Chapter 1: Beneath the Pale Moon

  A vilge slept under the moon’s pale light, unaware of the approaching danger. At the center of the vilge stood a two-story stone manor, owned by the town’s mayor, where certain individuals seemed to gather in a rush.

  A dim room was softly illuminated within the stone manor as silver shine passed through a tall, thick stained-gss window, casting intricate patterns on the hewn stone walls and wooden beams.

  The soft glow gently revealed parts of the room that were otherwise veiled in darkness.

  A wooden desk and matching chair were set against one wall, while a canopy bed made of carved wood stood directly opposite.

  On the bed y a young man in a simple tunic, likely in his te teens, sleeping peacefully on his feather-stuffed mattress.

  This young man, Abel, slept soundly after a long day of helping his family with town management and attending literacy csses with the local schor.

  Despite his peaceful slumber, a hint of anticipation could be seen on his brow, as only he knew how excited he was to learn swordsmanship from his father the next day.

  Abel was of average height for his age, with short brown hair and slightly tanned skin.

  The room was cool, the air carrying a passive chill. The familiar scent of leather, wax, and incense lingered until, in an instant, it was repced by the acrid smell of metal and smoke.

  Abel's nostrils twitched slightly as his body began to detect the change. Before he could wake naturally from his dreamnd, the heavy sound of footsteps vibrating through the wooden floors startled him awake.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  “Abel! Abel! Open up!” his mother's voice, full of arm, called out from the other side of the wooden door. The knocking was hurried and panicked.

  Abel jumped out of bed and hurried to the door, his heart racing frantically from the sudden disruption. Something as chaotic as this in the middle of the night had never happened before. On his way to the door, he grabbed a hanging brass holder that held a candle, his hands trembling slightly.

  Opening the door, he found a middle-aged woman, the same height as Abel, with brown curly hair cascading down to her shoulders. Her striking gaze was now sharp and piercing with urgency.

  She wore a dark blue kirtle with white embroidery on the cuffs, and in her hand was a brass holder carrying a lit candle, which Abel quickly used to light his own.

  “Mom, what’s going on…?” Abel asked, his voice still tinged with sleepiness and confusion.

  His mother shook her head, a look of desperation in her eyes, and grabbed him by the hand, pulling him along toward the end of the hall and the stairs. “We don’t have much time, Abel! Your father and I—we have to protect you. The town—it’s not safe anymore!” Her voice shook as she spoke, and she quickened her pace, her grip on Abel’s hand tightening.

  They reached the stairs and began to run down toward the first floor and the front door of the manor.

  “But Mom! Why so suddenly!?” Abel’s voice was frantic, his mind unable to grasp the sudden chaos unfolding around him.

  Still pulling him, his mother responded, her voice breaking, “It’s too complicated—your father and I—we tried to make this vilge a safe pce for everyone—”

  As Abel and his mother descended the stairs, a tense scene unfolded before them.

  A small group of familiar faces gathered in the dimly lit hall—his father, Luther, the family guard, and several vilge guards.

  Their hushed, urgent conversation was punctuated by the muffled sounds of battle outside, screams, and the cshing of metal filtered through the thick walls of the manor.

  The air was suffocating with tension, fear clinging to every corner of the room.

  When Abel and his mother reached the group, his father and Luther quickly moved toward them, both visibly tense. Abel’s father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a long bck beard, pced a firm hand on Abel’s shoulder. His thick eyebrows were furrowed with worry as he handed Abel a belt holding a sheathed dagger.

  “Abel! Take this,” his father’s voice was commanding but underlined with desperation. “Go with Luther to the stables. You must escape as quickly as possible!” His father’s dark blue tunic and sturdy bck boots made him look taller and more imposing than usual.

  He pointed toward a side door leading to the back of the manor, where Abel knew the stables were located.

  The stables, where a carriage waited, would be their escape. But Abel could hardly grasp what was happening.

  His father, the respected and beloved mayor, had always been so calcuting and protective of his people. The vilge had grown and flourished under his leadership, with no clear sign of unrest.

  Abel struggled to understand how everything could turn into chaos so quickly, as he ruled out his people. Just this morning, he had picked berries with his mother. Now, everything felt surreal.

  Abel was lost in thought when Luther stepped forward. “Sir, with all due respect, I cannot leave your side,” Luther said firmly, his loyalty and sense of duty clear. “I can send one of my men to accompany him. He’s a qualified warrior and capable of protecting the young master.”

  Abel’s father paused, clearly conflicted. His eyes flickered between Luther and Abel, a storm of emotions passing through him in those fleeting moments.

  Reluctantly, he nodded, accepting Luther’s proposal. “Go,” he said softly to Abel, his voice heavy with both sorrow and urgency.

  Luther called out to one of his men, a guard cd in light leather armor, who understood the command without hesitation.

  He moved swiftly, grabbing Abel’s arm and leading him toward the stables. Abel, still in a haze of confusion and grief, was stunned by the abruptness of it all. His mind was swirling with memories, quiet days spent with his family in their peaceful vilge. It felt as though those cherished days were slipping through his fingers.

  The guard guided Abel toward the stables, and Abel’s eyes filled with tears. He turned back, watching as the figures of his parents grew smaller and eventually disappeared from view. The sight made his heart ache, but there was no time to process it.

  As Abel approached the carriage, he hesitated. With a gnce over his shoulder at the fading silhouette of his home, something in him snapped. He faked a step toward the carriage door, then suddenly turned and bolted back toward the house, heart pounding.

  He couldn’t do it.

  This was his home. The pce he ughed, cried, and lived. The idea of leaving it behind felt like tearing out a part of himself. He wanted to be strong, to follow his father’s orders, to be the obedient son. But in that moment, the weight of everything overwhelmed him.

  “I can’t,” he muttered under his breath, legs pumping faster, a distraught sound leaving his mouth.

  But the guard was faster.

  Trained, focused, and bound to his duty, the man caught up in seconds.

  With a forceful tackle, he smmed Abel to the ground.

  The two struggled briefly, Abel kicking and pushing with everything he had, but the guard, rger and far stronger, easily overpowered him.

  With one final shove, he lifted the boy and tossed him into the carriage, the door smming shut behind him, and moved to the front of the carriage to get it going.

  Abel stared out the window, breathless, as the house grew smaller in the distance, tears burning silently down his face.

  The guard’s voice was strained, heavy with guilt as he spoke. “I’m sorry, young master... It’s for your safety. The vilgers... they’re in trouble, but Luther will do everything to ensure your family’s safety.” His words carried a deep sorrow, but there was little comfort to be found.

  Abel’s tears fell uncontrolbly as he stared out the small carriage window. Dark shapes moved through the vilge in the distance, twisting shadows cast by the fires and chaos that had overtaken the streets.

  Flickering lights danced ominously against the night sky, and the cries of his people reached his ears like haunting echoes. His heart clenched as he balled his fists, feeling an unbearable weight settle over him.

  Powerlessness. It consumed him entirely. He had grown up in this peaceful vilge, surrounded by a loving family and kind neighbors, but that world was being ripped away before his very eyes.

  The cries of the vilgers seemed distant, yet close enough to strike fear deep into his soul. The guard beside him had tried to console him, but it was of no use.

  Abel’s life had been shattered in a matter of minutes. Everything he knew, the simple joy of walking through the vilge, the ughter of his family, the safety he had taken for granted, was slipping through his fingers like sand.

  He could do nothing but watch as his world burned behind him, fading into the distance as the carriage sped forward into the unknown, sobbing away.

  …

  The carriage bounced violently as the horses galloped, their speed fueled by the fear that hung thick in the air. Inside, Abel gripped the dagger tightly to his chest, the bde cold against his skin, grounding him amid chaos.

  The coachman, voice strained with fear, shouted back, “We’re being followed! We have to cross the Palito Bridge, hold on!”

  Abel’s heart raced at the mention of the eastern ravine, a pce tangled in dark legends whispered by the vilge’s elders. Parents used tales of the ravine to scare children from wandering too far, stories of kids vanishing into the depths, never to return.

  Those myths now seemed all too real, lurking just beyond the edge of reason.

  The carriage rumbled across the uneven dirt roads, its frame rattling so violently that Abel feared it might colpse under the strain. Splinters of wood flew off as the wheels struggled to grip the road.

  When the bridge came into view, Abel’s breath hitched. It was nothing more than a fragile structure, a relic of an old world that should have long since fallen apart. It swayed ominously in the wind, teetering over the yawning ravine below, as if daring them to cross.

  The coachman hesitated for a moment, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins. Abel could sense his fear; he was considering abandoning the carriage, leaving them all to fend for themselves. But something kept him there, perhaps a sense of loyalty or the sheer terror of the consequences if he fled.

  As they approached the bridge, Abel heard the unmistakable sound of galloping hooves growing louder, the rhythm of their pursuers beating like war drums behind them.

  His pulse quickened as the danger closed in. But just as they reached the edge of the bridge, the galloping stopped. Abel gnced back, his heart in his throat, but there was nothing.

  Their pursuers had stopped at the edge, unwilling or unable to cross the perilous structure.

  Relief washed over him for a brief moment, but it was fleeting. The bridge creaked ominously as the carriage began to cross, its wooden pnks groaning under the weight.

  The wind whipped through the ravine, sending a shiver down Abel’s spine. He could feel the pull of the abyss below, as if the darkness itself was reaching up to cim them.

  The carriage swayed dangerously as they made their way across, each gust of wind threatening to tear the fragile bridge apart. Abel gripped the seat tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared ahead, willing the horses to keep moving.

  The sound of the ravine's eerie whistle filled the air, mixing with the creaks of the pnks beneath them. Abel’s breath hitched with each step the horses took, the fear of falling consuming his thoughts.

  They were halfway across when the bridge let out a loud crack, sending shockwaves through the carriage. Abel’s heart leaped into his throat as he felt the bridge give way beneath them for a moment before miraculously holding.

  The horses neighed in panic, their hooves slipping on the unstable boards, but somehow they pressed on, driven by the same primal instinct to survive. As they were approaching the other side, there was a feeling of relief.

  There was also a brief moment of eerie silence, and then suddenly, a loud snap echoed through the ravine. The sound reverberated off the walls, and in that instant, time seemed to slow.

  Abel’s stomach lurched as the ground disappeared beneath him. The weightlessness of freefall gripped him with icy terror, and all he could do was cling to the dagger as the carriage, the horses, and the coachman plummeted into the ravine, shattering the myth that it only pulled in children.