The morning began much like any other day in the village of Vennet, but there was a heaviness in the air, a strange tension that Nicolas could feel, even in his infant state. The dawn light filtered through the small window of their home, casting a soft, golden glow over the modest room. His mother stirred first, usually a calm and gentle presence, but today, her movements were quick, almost frantic. She scooped Nicolas from his cradle with a hurriedness that made him frown. Her smile seemed forced, her eyes darting to the window every few moments as if expecting something—or someone.
His father was already awake, his boots scraping against the wooden floor as he moved about, collecting various tools and items Nicolas had never seen him use before. The usual lighthearted banter that Nicolas had grown used to was absent. His father's face, normally bright with laughter and warmth, was set in a grim, focused expression. The deep furrows on his brow, the way his jaw clenched tightly—something was wrong.
As Nicolas' mother cradled him close, her voice soothing but oddly detached, he glanced at her face, trying to make sense of the strange behavior. She kept glancing toward the door, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she hummed her usual lullabies. But the song wasn't the same. It wavered, the rhythm uneven, filled with an undercurrent of worry that made Nicolas' tiny heart pound in his chest.
Outside, the village bustled in a way that was both familiar and deeply unsettling. The sun was high in the sky, yet the village seemed darkened by the collective fear of its people. Normally, the villagers went about their tasks with steady, peaceful efficiency—tending to crops, repairing homes, trading goods. Today, however, they moved with an urgency that Nicolas could feel even from inside his home. He saw men and women rushing through the streets, their faces tight with anxiety, their hands clutching weapons or tools not meant for farming. Swords hung from the belts of hunters who would normally carry nothing but bows, and shields, normally used to protect against wildlife, were now strapped to their backs as if they expected something far more dangerous.
Whispers carried through the open windows—frantic murmurs about the Blood Moon and something lurking beyond the hills. The air was thick with tension, and even the birds seemed to sense it, their usual morning songs absent as they fluttered nervously from tree to tree. Nicolas could feel it too, the way his parents exchanged glances but said nothing to each other. His father's normally deep and steady voice was now quiet, reduced to short, clipped instructions to his mother as he sharpened a blade by the door.
Nicolas didn't understand. His young mind couldn't fully grasp the weight of the situation, but he knew something was different. His parents weren't smiling, weren't laughing like they always did. Instead, they moved like people preparing for something bad, something terrifying. His father's strong hands, which had always gently held him and guided him in play, were now wrapped around the hilt of a sword. His mother's gentle touch was now shaky, as if she feared dropping him.
Throughout the day, the strange behavior persisted. Neighbors came to their door, their faces drawn and serious. They spoke in low voices to his father, sometimes glancing toward Nicolas and his mother as if unsure of what to say. Nicolas could feel their tension, could hear the anxiety in their hurried words, though he couldn't yet understand their meaning.
As the sun began to set, casting a blood-red glow over the village, the tension grew thicker. The villagers began gathering in the square, their faces pale and determined. Some wore armor, cobbled together from whatever materials they could find. Others clutched weapons—spears, axes, and bows, all sharp and ready. There were no smiles, no words of comfort exchanged. Only grim nods and quiet murmurs of preparation. The village was ready for a fight, though Nicolas still couldn't understand why.
The Blood Moon would rise tonight.
Nicolas' parents moved with even more urgency as the day turned to evening. His mother was no longer humming, her lips pressed into a thin line as she wrapped him tightly in a blanket, her eyes constantly flickering to the window. His father, fully armored, stood by the door, his face a mask of grim determination. He looked at Nicolas with a sadness that the boy couldn't understand but felt deeply.
As the first sign of dusk settled over the village, a dangerous, chilling howl echoed through the air. It was long and deep, vibrating through the walls of their home and sending shivers down Nicolas' spine. He tensed in his mother's arms, his small body rigid with a fear he couldn't name. His mother gasped softly, clutching him tighter to her chest. His father's hand tightened around his sword.
The howl was followed by another, then another—multiple voices calling out from the wilderness beyond the village. The sound was haunting, like the cries of wolves, but twisted, unnatural. The village fell silent as the howls pierced the air. Nicolas felt his mother's heartbeat quicken against him, her body trembling as the eerie sound surrounded them.
His father turned to face them, his face pale but resolute. "It's time," he said, his voice low but steady. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Nicolas' forehead, lingering for a moment before straightening and opening the door.
Outside, the villagers stood ready. The hunters, the farmers, the elders—all of them had armed themselves. They faced the forest that surrounded the village, where the howls originated, their weapons drawn and eyes wide with fear. The Blood Moon was beginning to rise, its red light casting an eerie glow over the land, bathing everything in a crimson hue.
Nicolas' mother, still holding him close, stepped to the door, her eyes filled with worry as she watched her husband walk into the square. She whispered to herself, words Nicolas didn't understand, but her fear was palpable.
Nicolas, still too young to speak, could only watch and listen. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew, deep down, that something terrible was coming. Something that even his brave father and the entire village might not be able to stop.