The wedding feast had been an adornment of joy woven beneath the star-drunk sky. Everybody was smiling, giggling, and happy. Such occasions brought joyous moods to every house in the village.
Jaenor and Natina were among the crowd, separated after their brief intimate session.
And Valara was quick on the uptake. She already had her hands wrapped around Jaenor's neck. While Mother was doing the boy, the daughter was elsewhere.
Rena sat slouched against a wooden pillar, her cheeks flushed crimson from the strong ale that had been flowing freely since the sun's descent. Her wedding gown, once pristine white silk adorned with delicate pearls, now bore the stains of celebration—wine, grease, and the inevitable marks of a truly memorable feast. Around her, the villagers of Thornwick continued their revelries, spinning in circles as they danced to the ancient wedding songs passed down through generations.
The bride and groom sat at the high table, their faces glowing with happiness and perhaps a touch too much wine.
Garlands of summer flowers crowned their heads, and their hands were bound together with ribbons of gold and silver—a symbol of their eternal union. The village elder had blessed them with the old words, calling upon the spirits of the forest and the strength of the mountain to protect their love.
But in the midst of this joyous chaos, something pierced through the revelry like a blade through silk.
A shriek.
Rena's head snapped up, her ale-clouded mind struggling to process the sound.
It had been high-pitched, desperate, and utterly unlike the sounds of celebration surrounding her.
The sound pressed on and off, low, like a distant growl.
She blinked slowly, wondering if her intoxicated state had conjured the noise from thin air.
She looked around; her gaze searched every corner and shadow, but she couldn't find anything strange.
The laughter continued around her, the music played on, and the dancers whirled without pause.
Perhaps 'twas merely a barn owl, she thought, reaching for her tankard once more.
But then it came again—longer this time, more terrible.
A man's voice, stretched thin with agony and terror, echoing from somewhere beyond the center. This time, the sound cut through even the thickest ale-induced fog, and Rena found herself rising unsteadily to her feet.
"Did you hear that?" she called out, but her voice was lost in the din of celebration.
The third scream shattered the night like glass.
This time, every soul in the village center heard it clearly.
The music died with a discordant clash of instruments suddenly silenced.
Dancers froze mid-step, their faces turning toward the noise.
The laughter faded into an uncomfortable murmur as neighbors looked to one another with growing unease.
"What in the name of the Seven Hells was that?" growled Gareth the farmer, his massive frame casting a long shadow in the torchlight.
Valara and other senior members gathered around quickly. They could tell something was wrong, and they could anticipate it.
The center fell into an oppressive silence, broken only by the nervous shifting of feet and the crackling of the wooden sticks.
Even the dogs that had been gnawing on bones beneath the tables lifted their heads, ears pricked and hackles beginning to rise.
Jaenor, Taeryn, and Baren looked at each other, but Jaenor was feeling it; something was approaching, he could tell, he could feel it. Something inside him was gnawing at him.
Then came the sounds from the woods—the ordinary sounds of the night forest that now seemed anything but ordinary. Crickets chirped their eternal song, but their rhythm seemed off, frantic. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the torchlight, a branch snapped with a sound like breaking bones.
Rena, still swaying slightly from the ale, squinted toward the trees.
The wind swayed the trees, making an eerie sound, and in that moment of movement, she saw it—a shadow that moved against the natural flow of the wind. Not the lazy drift of smoke or the dance of tree branches, but something purposeful, predatory.
"There," she whispered, pointing with a trembling finger.
"There is something out there."
Jaenor moved forward, unknowingly. He was drawn to something, someone far in the woods, a wisp of darkness; it was calling him.
And then something stirred within him, a cold sensation that began in his gut and spread outward like ice water in his veins.
He had been living peacefully for all these years, that he had forgotten the horrors of this world.
Valara moved towards the direction in which Rena had said she saw something. She had drawn her Origin power, the one true source of life. A faint hum of orange-colored haze started shimmering around her.
The villagers had begun to cluster together, their festive mood completely shattered. Mothers pulled their children close, and the men began to glance around for weapons, though most had left their blades at home, expecting nothing more dangerous than a few wedding toasts and perhaps a friendly scuffle over the last slice of cake.
The darkness beyond seemed to press closer, as if it were a living thing seeking entry. The torches flickered more violently now, and several began to gutter and die, leaving patches of shadow that grew larger and more threatening with each passing moment.
Then the shadows began to move.