The sun crested over the fields of golden grain, casting a warm, honeyed glow upon the village of Vaelridge. Nestled between the riverbanks and the distant view of Greimdall's high walls, the village was modest—rows of thatched rooftops, sun-bleached fences, and tilled soil that bore the weight of generations. Here, the air was filled with the scent of dew and wildflowers, and laughter often echoed across the valley long before the morning bell.
Edran ran barefoot along the packed earth path between rows of swaying wheat, his copper-brown hair catching the wind. He was ten, lean, and quick-footed, a boy full of dreams too large for the tiny village he called home. In his hand he clutched a wooden sword, one he had carved with his father in the forge before they abandoned it for the fields.
"You swing too high! You'll cut the clouds before the dragons!" shouted a girl's voice from the tall grass.
Edran grinned and spun around. His little sister, Daina stood behind him—seven years old, small and barefoot like him, her brown hair pulled into two uneven braids. She clutched a wildflower in one hand, a woven bracelet on her wrist, and her cheeks dimpled with every smile.
"I wasn't aiming at dragons," Edran said proudly. "I was aiming at the sky itself. If I hit it just right, maybe I'll break through and see Shiruba U'windo."
Daina laughed—a sound as clear as the wind chimes that hung from their porch. "You always say strange things like that."
He shrugged. "It's not strange if you believe it."
A sudden horn echoed from the nearby road.
"The soldiers!" Edran cried, grabbing Daina's hand.
Down the dusty road came a line of mounted knights, glinting in sunlight, their cloaks trailing behind like banners of glory. The villagers came out to watch as the armored warriors of Greimdall rode past. Some waved. Others simply stared in silence.
Edran's eyes sparkled. "Look at them, Daina! One day, I'll wear that armor. I'll protect Firya from the dragons, from the Sylvankin... from everything."
She looked up at him, not quite understanding, but nodded anyway. "And I'll sing for you when you come home."
They stayed until the soldiers disappeared down the road, then returned home with heads full of dreams.
Later that evening, the family gathered by the hearth. The smell of stewed herbs and roasted root vegetables filled the small cottage. Their mother hummed softly while stirring the pot, her voice soft and low. She always sang the same melody—Daina's favorite.
Daina climbed up onto a stool near the window and looked out to the stars. "Can I sing now?"
Her father, a sturdy man with soot-stained hands and tired eyes, nodded with a small smile. "Of course, my little songbird. The stars are waiting."
Daina stood, clasped her hands to her chest, and closed her eyes.
Her voice rose, gentle at first, like the wind over the grass:
"O stars above the endless sky,
Whisper where the rivers lie,
Carry dreams through silver air,
And guard the ones I hold most fair."
"In fields of gold and forest deep,
Where children laugh and flowers sleep,
I'll sing until the darkness fades,
And light shall bloom in shadow's shade."
The room stilled with every note. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to hush to listen. When she finished, Daina looked down shyly, her cheeks warm.
"I want to sing like that forever," she said.
Their mother smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter's face. "Then sing, my love. As long as your voice lives, peace lives too."
— BREAK —
That night, Edran couldn't sleep. He lay awake staring at the wooden beams above him, listening to Daina's quiet breaths from the other side of the room. A soft breeze drifted in through the window, and in it he swore he could still hear her song, lingering like a promise.
Then came the sound—a low, unnatural thud.
Another.
Then a scream.
Edran shot upright. The smell hit him next—smoke. He ran across the room, shaking Daina awake.
"Daina! Wake up, something's wrong!"
She stirred groggily, then sat up with wide, frightened eyes as another scream tore through the night. "What's happening?"
"I don't know. Come on—we need to find mama and papa!"
He grabbed her hand and rushed downstairs. Their home was filled with thick smoke. The door to the kitchen was already engulfed in flames.
Thundering footsteps echoed outside. Shadows—twisted, tall, unnatural—moved past their windows. Not men. Not beasts. Shapes that flickered like smoke, eyes glowing faint and cruel.
"Here!" Edran pulled Daina toward the cellar.
They stumbled inside, coughing, huddling beneath the old apple crates.
Daina shook, clutching his arm. "I'm scared, Edran…"
"I know," he whispered, trying to smile despite his pounding heart. "Hey, remember your song? Sing it. Just the first part. I'll hum with you."
Her voice trembled as she sang the first note. Edran hummed along, trying to drown out the screams and roar of flames.
Then the door burst open.
"Edran! Daina!"
It was their father's voice.
"Papa!" Edran shouted.
"Come here! Quickly, take my hand!" their father called, reaching toward them.
Edran grabbed Daina's wrist and surged forward. The heat was unbearable. As they reached for their father's hand—
A beam crashed from above.
Daina screamed as she slipped from Edran's grip.
"No! Daina!"
Edran reached back, his fingers brushing hers—just enough to pull the bracelet from her wrist before smoke swallowed her completely.
"Papa—she's still in there! Let me go back!"
"No!" His father yanked him out as the ceiling collapsed behind them.
"Daina!!" Edran screamed, his voice cracking with heartbreak.
Outside, the village was ablaze. The sky glowed red, the fields devoured by flame. The shadows melted into the night, their purpose complete. Villagers wept. Some screamed. Others were simply gone.
Edran clutched the bracelet in his hand, his heart hollow.
Daina's song was no longer in the wind.
He stood there until the flames died and dawn painted the sky in muted gray. The cries of survivors echoed faintly through the scorched remains of Vaelridge.
Eventually, the soldiers came—but it was too late. The village lay in ashes, and their presence served only to inspect what little remained. Their captain dismounted near the ruins and began speaking with the few elders and survivors who had managed to cling to life through the night.
"We don't know if it was dragons or shadows," one elder muttered.
"It was shadows!" Edran stepped forward, his voice hoarse. "I saw them. Black, tall, with glowing red eyes."
The captain turned, barely sparing him a glance. "And who are you, boy?"
"I'm Edran. I want to join the soldiers. I want to avenge my sister."
"You're too young," the captain said with a faint, knowing smirk—not mocking, but like someone who'd seen many eager eyes before. "Boy, keep surviving. Grow stronger—and then come find me."
"What's your name?" Edran asked, his voice cracking, tears still in his eyes.
The captain paused. "Captain Halric," he said. "Remember it."
Before leaving, the soldiers addressed the remaining villagers. "Gather your dead," one said. "Those of you with strength, come to Greimdall. You'll be placed in refugee camps or considered for reassignment. If you want protection, you must earn it."
The survivors obeyed without protest. They had no fight left.
But Edran did.
He watched as the soldiers mounted their horses and disappeared beyond the trees, leaving the broken village behind.
Edran held the bracelet tight in his hand. He would not let Daina's song be forgotten. He would return to Greimdall—not as a beggar, but as someone who would rise beyond fire and ruin.