The sun rose over the village of Mossblight with all the enthusiasm of a hungover troll. Light filtered through the fog in lazy shafts, highlighting the crooked chimneys, lopsided cottages, and the occasional cow that wandered through town like it was in charge. Mossblight was not a village known for excitement. At best, it was known for its aggressively average turnip festivals and that one tavern that served drinks so strong they were legally classified as explosives in three nearby kingdoms.
No one in Mossblight, not even the town's self-declared mystic ("Mad Harold" to some, "That Guy Who Talks to Spoons" to most), could have predicted that the end of the world would begin in a pumpkin patch just outside the village limits.
A boy stood among the pumpkins. Still as a statue. Silent as a crypt. Slightly unsettling.
His name was Sid.
He was twelve, technically. But age didn't seem to fit Sid the way it did other children. Where most boys his age were obsessed with swords, games, or pretending to be dragons, Sid was more interested in necromantic theory, collecting cursed objects, and writing poetry about the tragic futility of mortal existence. His room was wallpapered with diagrams of magical runes and eldritch horrors, and he spoke to shadows like they owed him money.
Sid didn't smile often. When he did, people backed away.
And he was smiling now.
He was staring at a particularly plump pumpkin. Orange and unassuming. Innocent.
"Too perfect," Sid murmured. "Suspiciously perfect."
He crouched beside it and poked it with a stick. The pumpkin, lacking both mobility and ambition, did not respond.
"Very suspicious."
Sid scribbled something in a small leather-bound notebook labeled "Field Observations: Probably Haunted." The page already had several entries, including:
"Pumpkin #3 screamed internally?"
"Pumpkin #7: Swelled ominously. Might explode later. Must retrieve goggles."
"Pumpkin #12: Looked at me funny."
He was mid-note when the air shifted. A sudden rustling. A tangle of footsteps, gasping breath, and the unmistakable sound of someone tripping over their own feet.
And then—
WHAM.
Sid was tackled by a blur of silver and white. They tumbled into the dirt together, limbs flailing, pumpkins flying. One unfortunate gourd exploded on impact, releasing a smell best described as "haunted soup."
Sid blinked up at the girl sprawled on top of him.
She was clearly an elf. Pointed ears. Long silvery-blonde hair. Large emerald eyes filled with panic, embarrassment, and the kind of hyperactive energy usually found in squirrels after eating too much sugar.
"I'M SO SORRY!" she yelped, scrambling off him like a ferret on hot coals. "I was being chased—well, not chased, more like followed—and then I tripped on... a thing? Or possibly my own foot? And then—oh no, is that pumpkin juice on your face? That is definitely pumpkin juice. Do you like pumpkin juice? I hate pumpkin juice. It's sticky. And smells like autumn regrets."
Sid sat up. Silently. Stared at her.
She stared back.
Then, softly, she asked, "Are you... mad?"
"I am never mad," Sid replied, brushing pumpkin pulp off his hoodie. "Only disappointed in reality."
"Cool," she said brightly, then immediately tripped over a vine.
Her name was Sapphire. She was seventeen. She was a High Elf, trained in the arts of nature magic, diplomacy, and tripping over literally everything. Her robes, meant to command respect and awe, were currently tangled in weeds and smeared with mud. Her official scrolls were sticking out of her satchel like angry bookmarks.
Sid raised a brow. "You are... a disaster."
"I prefer the term 'spontaneous adventurer.'" Sapphire sat up, checking her elbows for bruises. "Also, I have a prophecy for you."
Sid narrowed his eyes. "Go on."
"The High Grove Council sent me. They said the fate of the realm rests in your hands. Something about shadows and a dark fate and, uh…" She pulled out a scroll, squinting at the fine print. "'The boy who walks with the night, whose heart is veiled, whose eyes pierce the void, shall rise against the Demon King.' That's you, right?"
Sid tilted his head.
Then he smiled.
And the pumpkin next to them withered into dust.
Sapphire blinked. "So... is that a yes?"
"I suppose," Sid said, standing. "I've always wanted to meet a demon."
"To fight him," Sapphire clarified.
Sid didn't respond.
Sapphire didn't push.
They began their journey that very moment.
Not with a dramatic thunderclap or a mighty explosion. But with Sid calmly picking up his notebook, Sapphire brushing leaves from her hair, and the two of them walking away from the pumpkin patch like it was just another Tuesday. Which, to be fair, it was.
They headed toward the forest beyond the hills. The trees there were older than memory, tangled with magic and mischief. Sapphire hummed a little tune as she walked, occasionally tripping on flat ground. Sid walked beside her in silence, shadows shifting ever-so-slightly around his feet.
Above them, the clouds thickened. In the distance, lightning cracked. Somewhere—far, far away—a great horn sounded.
The Demon King stirred.
And the pumpkins trembled.
End of Chapter One.