Dark clouds swallowed the sky as lightning tore through the heavens, thunder roaring in its wake.
Amidst the raging storm, a lone figure emerged—cloaked in black, a staff clutched tightly in its hand.
"This rain…" the figure murmured, its voice low, almost drowned by the storm.
"It comes to wash away the darkness."
It paused.
Then, slowly, a faint smile crept across its lips.
"Then perhaps… it is time for the light to burn."
The staff chimed softly as it stepped forward, each movement accompanied by a strange, ancient melody that seemed to echo through the storm itself.
A dark portal twisted open before it—unnatural, silent, waiting.
Without hesitation, the figure stepped through.
And vanished.
"In every night, there lurks the dark. Be wary… or the Witch of the Veil shall take you away."
The old man's voice lingered in the dimly lit room.
"But that's just a fairy tale."
A small voice cut through the silence.
The children turned.
It was a boy—Avrel.
Dark hair framed his face, his sharp eyes calm and unafraid. His long brows gave him an almost delicate beauty, but there was something unsettling in the way he stared—too steady, too knowing.
A few children snickered.
"Oh?" the old man said, raising a brow. "And why do you say so, Avrel?"
"Well…" Avrel shrugged lightly. "You said the witch appears at three, right? I've stared out my window at that time."
A pause.
"I've never seen anything."
Laughter broke out across the room.
The old man quickly raised a hand. "Quiet."
The room fell still again.
He studied Avrel for a moment longer than necessary.
"You're a curious one," he said finally. "Smart, too… I can tell."
His voice softened.
"I hope you never see it. I hope none of us ever do."
The mood shifted. The laughter died.
"Alright, that's enough for today," he clapped once. "Off you go."
Groans filled the room as the children dragged their feet toward the door.
"Go home to your parents!"
One by one, they disappeared into the night.
Silence returned.
Metildore moved to shut the door—
Then froze.
A figure stood there.
"…Oh?" he muttered. "What are you still doing here, kid?"
Avrel.
His head tilted slightly, as though the weight of it was too much for his neck.
His eyes didn't blink.
"You tell us these stories…" he said quietly.
A step forward.
"But you've never seen a witch either… have you?"
Metildore narrowed his eyes slightly.
"And you've got a funny name," Avrel added, almost absentmindedly.
For a moment, the old man said nothing.
Then he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
"Kids these days…"
He opened the door wider and gestured outward.
"Go on. It's late. Your parents will be worried."
Avrel didn't move immediately.
He simply stared at Metildore.
Too long.
Too still.
Then, slowly—
he turned.
Without another word, he stepped out into the night.
Metildore watched him go, the boy's figure shrinking into the darkness beyond the lantern light.
The street was quiet.
Too quiet.
The old man remained at the doorway.
Listening.
Waiting.
Then—
Jingle.
Metildore's expression tightened.
His hand gripped the edge of the door.
That sound…
Not from the boy.
His gaze shifted into the darkness Avrel had walked into.
And for a brief moment
he saw something move.
Not clearly.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Metildore did not step outside.
He did not call out.
He did not follow.
Instead...
slowly....
he closed the door.
That night, the wind howled louder than usual.
Avrel sat by his window.
Waiting.
The room lay in darkness, untouched by candlelight. Only the occasional flash of lightning revealed his still figure, perched silently, eyes fixed on the outside.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock dragged toward three.
Then....
it stopped.
Avrel frowned.
For the first time that night… he blinked.
A low hum filled the air.
Not from outside.
From behind him.
Slowly...
he turned.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
But the air felt… wrong.
Heavy.
Like something unseen was pressing against it.
Then came the sound.
Jingle.
Soft.
Metallic.
Familiar.
Avrel's fingers twitched slightly.
Another jingle....
…and then....
nothing.
Silence swallowed the room whole.
The weight in the air lifted as suddenly as it had come.
The clock....
ticked.
Once.
Twice.
It resumed.
Avrel stood there for a moment longer, eyes scanning the darkness.
Waiting.
But nothing came.
No shadow.
No voice.
No presence.
Just the storm… fading into the distance.
Slowly, he turned back to the window.
And sat down again.
Morning came quietly.
Sunlight slipped through the cracks of the wooden window, soft and warm—as if the night had never happened.
The village was alive again.
Voices. Footsteps. The distant clatter of carts rolling over uneven ground.
Children ran through the streets, their laughter filling the air as they chased one another between the houses.
"Avrel!"
One of them called out, waving him over.
Avrel approached calmly.
"You actually stayed up, didn't you?" the boy grinned. "Did you see your witch?"
A few others snickered.
Avrel looked at them.
Calm.
Unreadable.
Then he shook his head.
"No."
A pause.
"…Nothing happened."
The children laughed again, satisfied.
"Told you!"
"Just stories!"
They ran off, their voices fading into the morning noise.
Avrel remained where he stood.
Still.
Quiet.
Watching their backs as they disappeared between the houses.
For a brief moment, he didn't move.
Then....
his eyes shifted slightly.
Not toward the children.
Not toward the village.
But somewhere beyond it.
As if he was listening to something none of them could hear.
"…Nothing happened," he repeated softly under his breath.
A pause.
Unnoticed by anyone nearby.
A breeze passed through the street and the shadows at the edge of the buildings seemed to stretch.