pot with a wooden spoon.
The conversation ended there. Lin sensed her grandmother was keeping secrets, but she didn't press further. Even as a child, she had learned that some truths were too heavy to force out.
Night descended. The stars had yet to appear, but a pale crescent moon already hung over the sky. Outside the hut, the chirping of crickets joined the soft sigh of the valley wind. Amid those natural sounds, Lin caught something else a distant rumble, like heavy footsteps echoing against stone cliffs.
"Grandma, did you hear that?" Lin asked, straining her ears.Grandma Wei stopped stirring the porridge, her face tightening before she gave a faint smile. "It's probably just thunder from the north.""But the sky is clear…" Lin murmured.
They ate their porridge in silence that night. Lin tried to brush aside the unease creeping over her, but the distant thunder like sound came and went like a whispered threat.
After supper, Lin pulled out a battered storybook she had bought at the market a tale about a legendary warrior woman who slew a dragon with a black sword. She read by the dim glow of the oil lamp, trying to lose herself in the story to forget her unease. Yet her thoughts kept drifting back to the strange noises outside.
Hours later, just as Lin was about to drift to sleep, the pounding of hooves echoed along the dirt road not far from their hut. This time the sound was clear no thunder. Lin rose quickly and peeked through a crack in the wooden wall. She saw dark figures on horseback racing toward the heart of the village, their torches flaring wildly, sparks scattering into the night wind.
"Grandma… there are people passing by…" she whispered.Grandma Wei, now awake, furrowed her brow. "Stay here. Don't go outside."
Soon faint screams drifted from the direction of the marketplace a woman's cry, then the crash of something falling. Lin turned to Grandma Wei, her eyes wide with fear.
"That's not the night merchants, is it?" Lin asked."No. Merchants don't come at an hour like this," Grandma Wei replied in a low, grim voice.
The noises grew louder the stomp of soldiers' boots, the clash of steel, and other panicked shouts mingled together. Then suddenly, a sharp, acrid smell reached their noses the scent of burning wood.
Grandma Wei gripped Lin's shoulder tightly.
"We must be ready, Lin," she whispered. "Get a thick cloth, wrap your head. If the fire reaches us, we'll run to the river."
Lin swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she pulled a cloth from the shelf. Beneath her fear, a strange sensation welled up inside her chest as if her own heart was beginning to burn with the flames that had started to lick at the village.
In the distance, the dark night sky had begun to glow with an orange sheen. Smoke rose to swallow the stars. The muffled beat of war drums rolled across the valley, followed by the piercing blare of a long horn. The little village was being swept into the jaws of a storm.
Lin looked at Grandma Wei in the old woman's eyes shone a fragile kind of resolve courage born of quiet surrender.
"Don't let go of my hand, no matter what happens," Grandma Wei said.
And thus began the tragedy the night when their last peace was stolen by the fire that devoured their home.
The shouts from the direction of the marketplace grew clearer no longer just screams, but also the clash of metal against metal and the pounding of hooves striking the ground. Lin stood frozen by the small window, both hands clutching the cloth at her chest.
"Grandma… that's not thunder," she whispered.
Before Grandma Wei could answer, a sharp smell of smoke seeped in through the cracks of the wooden wall. The old woman instantly turned toward the door, her eyes narrowing before she looked back at Lin.
"Grab a cloth, cover your head. Hurry!" Her voice was low but firm.
Lin rushed to snatch a worn cloth from the shelf. Her fingers trembled as she wrapped it around her head. Outside, there came a loud crack like wood breaking followed by the long scream of a woman. Flames were visible in the distance, licking the roof of a house near the marketplace. That orange glow reflected against the still dark night sky.
Grandma Wei covered the hearth with an iron lid to keep the fire inside from spreading. "If the fire reaches us, we'll run to the river," she said as she gripped Lin's arm her fingers thin but strong.
Lin swallowed hard, feeling her heart sink deep into her stomach."Why are they burning people's homes?"
"Because war never cares who lives here," Grandma Wei replied shortly.
The rumbling sounds drew closer. Through the window crack, Lin could see the shadowy shapes of horsemen galloping past with blazing torches. Suddenly one horse stopped abruptly in front of their neighbor's house a man in an iron mask leapt down and kicked the door open with a crash. A child's scream pierced the night before it was swallowed by the chaos.
Lin shut her eyes and gripped Grandma Wei's hand even tighter.
"Come on." Grandma Wei tugged her toward the back door. "We have to get out before it's too late."
As soon as the wooden door swung open, a wave of heat rushed over their faces. Thin smoke curled past them, carried by the valley wind. They hurried along the narrow path leading toward the rice fields. On either side, the humble houses that had once stood quietly now looked like towering torches ready to collapse.
Lin glanced back once at their own hut the thatched roof had begun to smolder, mingling with sparks borne on the night breeze. Her chest tightened, but Grandma Wei urged her onward.
"Don't look back, Lin. We can rebuild a house if we're still alive," the old woman said without turning.
They reached a narrow lane flanked by tall bamboo. Beyond the bamboo ran a small ditch leading down to the river the same place where the village children used to chase dragonflies in summer. Tonight, that ditch had become their escape route.
The noises from the village still echoed shouts, hoofbeats, the clanging of steel yet all of it seemed distant now behind the wall of smoke. Lin shivered, not from the cold but from a fear she had never known before.
They jogged along the ditch until they reached its end, where it emptied into the river. The current was cold and glimmered beneath the pale crescent moon. When Lin's feet touched the water, her body quivered, but Grandma Wei's grip on her hand brought a fragile sense of steadiness.
From the riverbank, Lin turned for one last look. The village she had known all her life was now a burning red silhouette against the night the sound of tiles shattering and timber collapsing echoed one after another. The acrid scent of smoke carried on the wind, stinging her nose.
Grandma Wei whispered, "We have to cross. Follow the current don't let go of my hand."
Lin nodded, tears threatening to spill. She stepped into the river, letting the icy flow sweep around her legs. That night, beneath a sky lit by flames, they took the first steps into a long flight they could never have imagined.