On this particular day, the morning was unusually bright, the blue sky almost cloudless, as if to declare the weather would be bright and sunny all day long.
The warm summer-like atmosphere would normally cause naughty children to run about in laughter and sneak out to play outdoors, but none of the young ones within Agartha dared make a noise on this day.
Regardless if they were elves, fairies, witches, shapeshifters, or the other hidden races, all their villages and cities had a rare solemn mood that day.
The day of mourning, the most important day for the Kingdom of Agartha.
It was not a celebration, but an annual commemoration of the dead.
One would think it strange, why these long-lived races who treated years as shortly as weeks would commemorate their loved one's death anniversary, but that only proved how devastating that massacre one hundred years ago was to the living residents of Agartha.
