"Edran! …. Edran, wake up!"
A child's voice called to him, like a sharp tone cutting through his ears.
Young Edran stirred.
His face felt warm as the dappled, golden sunlight filtered through the tall grain. He opened his eyes and smelled the scent of dew and wildflowers as the wheat rustled softly above him. It was almost too quiet for a second before her voice could be heard once more.
"You're drooling on the harvest."
With a groan, he sat up and wiped the straw particles from his face. Beside him, in the dirt, lay his wooden sword, shabby at the hilt and badly carved.
His 7-year-old younger sister, Daina, was standing next to him, barefoot in the grass, holding a wildflower with pride in one hand. Daina was known for her untidy braids and crooked smiles.
"You fell asleep again," she said, tilting her head. "Were you dreaming of dragons, or did you finally lose a duel with a bee?"
"I was fighting sky serpents," he muttered, stretching. "And almost found Shiruba's lair, too. If you hadn't woken me, I'd have brought back proof."
"You always say that," she giggled, skipping a few steps back. "But all I ever see is you snoring in the field."
Edran smiled, lifting the sword and giving it a half-hearted swing through the grass. "You will see Daina, one day I will grow into a knight and quest through Skyland to find Shiruba!"
Beyond the fields, where wheat met horizon, the village of Vaelridge slumbered in early sunlight. It was a quiet patch of fertile farmland tucked between two gentle riverbanks, where fences leaned with age and thatched rooftops dozed beneath slow-turning windmills. Laughter often drifted through its sun-dappled paths, carried by the breeze like pollen. The people here planted deep and rose early, living simply in the land's rhythm.
This was Firya, Skyland's heartland, and although the Great Catastrophe had ripped through the skies eight years ago, the scars were still fresh in many people's memories. Cities had grown and fields had regrown, but memories were harder to bury.
Yet here, in this forgotten corner of peace, two children chased dragons with wooden swords and wildflowers, and for a moment, the sky held no scars.
Edran darted along a dirt path that cut through the wheat, his copper-brown hair tousled by the wind, his grin wide and reckless. He was ten, nimble, bright-eyed, and bursting with more dreams than his little town could hold. In his hand, he gripped his wooden sword tightly, the edges worn from a hundred imagined battles.
Behind him, Daina sprinted through the grain, her bare feet pounding the earth, breathless laughter trailing after him. "You swing too high!" she shouted between gasps. "You'll cut the clouds before the dragons!"
He glanced back with a grin and swung again, this time overhead, cleaving the air above him. "I wasn't aiming for dragons," he said. "I was aiming for the sky. Maybe if I hit it just right, I can slice through the clouds and find Shiruba hiding up there."
Daina laughed, sparkling like the wind chimes on their porch. "You say that of so many strange things!"
"It's not weird," he said, shrugging. "Not if you believe it."
The children kept playing make-believe, darting through the golden fields of Firya, their laughter spilling into the wind like dandelion seeds. Every swing of the sword, every shout, every burst of joy wove dreams into the wheat, dreams of knights, sky serpents, and silver dragons watching from above.
A horn sounded from the road.
"The soldiers!" Edran screamed in joy, taking his little sister by the hand.
A long line of mounted knights filed past in a cloud of dust and sunlight, their cloaks waving like banners. Other villagers had also gathered to watch, waving in some places as the soldiers in shiny armor paraded through the dusty roads.
Edran's eyes gleamed at the sight. "Look at them, Daina. One day I'll wear that armor. Firya, I'll keep you safe, from the dragons, from the Sylvankin… from everything."
She glanced up at him, hesitated, but nodded. "And I will sing you when you come home."
They stayed there until the last rider was gone, then walked home, their minds still spinning with excitement.
-break-
That evening, the family sat by the fire. The cottage was small, its wooden beams old but sturdy, and the walls breathed with the scent of simmered herbs, roasted root vegetables, and freshly cut hay. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickers of gold across the rough stone floor and the wool blankets draped over the chairs.
As steam curled into the beams above, their mother stood close to the pot, stirring the mixture slowly. At the back of her neck, her auburn hair was tied loosely, allowing a few strands to fall loose and frame her face. She had an apron still wet from washing vegetables in the stream, and her faded linen dress was patched at the elbows. Her hands moved with deliberate care, the kind molded not by battles but by kitchen fires and gardens. As she stirred, she hummed a quiet, familiar tune, the same lullaby she had sung since the children were small, the one Daina always claimed made the stars blink slower.
Daina sat perched on a stool by the window, elbows on the sill, gaze tilted toward the sky. "Can I sing the Numa now, Papa?" she asked, her voice soft and expectant.
Their father looked up from where he sat near the hearth, sharpening an old blade that hadn't seen real use in years. His hands were large, rough, and burn-scarred, hands that once belonged to the forge, now turned to simple farm life, cutting crops and fixing fence posts. The soot was gone, but its memory lived in every weathered line on his palms.
He smiled at her, tired but warm. "Of course, my little songbird. The stars are waiting."
Daina stood, cupped her hands over her chest, and closed her eyes. Her voice rose gently, like wind drifting through tall summer 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 grew still. Even the fire seemed to quiet, its crackles softening as if listening.
When she opened her eyes again, her cheeks were flushed. She looked down, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
"I just want to sing like that forever," she whispered.
Her mother crossed the room and knelt beside her, brushing a loose braid behind her ear. "Then sing, my love. So long as your voice is alive, so is peace."
-Break-
Later that night, Edran lay flat on his back, staring at the beams overhead like they might shift and spell out answers. Daina was snoring a little, just barely, a soft puff between breaths, and it made him smile, even though he was wide awake. He could still hear her song in his head, even hum a line or two if he tried. But the words felt distant now. Thin. Like mist you couldn't grab.
Then
Thud.
Something deep. Wrong.
He froze. Was that...?
Another thud. Closer. Heavier. Then a scream.
He sat up so fast he nearly fell off the cot. The air had changed. The silence between thuds was louder than the sound itself. Something was off, off in a way he didn't have words for yet.
"Daina!" he hissed, scrambling to her side. "Wake up. Get up, something's... something's happening."
She blinked at him, then the scream came again, sharper this time. Her eyes went wide.
"What's happening?" she whispered, already clinging to his arm.
"I..maybe. I don't know. We need Mama. Papa." He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the stairs, skipping two at a time, his feet slapping the wood. The heat hit before they reached the bottom. Smoke curled out of the kitchen like something alive. The doorway there was gone, no, it was still there, but swallowed. Orange. Moving. The house was burning.
And outside. Heavy steps, like boulders rolling. Shadows gliding past the windows. Eyes glowing red No. Of no men nor beast but of terrors, nightmarish creatures crawling around the village.
"Here! The cellar!" Edran yanked her sideways, barely dodging a falling pan. The floorboards groaned under their weight as they flung open the hatch and dropped into the dark. He nearly missed the last step, but she landed hard beside him with a cough.
They crawled under crates of old apples, dirt, and something that stung the nose. Daina was shaking. So was Edran.
"I'm scared," Daina whispered, and her breath hitched.
"I know." He reached for her wrist. "Remember your song? Sing the first line. Just that."
Her lips moved. Nothing came out. Then, A single note. Wobbly. Thin as a reed. Edran hummed, off-key and rough, but loud enough to cover the cracks in her voice. He had to believe it helped. He had to.
Then—
BAM.
The door above slammed open.
"Edran! Daina!" a voice roared.
"Papa!" Edran stood, banged his head, and scrambled again. "We're here! We're here!"
"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, no! Daina!" Edran lunged back, smoke clawing at his eyes as he stretched his hand to grab her. He grabbed a cloth? Hair? Her hand? Something tore away, and his fingers closed on nothing. Just the bracelet. Just that damn bracelet before smoke swallowed her completely. With a horrific little scream echoing through Edran's ears as time felt like slowing down.
On that, the father grabbed Edra, pulling him backwards to the side as the house was being engulfed in fire.
"Papa! She's still in there! Let me go back!" Edran cried, struggling against his father's grip.
"No!" his father shouted, yanking him away just as the ceiling collapsed behind them in a storm of ash and flame.
"Daina!" Edran screamed, his voice cracking with heartbreak as he watched their home collapse, flames devouring everything they had known.
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 spoke with the few elders and survivors who had clung to life through the night.
"We don't know if it was dragons or shadows," one elder muttered to the captain of the crusade who had come to investigate the horrific scene.
"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." His voice was steady, his gaze unwavering despite the tears welling in his eyes. A storm of grief burned behind his stare, but it was sharpened by something fiercer and resolve.
"You're too young," the captain said with a faint, knowing smirk. It wasn't mockery, but the recognition of someone who had seen this kind of fire before. "Keep surviving. Grow stronger. Then come find me."
"What's your name?" Edran asked, his voice cracking.
The captain paused before answering. "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, its threads singed but intact, like the memory of her voice, still echoing in his chest. He would go to Greimdall someday, not as a beggar or a child, but as someone forged by fire, carrying the promise of a voice the world had tried to silence.