The villagers of Ravenshade often said their nights were louder than their days. Crickets sang, owls argued from rooftops, and the wind murmured secrets through the pine forest. But on the night of October 14th, everything fell silent—so silent that even the river seemed to hold its breath.
Seventeen-year-old Elara Wynn sensed the change before anyone else did. She was standing outside her small wooden house, staring at the sky. The stars above her flickered strangely, like thousands of tiny hearts beating irregularly. And then, one by one, they went out.
No sound. No explosion. Just… darkness. As though someone had blown out the candles of the universe.
"Elara!" her younger brother Rian called from inside. "Did the power go again?"
"It's not the power," she whispered, stepping back as the black sky pressed down.
A sudden gust of wind shot across the village, carrying with it a faint, metallic ringing—like a distant bell underwater. The ground trembled.
And then Elara saw it.
At the edge of the forest, something glowed. Not bright, not alarming—just a soft, pulsing blue light, like a trapped firefly.
Drawn to it, Elara walked forward. Every step felt heavier than the last. When she reached the ancient oak—the one villagers swore was older than Ravenshade itself—she found a strange lantern resting at its roots.
It wasn't like any lantern she had seen.
Its frame was made of black stone that seemed to absorb the moonlight. Inside it floated a blue flame that didn't burn, didn't flicker. It simply breathed.
Then the flame shaped itself into something—a symbol she couldn't recognize.
Before she could touch it, the lantern spoke.
Yes, spoke.
"Elara Wynn," it whispered in a voice that felt both young and ancient, "the echoes have returned."
She stumbled back, heart racing.
"H-How… how do you know my name?"
But the lantern only pulsed again, brighter this time, and the world around her blurred.
For a moment she wasn't in the forest anymore.
She was standing on a stone bridge under a sky full of strange constellations. A tall figure cloaked in silver stood before her, holding the same lantern.
"You must hurry," the figure said, its voice distant, as though coming across centuries. "Before the stars fall forever."
Elara gasped, and the vision shattered. She was back at the oak tree. The lantern now sat still and silent, as though nothing had happened.
But she knew.
Everything had changed.
And the stars—her stars—were gone.