The leaves crunched under Erian's bare feet as he slowly made his way along the cobbled path that led to the village market. The air smelled of dry wood, ripe fruit, and smoke.
Autumn had already settled into the cold air and the rustle of dry leaves, and though he could not see the world turn to gold and copper, he felt it in the way the wind changed its temper.
His wooden cane tapped lightly against the ground, rhythmic and precise. Erian knew the way by heart. Since losing his sight as a small child, his other senses had sharpened, forming a different world for him, one made of sounds, textures, and voices.
No matter how hard he tried to live with dignity, the village still looked at him with pity and disgust.
For many, Erian's blindness was a bad omen, a mark of misfortune sent by the gods. They said that a man who could not see could neither work properly nor protect a wife.
That was why no family wanted to marry him to their daughters.
In the eyes of others, Erian was a burden.
This had also affected his family. His father, once a respected man, had lost work opportunities because of the whispers that surrounded him.
His mother, once active and strong, no longer went out to the village. She stayed inside the house, moving silently through the rooms like a ghost trying not to be seen, as if hiding could somehow spare her from the judgment of others.
In time, Erian's father fell ill. A persistent fever weakened him for weeks, and since they had no money to pay a healer or access the remedies that might have saved him, he died in the same wooden bed he had built years before.
Since then, the house had grown even quieter, and his absence left a void that even time could not fill.
"You're out early today," said the old woman on the corner, who sold anise sweets wrapped in dry leaves.
"Nalia's performing at the festival," Erian replied with a calm smile. "I went out early to get some food. I don't want her starting the day on an empty stomach."
The old woman nodded with understanding, and Erian continued on, guided by the familiar feel of the stones under his feet.
Later, when the sun was a little warmer, he would return home to finish the reed baskets he wove on commission. He didn't make much money, but it was enough to keep the fire lit and food on his sister's plate. Since his mother had stopped going out, he had taken on almost everything himself.
As he passed a group of young men joking loudly, one stepped a little too close and slapped him on the backside. It wasn't hard, but clear enough to provoke laughter.
He paused for only a moment, lips pressed together, then kept walking as though nothing had happened.
He had grown used to it.
Erian wasn't the kind of young man who stood out for his strength or voice. But there was something in his face, in his fine features and gentle movements, that made people stop and look. Some said he was more beautiful than any woman in the village.
Others said his beauty was a curse wasted on someone who, besides being blind, had been born male. But to him, none of that mattered. He had more important things to do, like taking care of his younger sister.
Nalia was his light. The only person for whom Erian would risk losing everything.
Since his father's death, Erian had taken on the role of protector. He couldn't work like the others. He couldn't hunt or plow. But he could offer support, comfort, and love.
Erian continued toward the market, guided by the smells and sounds beginning to fill the square. The air now carried the earthy scent of freshly dug vegetables, the sharpness of sun-cured cheeses, and the sweetness of ripe fruit.
He had only a few coins in his pocket, enough to make a decent breakfast before Nalia's performance at the festival.
He stopped at a bread stall. The seller, recognizing him, raised his voice as if blindness also meant deafness.
"Fresh rye bread, boy. Three pieces for five coppers."
Erian's lips tightened slightly. He knew the usual price was three coppers.
"Five? Did the price change in the night?" he asked with calm.
The baker paused, uncomfortable at the certainty with which the blind boy answered.
"Bah, you misheard," he muttered. "Three for three, of course."
Erian paid and continued on.
At the next stall, a woman was selling eggs. The warm scent of hens still lingered in the air.
"Chicken or duck eggs?" Erian asked.
"Chicken. Fat and healthy. One copper each," she replied.
"Only if you give me five for four coins," Erian countered, running the coins through his fingers to count.
She sighed but agreed. She knew the blind young man remembered prices better than many with sight.
With his shopping done and a few coins still left, Erian turned back toward home. The sun was rising, pale and warm, and the square was filling with voices.
He walked in the opposite direction, a cloth bag over his arm, his thoughts on Nalia. He wanted her to have at least a decent breakfast before facing whatever the day had in store.
"Have you heard?" Erian overheard a woman whisper as he passed her. "They say this time… they might choose someone very young."
"May the gods protect us…" another woman replied. "They could choose a child."
Erian kept walking, but something inside him tensed. A knot tightened in his stomach, as if his body knew before his mind what those words meant. He tightened his grip around the cloth bag as if he could squeeze the fear out of existence.
Please, he thought, let them not choose a child.
Every decade, on the day of the autumn equinox, during the Day of Grace celebration, a woman from the village was chosen to be given to the God of Ruin.
No one remembered when the rite began, but everyone knew what happened if it wasn't carried out: crops failed, animals sickened, and the land became barren.
One soul for ten years of prosperity was the price.
A story murmured in hushed tones, with fear wearing the mask of resignation.
"Nonsense rumors, like always before the festival," a male voice said beside Erian.
It was Malric, his best friend. The only person who treated Erian as an equal, not a burden.
Malric had been by his side since they were children, standing up to those who mocked his blindness, sharing his lunch when Erian had nothing but silence and warm water at home, and making sure he never walked alone when the paths were covered in mud.
Malric always knew when Erian needed help, even before he asked.
"What are you doing out so early?" Malric asked, taking the bag Erian was carrying. "Planning to bewitch every man in the village with that pretty face?"
Erian frowned slightly. He never understood why his friend insisted on such comments, but he was used to the jokes or at least, he tried to be.
"And are you planning to scare the whole village with that ugly face of yours?" he replied, tilting his head with a mocking smile.
Malric laughed.
"If you can't see me, how do you know I'm ugly?"
Erian stopped. He turned toward Malric with a mischievous expression and slowly lifted his hands until he found his face. His fingers traced his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, and the curve of his brows. To him, it was a playful gesture.
But Malric held his breath. He said nothing. He only looked at him with longing.
The moment lasted only a few seconds, but to Malric it felt eternal. Finally, Erian withdrew his hands with a smile.
"Yes. You're hideous. Confirmed!"
Malric laughed again, but couldn't help feeling something tremble inside him.
"Hey," he said, falling back into step beside Erian, "I've worked like a mule for this year's festival."
"Oh, yeah? Planning to spend it all on sweets for your fiancée?" Erian teased, still smiling.
"Don't be ridiculous," Malric snorted. "I saved up to treat you and Nalia."
"Us?" Erian raised a brow. "I didn't know you were so generous."
"I'm not generous. I just… like seeing you two happy," Malric replied.
"And what about your fiancée? Shouldn't you be thinking about making her happy?"
Malric mocked, shaking his head.
"She can get whatever she wants just by reaching out her hand. She's a spoiled girl. She's got servants, jewels, and colorful dresses… what more does she need?"
Erian chuckled, thinking Malric was exaggerating as always.
"You're lucky to be marrying someone like that."
"Lucky?" Malric looked away, though Erian couldn't see him. "We're only getting married because her family consulted a cleric. They said the gods promised fortune if she joined with someone like me. Nothing more."
Erian only nodded and murmured something about how Nalia loved sweet pastries, so Malric had better buy her plenty.
"Well, this year there's more than just pastries," Malric said, getting back his enthusiasm. "I heard a merchant from the north brought candied apples and spiced roasted nuts. And in the square they'll be roasting lamb with honey and wine. They'll also sell fresh-baked bread with butter, and that soft cheese that melts on your tongue."
"Nalia's going to end up rolling around from eating so much," Erian joked with a small laugh.
"So will you," Malric added. "You're not escaping. I'm treating you to everything I can before the ceremony starts."
But as Malric spoke, a hard-to-ignore unease grew in Erian's chest.
He remembered the voices of the women he had heard minutes earlier.
"They could choose someone very young… They could choose a child."
Nalia was ten years old.
The chosen for the offering had always been women between sixteen and twenty-five. He had repeated that to himself all week, like a prayer. Nalia wasn't eligible at least, not this year.
And yet, every time he heard the rumors, every time someone mentioned that the decision was near, something twisted inside him.
Because even if his sister wasn't chosen now, she could be in a decade. Ten years passed quickly. And in ten years, another woman from the village would die. Another family would lose their daughter.
The land might dress itself in celebration, but beneath the music and incense, death still waited.
The wind blew again, colder this time. And among the distant song of birds came the first beat of the drum announcing the approach of the festival.
And with that sound, the promise of a sacrifice.