The morning after Maria's sleepless night, the sky wore a dull gray, like the clouds were tired of holding themselves together. Mist clung to the roofs of Drevane, and dew painted the grass silver. Everything was quiet—too quiet for a town two days before a festival.
Axel sat on the front porch, a half-eaten slice of honeybread in one hand. His eyes wandered across the village, but his mind was still trapped in the way Maria had jolted awake last night. That weird dream. The chapel. The chain sound.
"Axel," Maria called from inside. "Mama says hurry up or she's leaving you behind."
"Tell her I'll catch up."
"You'll just get lost again."
"I didn't get lost. I got... stuck."
Maria popped her head out the door, hair still a mess. "In a bucket."
He glared. "It was dark."
She laughed and skipped down the porch steps barefoot. "Come on, dummy."
Axel sighed, stuffed the last bit of honeybread into his mouth, and followed her.
They met their mother, Ilena, near the town square. She was sorting dried herbs into a worn leather pouch while greeting a few passing villagers. Her hair was tied up in a loose braid, and her apron was already stained from the bakery's morning shift.
"There you are," she said without looking up. "You're lucky the bread didn't burn today. I should've left you to clean the oven."
"Good morning to you too," Axel mumbled.
Ilena flicked a dried stem at him. "Morning. Now take this to Master Herin's. He needs these before noon or he'll be whining about his back again."
She handed Axel the pouch, gave Maria a quick kiss on the forehead, and pointed down the east path. "You two stay together. No wandering."
"Got it," Maria said, grabbing her brother's hand. "No buckets today."
Ilena raised an eyebrow.
"Long story," Axel said quickly, and they were off.
The path to Master Herin's ran through the older part of Drevane. The houses there leaned a little more, their paint had long faded, and their windows were smaller, as if they didn't want to see too much of the world.
As they walked, Maria kept glancing over her shoulder.
"You keep doing that and I'll start thinking you've got a tail."
She didn't laugh. "Something's... off today."
"Yeah, the sun didn't show up. That's all."
"No. It's like... like we're being watched."
Axel slowed his steps and looked around. Nothing but wind-blown leaves and an old man coughing into a cloth on his porch.
"You've been acting weird ever since the dream," Axel said. "You're probably just spooked."
"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced.
They dropped off the herbs and got paid with two sticks of dried plum candy, which Maria immediately claimed both for herself. Axel chased her halfway down the street before giving up.
Later that afternoon, the village children gathered near the south field for rehearsal games. The festival's lantern chase was coming, and every year, kids had to practice catching the falling lights before they touched the ground. It was silly fun, really—but this year, something felt different.
The man leading the games, Old Tham, had a cast on one arm and kept glancing nervously toward the distant trees.
"All right, you lot, pair up!" he called. "Remember: if you drop your lantern, the spirits take your pudding!"
That got a round of laughs.
Axel and Maria joined the circle. It wasn't long before the cloth lanterns—held up by hovering sparks—began to drift through the air. Children dashed beneath them, waving and leaping to catch the slow-falling lights.
Axel caught his first on the third try. Maria snagged hers in one jump. But as they prepared for the next round, something strange happened.
A black lantern fell.
Nobody had seen one like it before. It wasn't cloth. It looked like leather. And it didn't float like the others. It fell fast. Heavy.
Axel grabbed Maria's hand and stepped back.
The black lantern hit the ground.
Nothing happened at first. Then it cracked open. Inside was something wrapped in torn silk. Axel knelt to pick it up.
"Don't touch it!" Maria whispered.
But he already had.
It was a charm—twisted metal, shaped like a serpent swallowing its own tail. Cold. Too cold. Even in the heat of the day.
"Where did this come from?" he asked.
Nobody knew.
That evening, the siblings sat on the roof of their house, watching the last bit of gray fade into blue. The stars didn't seem to want to come out. Maria held a bowl of sweet rice in her lap. Axel still had the charm in his pocket.
"Don't tell Mama," he said quietly.
"I won't."
"Do you think... it's from the chapel?"
Maria looked down at her rice. "I dreamed about that symbol last night. But it wasn't metal. It was... carved into the chapel door."
Axel froze. "That thing didn't even have a door last year. It was just a wreck."
"I know."
They didn't talk for a while.
The wind picked up. From across the village, the chapel tower stood still.
No bells. No lights.
Just a faint outline against the darkening sky.
That night, Ilena sat near the fire, sewing by lamplight. Axel and Maria pretended to sleep.
Outside, a single chime echoed.
Not loud. Just once.
Like something had brushed the bell. Or pulled it.
Axel's eyes opened.
Maria was already sitting up.