The moon hung like a blade, casting jagged shadows across Volnia's gothic houses as darkness consumed the landscape.
Leonardo's hand instinctively brushed against the small knife hidden in his boot, a habit from years of navigating the treacherous cave systems. The race with Ronald wasn't just a game; it was survival disguised as brotherly competition.
"First one down gets two meals," Ronald declared,
The spiraling cave entrance loomed before them,
Leonardo gazed at the moon, its luminescence casting an ethereal glow."I want my name to shine on the moon, though I can't explain why—or even how to make it happen." he said, his voice low and intense—part dream, part desperate declaration.
Ronald's laugh was sharp. "Not that quote again." He kicked some pebbles, each impact echoing like a warning.
But Leonardo's eyes were fixed on the horizon, on something beyond the immediate. "No, I don't mean literally. I want to be remembered when someone mentions the moon. a fleeting image.."
The second, smaller moon hung motionless—an unblinking eye witnessing their descent.
They raced, dust churning around their feet, night creatures emerging from shadowy recesses.
"I made it!" Ronald slammed the inn's door, triumph and something darker gleaming in his eyes.
Leonardo followed, close behind but not close enough. "Wait, you didn't tell me in time," he protested, his face a mixture of frustration and something deeper—a sense that this moment meant more than a simple race.
Rald appeared behind the counter, his movements mechanical, eyes holding secrets. "What'll it be, sir?"
"It's me, Rald."
"Oh, 'nard," Rald responded, returning to his night drink—a ritual that seemed to hold more significance than mere refreshment.
The night festival was about to begin, and Volnia was transforming. The lizard-folk and orcs prepared their stalls, their movements precise, almost military. Something was brewing beneath the celebration's surface.
Leonardo stepped outside, gazing at the stars. His perspective was changing, a restlessness growing within him. The nightly creatures—grotesque tall figures with wings—watched from the moonlight, massive and unnervingly still.
For some reason, they didn't attack "people." Yet.
"What if I just rule over it?" he mused, then laughed—a sound caught between humor and something more desperate.
The town pulsed with an energy that suggested tonight was not just another festival. It was a beginning.
The town is lively tonight. "It's the lizard-folk's winter solstice," he thinks.
Most people don't even know about solstice, but the lizard people found a way to implement it into their history.
His curiosity is piqued. He takes a whiff of the fresh night air and walks to the town's outskirts, the second largest lake in Moerlan visible.
The lake is so calm, the ships barely move—just a few, scattered across the water. "Maybe I could be a fisherman... or perhaps a guard.
Guiding tourists could work too. I know Volnia's cave system like the back of my hand, from Stoneveil to Echo Cavern, even Crimson Chasm.
Though... maybe not Hollow. Those spikes make it nearly impossible to navigate. No, I'll be a guard," he finally says in a serious tone, turning his attention to the festival as it officially begins.
Running towards the town, his worn-out shoes breaking a bit, he blends into the lively crowd. Elves are here, too; every race is present, Aarakocra also gliding in the sky, making this world already peaceful.
The night festival in Volnia was a celebration unlike any other in Moerlan.
As the moons settled over the town, the streets came alive with a riot of colors and sounds.
Lanterns of all shapes and sizes were strung from building to building, casting a warm, flickering glow over the cobblestone streets below.
In a corner of the square, a group of lizard-folk performers dazzled the audience with their acrobatic feats.
Their varying blue and green scales shimmered in the lantern light as they twirled and leaped through the air, accompanied by the rhythmic beat of drums.
Nearby, elves in flowing robes danced gracefully, their movements fluid and hypnotic.
As Leonardo wandered through the festival, he marveled at the sense of unity and joy that permeated the air.
Further down the street, Ronald caught up with Leonardo, holding two plates laden with food. He grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "You've got to try this stew," he urged, handing Leonardo a steaming bowl. "It's made with herbs from the hills just outside Volnia. Best you'll ever taste!"
Leonardo chuckled, "You're a stall owner now?" accepting the bowl gratefully. As they ate, they found a quiet spot near the edge of the square, away from the bustling crowds.
The stars twinkled overhead, casting a tranquil glow over the town. For a moment, Leonardo forgot about the hardships of the mine and the uncertainties of his future.
"You know, I never really understood you," Ronald said, munching down his food with vigorous intent. "All I know is you're my brother and that's all that matters." No remarks, just silence is produced; to them, this is everything two brothers could ever need.
Tonight, surrounded by friends and neighbors, he felt a sense of belonging that warmed his heart.
The festival continued late into the night, the music and laughter echoing through the streets. Leonardo tried his best to go home when most people differed.
Bumping into a few people, one acts as oddly as he does. "Are you Leonardo?" they ask, practically giggling.
"Yes... wait, no? You're wearing different clothes—" Leonardo stammered, his confusion deepening as he took in the stranger's appearance juxtaposed against a stature more fitting for a berserker, towering over him with an imposing presence.
"I'm a big fan! But I didn't like how Rosalina or Angelina treated you. Maybe it was because of Rollwind Mountain, but the time you went to Evergreen Hill? The one with the pixies? I was shocked—how could you kill such cute things? Or the Undergrowing Lake! I loved the way you butchered the monster—"
Leonardo's thoughts raced as the man rambled on. Who are those people? he wondered. He had never heard those names before, let alone in the same breath. The places, however, were vaguely familiar, like words in a book he read, hated it but still read. But then it struck him—those places aren't in Volnia.
"Yeah, you'll go there soon—or maybe not, but—"
"Okay, I'm leaving now," Leonardo cut in, deciding the man must be mad.
"Okay."
The stranger melted back into the crowd, vanishing like a wisp of smoke. Leonardo stared after him, unsettled. That was odd, he thought.
The white cloak had concealed almost everything, save for a bulging bag strapped beneath it. The only part of the stranger that had been visible was his right arm, making it easier to discern his gender. The man's build was unmistakable—no woman in all of Moerlan could possess such a physique.
Still in his outfit, Leonardo wonders if that's why most people avoid him at the festival. He heads back home after midnight, only to find the same figure at the bar door.
"Ah, finally! I've been waiting for ages. Were you with Ronald? He's one of my favorites, you know. That part—oh, never mind," the figure said, rummaging through a pouch with swift, practiced motions.
They pulled out a small, intricately carved stone and handed it to Leonardo. "I almost forgot to give you this. I love chaos; it's my favorite theme," they added with a gleeful tone.
Leonardo took the stone, its surface cool and smooth against his fingers, the figure's enigmatic words lingering in his mind.
"Chaos?"
Why in Moerlan's dynasty would he receive a stone from a stranger and even accept it?
"Well, that's it," the figure said, their voice radiating and sending a slight shiver like a cold morning. They shrugged off their cloak to reveal a mask underneath. The mask was plain yet striking—dark blue with intricate lines running from the bottom to the nose area. It exuded an aura reminiscent of agnite radiation.
The stone in hand looks like mere rubbish, a piece resembling those found on the ground. With the stranger gone, Leonardo seizes the opportunity to crush it without consequences, and so he does, clasping it between his hands.
Everything feels still.
Perhaps because everything is still.
Leonardo's mind is reeling. A spiral forms beneath his feet; no, everything is turning into a spiral. His senses dull as he joins the "Museum of Narratives."
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[Unrequested guest]