The forest outside was silent, save for the distant murmur of the river and the occasional crack of a snapping branch. Inside the hut, the fire burned low, casting shadows that seemed to sway like restless spirits along the walls. Zora sat closest to the flames, clutching both the leather token and the wooden figurine, as Freya's voice began to draw them deeper into the world of the Scarlet Kingdom.
"I remember the night as if it were carved into my bones," Freya said, her hands resting lightly on her knees. "The Red did not arrive slowly. It swept through the kingdom like fire on dry grass, unstoppable and merciless. Scott ran ahead of us, brave as always, shouting for children to hide, for families to flee. But courage alone cannot stop a storm written by the gods."
The children shifted uncomfortably. Darion's knuckles whitened as he gripped his knees, while Liora's eyes brimmed with fear. Zora's heartbeat raced. For the first time, the story was no longer a distant memory it was alive, vivid, and terrifying. She imagined Liam standing beneath the blood moon, Jace by his side, and Scott leading the frightened villagers, all caught in a tide of fire and blood.
"The rivers," Freya continued, her voice almost breaking, "they ran red that night. Not with mud or clay, but with the blood of those we could not save. And the screams… my child, you cannot imagine the sound of countless voices pleading, dying, and vanishing into the wind. Liam's eyes glowed with the curse, Jace's hands shook, and Scott… Scott never faltered, but he fell first, a hero whose heart could not outrun destiny."
Zora shivered and held the figurine closer. The whispers surged around her again: "Zora… Zora… the Red watches… the Red waits…" It was no longer just a faint murmur. It was a tide of voices threading into her mind, urging awareness, caution, courage.
Freya's gaze fell on Zora with a softness that contrasted the story's horror. "This is why I tell you these tales, Zora. Not for fear. Not for grief. But to teach you the truth of power and loss. One day, you will face enemies as relentless as that night, decisions as final as the fallen. And the Red… the Red will judge you for the choices you make, just as it judged Liam, Jace, and Scott."
She paused, letting the silence settle like ashes. Then, softly, almost to herself, she whispered, "I lost friends that night, children who never saw another sunrise… yet their courage lingers, a guide for those who come after."
Eira leaned toward Zora, voice trembling. "Will… will it ever end? The Red?"
Freya shook her head, slow and deliberate. "The Red is eternal, child. It does not end. It waits, it observes, it tests, and it chooses. But remember this: courage and love are shields the Red cannot fully destroy. They are the marks of survival, the tools of destiny. One day, someone like you will wield them to shape the fate of the world."
Zora's mind wandered, seeing not just the massacre, but the people she would meet in the future allies, protectors, and even enemies. Kaelen, a wandering warrior-scholar who would teach her strength and love. Ardyn, the noble with ambition that might both aid and betray. Neriah, the priestess whose guidance hid a secret agenda. Even now, their faces hovered in her mind's eye, though she had not yet met them. Freya's stories were laying the path, planting seeds Zora could only feel, not yet see.
"The Red," Freya said, voice firm once more, "does not kill randomly. It moves like the river, silent, inevitable, and unstoppable. Every life it touches leaves a scar, every choice it forces echoes through generations. Liam, Jace, Scott… they taught me that survival alone is not enough. You must understand, adapt, and decide, Zora. The future is not just written. It is fought for."
Zora's grip tightened on the leather token. The whispers were now a tide, relentless and insistent: "Prepare… step… endure… Zora…" She understood in that moment that the Red was not simply a story, nor a curse. It was a current running beneath time, beneath blood, beneath the choices of every living being. And she was being called to step into it, to shape it, to survive it.
Freya's voice softened for the last time that night, low and tender: "Sleep lightly, my children. Remember the courage of those who fell, the loyalty of those who stood, and the strength of those who survived. One day, Zora, you will walk paths they could not, face choices they never imagined, and leave marks that will echo through all time. The Red watches, yes… but so do the brave, and so does love."
Outside, the river murmured endlessly. The frogs' cries echoed like ghosts through the forest. Inside, around the dying fire, Zora held the tokens of past courage close to her chest, feeling the whispers pulse like a heartbeat, guiding her toward a destiny she could not yet fully grasp.