The sun had set. Darkness cloaked the land, the new moon hiding its face, yet a strange radiance descended from above. Glittering patterns spilled across the world below. Nature granted Arcadia a spectacle seen only once in a hundred years. The heavens blazed with thousands of meteors streaking across the firmament. Some burned in fiery brilliance as they plummeted toward the earth; others glimmered behind distant clouds, their light diffused but no less magnificent.
The deep blue sky shimmered with countless points of light. Below, the Alkmanis orchard glowed faintly under the celestial display. No lamps were needed tonight—the heavens themselves provided illumination. Drawn by the wonder, people stepped out of their homes, eager to witness the spectacle. The neighboring houses were far enough apart that their figures remained mere silhouettes, yet Daniil could make them out, etched against the radiant glow.
His father approached, footsteps growing louder, yet Daniil did not look down. His gaze stayed fixed on the sky. Andreas' breathing was uneven from leaving the fields so abruptly, but the sight above held him in awe. His eyes lifted to the meteors, each one more brilliant than the last. How could anyone ignore such beauty? Even he had never witnessed anything like it.
Moments later, Daniil's mother stepped outside, drawn by the shimmering sky. She lingered at the doorway, eyes wide in wonder, while Alexia and Agapi clung to her sides, their small faces tilted upward. A gentle breeze cooled the sweat on Daniil's skin and dried the moisture on his father's brow, tugging at their clothes as they all stood entranced.
A whisper broke the stillness.
"No…"
Meri's voice slipped out before she could stop it. Her daughters glanced at her, puzzled for a heartbeat, then returned to the meteors. Andreas noticed immediately. His eyes shifted to his wife and daughters, and a chill coiled through him. The words of the shrouded women echoed in his mind—the prophecy, heralded by this very meteor shower. Could this truly be the beginning of the end?
He lifted his gaze again, taking in the meteors' relentless brilliance. A cool breeze brushed his face, bringing a fleeting calm, but inside his mind churned with turmoil. A question gnawed at him: Could the warnings of a few strange women be trusted? Could their survival hinge on such words?
For a moment, he dismissed the thought as absurd. Yet doubt lingered, burrowing deep. An instinct stirred: protect the family at all costs. He forced a laugh, masking the unease that gripped him.
"Hahaha! Don't worry, don't worry," Andreas called, still staring skyward. He waved his arm in a careless sweep. "You're thinking about those women, aren't you? Forget them. They could've guessed it on a whim. Maybe there's some study that explains it. Con artists, nothing more."
Meri's gaze drifted to the back of his head, long hair swaying. The wind felt subdued, as if nature itself held its breath. She realized the meaning behind his sudden reassurance—he was afraid too. Her eyes stung; tears welled and slid down her cheeks. One drop landed on Alexia's head. The little girl looked up, startled, seeing her mother silently weeping.
Does he think I was born yesterday? Did he really think I wouldn't see through it?
Finally, she spoke, voice soft but steady.
"How can you be so sure?"
The question hung in the night. Andreas turned to face her, caught off guard. For a long moment, they simply stared. Her tears glistened in the dim light, his expression faltered under the weight of doubt. At their feet, the girls looked up, confused. Daniil remained oblivious, eyes locked on the blazing sky.
"W-What do you mean by that?" Andreas stammered. His mind went blank; no answer came.
Meri's composure shattered. Grief and fear surged, twisting into anger. She stepped toward him, daughters slipping from her grasp as her robe shifted. Her eyes blazed, searching his soul. False hope enraged her more than silence ever could.
"You think I'm dumb? Mocking me? Mocking all of us?" Her hands gestured sharply, her words cutting through the night, heavy with fear and desperation.
Andreas reeled, unprepared, with nothing to offer. A scowl spread across his face, frustration boiling over—not at her, but at the fear clawing through his chest, at the suffocating uncertainty, at the prophecy that seemed too real.
Why must I be accountable for this?
He could not answer her demands for reassurance. His mind spun, rage rising.
"What do you mean?! I told you what I know! There are studies—seasons, tides, there must be studies for this too! How does that sound like mocking?!" His voice was sharp, edged with fury.
Meri saw through the bluff. Her eyes hardened, and in a moment of unthinking anger she spoke words she would regret.
"How would a man like you, living in the boonies, know about such a thing?"
The insult cut deep. Andreas knew her noble background, her defiance in marrying him, a commoner. It slammed into him with brutal force. Years of toil, of risk, of lifting his family from poverty, meant nothing in that instant. The Alkmanis name, built by his hands, felt hollow.
Anger surged through him. He raised his hand, the fire in his veins roaring. Meri recoiled, daughters clutching at her skirt. His arm surged forward, but then—
Two small faces. Wide, frightened eyes. His daughters.
Andreas froze. The fire sputtered and died. His hand trembled, falling empty to his side. The weight of shame pressed down, splintering pride further. He lowered his gaze to the gravel, unable to face anyone. How could he have thought of raising a hand against the woman who loved him most?
He knew it wasn't truly her fault. Fear, uncertainty, the looming prophecy—they poisoned their words and actions.
"I'm going inside," he muttered, barely above a whisper, before turning toward the house.
Meri slowly lowered her arms. Her hands fell limply to her sides. Guilt pressed down, heavy and suffocating. Finally, she followed him, steps dragging across the yard as she trailed behind Andreas into the house.