The wind was blowing faster through the narrow streets of Lunareth, carrying with it the whispers of the past. The night was darker than usual, as if the sky itself was mourning something yet to be lost. Clouds hid the moon, and the oil lamps hanging outside a few houses flickered weakly, fighting against the restless air.
LUNARETH-- was no ordinary village. It was small, hidden between hills and forests, but its soil was soaked with centuries of secrets. In this village, death was not an end—it was merely a passage. Souls did not vanish; they shed their mortal bodies and crossed into the soul world.
Every family in Lunareth was granted a supernatural power once in a generation, a gift believed to be chosen by fate itself. Those gifted were respected, sometimes feared, and often worshipped, for their powers protected the village from imbalance between life and death.
But gifts always came with curses.
Tonight, the streets of Lunareth bore witness to desperation.
A young girl walked alone through the darkness, holding a small oil lamp tightly in her trembling hands. The flame danced wildly, casting long shadows against the stone walls that lined the road. Dry leaves crunched beneath her hurried steps, echoing loudly in the silence.
She wore a long linen tunic in faded earth tones, loose and modest, shaped by years of village life. The fabric had softened with age, carrying the marks of countless washings and seasons passed. A patched woolen shawl rested on her shoulders, heavy and warm, shielding her from the biting cold of the night. Her hair was simply braided and tied with a strip of cloth, practical and unadorned. Her feet were bare against the soil, hardened by years of walking the same paths. Nothing about her clothing was meant to draw attention—except the quiet history it carried.
Her name was Adriana.
Her breath came fast and uneven as she moved through the streets. Fear pressed against her chest with every step, tightening its grip. Somewhere behind her, in a small house at the edge of the village, her brother lay between life and death.
She stopped before an old wooden house standing alone near the hills. The structure looked as ancient as the land itself—its walls darkened by time, its roof bent under years of rain and wind. Bundles of dried herbs hung above the door, swaying gently in the stormy air.
Adriana raised her hand and knocked.
The sound echoed unnaturally loud.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then the door creaked open slowly, its hinges groaning in protest. The sharp scent of dried herbs, smoke, and old earth drifted out into the night. A pair of piercing eyes examined Adriana from the shadows.
"What do you want, Adriana?" the old woman asked, her voice calm but distant.
She was known throughout Lunareth as a healer—a woman who understood herbs, wounds, and sickness better than most men understood prayer. Some called her a doctor. Others whispered that she knew far more than she ever admitted.
"The herbs you gave my brother… they aren't working," Adriana said, her voice breaking. "He's fighting for his life. I walked for two hours to reach here. We don't have much time."
The old woman's expression did not change.
"I already warned you," she replied. "Your brother's wounds are too deep. What was torn cannot always be healed. There is no hope left."
With those words, she began to close the door.
Adriana reacted without thinking. She pressed her hand against the wood, stopping it.
"Grandma, please," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "You can't do this to us. You're our only hope. Please come with me."
For a long moment, she said nothing. The wind howled louder, as if urging her to decide.
Finally, she sighed.
"Very well," she said quietly. "I will come."
They began walking back together through the darkened streets. The night seemed longer now, heavier. There was no horse cart, no carriage to be found at such an hour. Only the sound of their footsteps and the restless wind accompanied them.
Two hours passed in silence.
By the time they reached Adriana's home, the oil lamp's flame had grown weak. Adriana rushed forward and knocked on the door.
"Knock. Knock."
The door opened quickly. A woman stood there, her face pale and streaked with tears. She was Adriana's mother.
"Please, Granny," she cried. "Help us. My son… my son is not breathing properly."
The healer stepped inside without a word.
The room was dimly lit by candles placed carefully around the space. Adriana's brother lay on the floor, his body unmoving, his skin cold and pale. A deep wound marked his chest, hastily bandaged but bleeding through the cloth. Beside him sat his father, chanting ancient mantras under his breath, his voice trembling with fear and faith.
The healer knelt beside the boy and carefully examined his wound. She removed the bandage, revealing the damage beneath. Her fingers pressed gently against his chest, listening—not with her ears, but with years of experience.
She reached into her pouch and took out a handful of crushed leaves, dark and bitter-smelling. She applied them carefully to the wound, murmuring words too old for anyone else to understand.
"I cannot promise anything," she said quietly. "The wounds are deep. This is the last thing I can do."
Adriana fell to her knees.
"He will survive," she whispered desperately. "We will do whatever you ask."
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then—the boy's finger twitched.
Adriana gasped. His eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion clouding his gaze. A fragile sense of hope filled the room like a fragile flame.
His father stopped chanting.
But before anyone could speak, the boy's eyes rolled back. His body stiffened—and then fell completely still.
The healer placed two fingers against his neck.
Her face darkened.
"He is dead," she said softly.
The candle flames flickered violently.
And somewhere beyond the walls of the house, a soul slipped free.
FLASHBACK:
That night had begun like any other in Lunareth, quiet and familiar, wrapped in the comfort of routine. The sky had been painted in shades of deep blue, the moon thin and pale, barely strong enough to guide the paths between the houses.
She had insisted on walking alone.
"I will be fine," she had said, tightening her shawl around her shoulders. "It is not far."
Her brother had not argued at first. He stood near the doorway, watching the shadows stretch across the road, his expression unreadable.
"I'll walk with you," he finally said.
She had laughed softly. "You worry too much."
But he followed her anyway.
The road leading out of the village was narrow, bordered by old stone walls and dry fields that whispered with the sound of the wind brushing against dead crops. Leaves lay scattered across the ground, crunching beneath their steps. Adriana carried a small oil lamp, its flame flickering nervously.
"Do you ever feel it?" she asked suddenly. "As if the night listens?"
Her brother glanced at her. "That's your gift speaking. Not everything unseen is dangerous."
She nodded, though unease tightened her chest. Her powers had been restless lately dreams filled with unfamiliar faces, whispers that vanished when she woke. Still, she said nothing more.
They were halfway down the road when it happened.
The wind changed.
It stopped suddenly, as if cut by an invisible hand. The silence that followed was unnatural, thick and pressing. Adriana slowed her steps.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
Her brother frowned. "Hear what?"
Before she could answer, something moved ahead of them. A shadow shifted near the remains of an old stone structure—ruins left behind from a time no one spoke of openly. The lamp's flame wavered violently.
Adriana took an instinctive step back.
And that was when the ground gave way.
A sharp crack echoed through the night as a section of stone collapsed from above, loosened by age and time. Adriana froze, unable to move.
Her brother didn't hesitate.
He stepped in front of her, pushing her backward with force.
"Run!"
The stone struck him before she could scream.
He fell hard onto the road, the sound of his body hitting the ground louder than the wind that returned in fury. Adriana dropped to her knees beside him, the lamp rolling away and spilling light across the dust.
"Brother—" her voice broke. "No, no, no…"
Blood darkened his tunic, spreading slowly across his chest.
He gasped, struggling to breathe.
"I'm here," she said desperately, pressing her hands against the wound. "I'm here. Don't close your eyes."
He smiled faintly, pain flickering behind his eyes.
"I told you," he whispered, "I'd always protect you."
Tears streamed down her face. "Please don't say that. Please. I can help you. I can—"
"Stay with me," she begged. "Just stay."
He reached for her hand, his grip weak but warm. "You were never meant to walk alone," he murmured. "Promise me… you'll be careful with your gift."
She nodded frantically. "I promise. Just don't leave me."
But the night had already made its choice.
His breathing slowed, each breath shallower than the last. The wind carried the scent of iron and earth. Adriana felt something tear inside her—not flesh, but something deeper.
When his hand fell limp in hers, the world shattered.
The road was silent again, but the echo of his sacrifice never left her.
FLASHBACK ENDED