Moonvale was a tiny, nondescript village, quiet except for the river that ran along its northern edge, glimmering in the sun and murmuring its way past the old stone bridges.
Once, the Liorens had been prosperous merchants, their wealth and influence stretching across the region. Time, however, had eroded much of their glory. Yet despite the decline, they were still regarded as the wealthiest family in the village, their name carrying weight even if their riches no longer dazzled.
Noel, a descendant of this once-great family, spent his days in idleness. He had recently cleared his matriculation exams, but unlike his distant cousins or peers, he had no ambition pressing on him. His time passed in aimless wandering, small indulgences, and procrastination that had begun to leave its mark.
Despite his family's lingering reputation, he had yet to find a job or purpose, and his laziness was becoming the talk of the village—though mostly in whispers behind closed doors.
On the southern wing of the sprawling Lioren mansion lived the Everen family, distant relatives with a more modern outlook. Educated and well-employed abroad, they took pride in their accomplishments, often asserting their financial superiority during temporary visits to Moonvale.
Among them was Eren Everen, who had recently returned home with his wife, Jana. Eren held a well-paying government position and carried himself with the confidence and polish of someone accustomed to city life.
It had been a while since Noel had been in the drawing room with Eren, listening to the man boast endlessly. Today, Eren's energy was directed toward preparations for The Night of Return, an annual celebration in which villagers wrote letters to their past selves and burned them under the moon.
Noel listened quietly as Eren grumbled about the lack of proper electric lighting in the Lioren mansion. The boy had only been to Arinwood once or twice, and he was still unfamiliar with many modern conveniences. His cautious demeanor showed as he tried to contribute to the discussion, careful not to overstep in front of the urbane and assertive Eren.
"I think the old chandeliers have a certain charm," Noel ventured softly, hoping to suggest warmth and intimacy over bright, harsh electricity.
Eren's reaction was immediate and cutting. He sneered, eyes narrowing. "Charm? Do you really think anyone will be impressed by flickering candlelight when brilliance itself is within reach? Electricity is elegance, precision, spectacle! Chandeliers are quaint, nothing more."
Noel flushed but remained silent, feeling the sting of humiliation.
The event itself only amplified his discomfort. Eren's The Night of Return became the sensation of the village, with villagers traveling from every corner to witness the spectacle.
Noel's timid presence was overshadowed completely. Whispers followed him wherever he went: "That's Sushil, the one who never does anything with his life," some said. "Still idling away, no ambition."
Even as the firelight danced across the courtyard and letters curled into ash beneath the pale moon, Noel felt the weight of the gossip. Eren, with his urban polish and commanding presence, had once again turned the spotlight away from him, emphasizing his laziness and lack of direction.
The humiliation was sharp, but for the first time, amid the flickering flames, Noel felt a quiet awareness of himself—a recognition of his flaws, though the world seemed determined to remind him of them in the harshest way.