The first light of dawn touched the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas, spilling golden rays over the small town of Vyranth. Nestled in the folds of the mountains, Vyranth was quiet, peaceful, and almost untouched by time. The narrow cobblestone streets were lined with wooden houses, their roofs covered with thick layers of snow that sparkled in the morning sun. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the smell of burning pine and fresh bread.
Among the town's simple homes, one house stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the sparkling River Loryn that curved like a silver ribbon through the valley. This was the home of Chyren, a young man of twenty-one, who lived with his parents and younger sister, Alira. Chyren was not like the other men of Vyranth. He was quiet, thoughtful, and spent long hours gazing at the mountains, as if searching for something he could not name.
Each morning, Chyren would rise before sunrise. His mother, Telya, would call from the kitchen, "Chyren, come eat before the sun climbs higher!" But more often than not, Chyren did not hear her. His mind was already elsewhere—lost in a dream that had been visiting him for months.
It was a strange dream. Every night, without fail, he would find himself at the edge of a glowing pink lake, surrounded by a forest of softly shining pink trees. The air in the dream smelled sweet, like blooming flowers after the first rain. But it was not the beauty alone that held him—it was the girl.
She appeared on the other side of the lake. Her hair shimmered like silver, and her eyes glowed with a soft pink light, the same color as the lake itself. She would hum a tune—a melody so gentle, so pure, that it touched Chyren's heart in ways he could not explain. Her voice seemed to reach across the lake, calling to him, urging him to come closer. Every time he tried, he would wake up, heart pounding, lips tasting of the dream's magic.
He would sit on the edge of his bed, staring into the corner of the room, where the first rays of sun now filtered through the wooden shutters. The memory of her eyes burned in his mind. He could almost hear her singing. "Who are you?" he whispered to the empty room. No answer came, only silence.
Chyren's friends often teased him about being distracted, lost in some far-off thought. "Chyren," his friend Dalen would say, "you walk through Vyranth as if the mountains are calling you. Stop staring at the clouds and live in the real world!" Chyren would smile faintly, but his mind always returned to the pink lake, to the girl who waited for him in his dreams.
Even during the day, the dream lingered like a shadow. While helping his father in the fields or walking along the river, Chyren would sometimes close his eyes, imagining the soft glow of the pink trees, the reflection of the lake, and her eyes looking directly at him. It felt so real that it frightened him.
One afternoon, Chyren decided to speak about it. He sat beside his mother while she kneaded dough on the wooden table. "Mother," he began hesitantly, "I… I keep seeing someone in my dreams. A girl. By a pink lake. She… she calls me."
Telya paused, her hands still in the flour. She looked at him, eyes wide, sensing the seriousness in her son's voice. "Chyren… dreams are only dreams," she said gently. "Perhaps your heart longs for something, and your mind shows it to you."
"But mother," Chyren insisted, "it is not just a dream. It feels… real. I can feel her, hear her. I cannot forget her, even for a moment."
Telya sighed, knowing that reasoning would not reach him. "Be patient, my son. Some things are meant to be discovered in time. Do not chase shadows too eagerly, or you may lose yourself."
That night, Chyren lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight seeped through the shutters, casting pale patterns on the floor. As he closed his eyes, the world of his dreams welcomed him again. He was at the pink lake. The trees glowed softly, their petals swaying in a gentle breeze that smelled of jasmine and honey. The water mirrored the pink sky, and in its reflection, he saw her eyes—glowing, searching, beckoning.
"Chyren…" her voice called. It was softer than the wind, sweeter than the river's song. His heart leapt. He moved forward, but the ground beneath him felt uncertain, like walking on clouds. Every step made the lake shimmer more brightly, as if responding to his presence.
"Who are you?" he asked aloud, though he knew she could hear him only in this world between waking and dreaming.
"I am…" she began, her voice trembling, "I am waiting for you."
Chyren fell to his knees by the lake, desperate. He wanted to touch her, to know her, to hold her. But as he reached out, the glow of the lake expanded, blinding him. Then, abruptly, he woke up.
He gasped, clutching the sheets. His room was cold, quiet, ordinary. But the ache in his chest, the longing in his heart, was very real. He knew he had to find her—not in dreams, but in the world he walked every day.
Days passed, and Chyren's obsession grew. He wandered the forests, climbed hills, and followed the rivers, hoping to find even a trace of the pink lake. Villagers whispered that he was foolish, that chasing dreams would only lead to despair. But Chyren did not care. Every tree, every stone, every shimmer of water reminded him of her.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of rose and gold, Chyren sat by the river. His eyes reflected the last light of the day. "I will find you," he whispered to the wind. "Even if it takes years, I will find you."
The wind seemed to answer with a soft rustle, as if acknowledging his promise. And in that moment, Chyren knew that this was no ordinary longing. This was something older, deeper, written in the threads of fate itself.
For the boy from Vyranth, life had changed forever. The pink lake was calling. The girl of his dreams was waiting. And somewhere beyond the mountains, beyond the forests, a world existed that no ordinary human had ever seen. A world that would demand everything from him—heart, courage, and love beyond time.
Chyren rose, eyes set toward the horizon. Tomorrow, he would continue his search. And each night, he would return to the pink lake, to the girl who had become the very center of his soul.
The mountains of Vyranth stood tall and silent, watching over him. And the pink star in his dreams glowed brighter than ever.