The day had fallen into dusk, and with it, a heavy silence cloaked the village. The harvest festival, so full of laughter and color, had ended with an uneasy stillness that clung to every wall, every flame, every breath. Ethan sat near the window of his small room, watching the last embers of daylight fade beyond the forest. The sky was an ocean of violet and ash, the kind that warned of storms not made by nature.
His sister's laughter, faint from the lower floor, brought a momentary comfort. He wanted to believe the unease was nothing more than imagination — but deep within, instinct whispered otherwise. The forest had been too quiet, the animals too still, and even the wind seemed to move with purpose.
He leaned forward. A flicker — distant, orange, unnatural — tore the darkness at the far edge of the woods. Then another.
Fire? he thought. No, something colder burned in that glow, something that devoured not just wood, but the very breath of the air.
"Mother!" His voice broke the silence as he rushed down the narrow stairs. His mother turned, startled, eyes widening as the first tremor shook the ground beneath their feet. The plates on the table rattled; dust fell from the beams. Then came the sound — not thunder, not storm — but a scream, long and collective, carried by wind and terror.
Outside, chaos unfolded. Shadows — tall, cloaked, and inhuman — emerged from the treeline, their eyes flickering like embers in the void. The village erupted in panic. Men seized pitchforks, women screamed for their children, and the once peaceful square was engulfed in confusion. Ethan froze for a moment, his mind torn between disbelief and instinct. Then, without hesitation, he grabbed his sister's hand.
"Run!"
The streets burned. Houses collapsed as the shadowed invaders cut through everything living. He could hear the clash of steel, the cry of flesh meeting flame. His mother, her face streaked with soot, pushed them forward toward the river path. "Don't look back," she said, voice trembling yet firm. "Whatever happens — keep running."
But Ethan did look back. He saw the impossible — a figure standing amidst the inferno, wearing armor that shimmered like obsidian, its blade drawing lines of red across the night. And then he saw his mother fall, a silent collapse swallowed by fire.
He ran harder. The forest that had once been sanctuary now loomed like a labyrinth of shadows. His sister stumbled, sobbing, her small hands gripping his sleeve. The world had become a cacophony of screams, collapsing wood, and distant demonic laughter.
By dawn, the village no longer existed. Smoke rose like mourning veils to the heavens. Ethan and his sister hid among the ruins of a stream, their clothes torn, faces pale, eyes hollow. The boy who had once admired the quiet rhythm of the world now stared into the emptiness of what remained.
Something inside him broke — not with despair, but with awakening.
He understood then that peace was an illusion, fragile as morning mist.
And from its ashes, he swore a vow so fierce it burned deeper than grief:
He would never be powerless again.