Luma woke in the middle of the night, still caught between sleep and reality. She rubbed her small eyes, feeling the faint weight of exhaustion in her body. The light of the three moons filtered through the cracks in the ruined house, bathing the room in a soft, melancholic glow. The sound of the wind outside was like an endless whisper, constant and faintly unsettling.
Sitting on her makeshift bed, she hugged her knees, letting her eyes wander around the room. That's when she noticed Brana, leaning against a corner of the wall, deeply asleep. He was in an uncomfortable position, his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted to the side. Despite this, he seemed to be in such a deep sleep that waking him might have been impossible.
Luma watched him silently, not daring to move. He looked exhausted, more than she had ever seen him before. There was something in his face—a tension that even sleep couldn't erase.
"He's so tired..." Luma thought, her eyes welling with tears. Even with her young mind, she understood that Brana was carrying far more than he could handle. He was just a boy, but he had taken on so much for her that she sometimes forgot he wasn't an adult. Ever since their parents had separated, he had become her protector, her caregiver, and now, in this strange place, he was all she had.
Luma pulled the blanket tighter around her body, feeling a knot form in her chest. "Am I just a burden to him?" she wondered silently. She didn't want to be in the way. She didn't want to be the reason he looked so drained. He always reassured her, telling her everything would be okay, but she knew he must be scared too.
"I just wish... we were back home," she thought, holding back her tears. "I wish Mom and Dad were together, that everything was normal. That's all I want. But now… now we're here. And we only have each other."
Luma wanted to cry, but she swallowed the lump in her throat. Something inside her shifted as she looked at Brana. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and shook her head. "I'll help. I won't let him carry everything alone. I promise," she thought, her determination growing.
With quiet steps, Luma got up and walked over to Brana. He was so still that he seemed like a statue, his breathing slow and heavy. She took the blanket she had been using and gently draped it over him, carefully tucking it in to make sure he was well covered.
She stood there for a moment, watching her sleeping brother. "Thank you, Brana," she whispered. "I'll do my part. I promise."
Returning to her makeshift bed, Luma curled up under the thin sheet. As she stared at the broken ceiling, where the faint light of the moons shone through the cracks, she felt something different. She was still scared, but now there was also a strength she didn't know she had. "I'll help. I promise," she repeated to herself before sleep carried her away again.
While Luma found comfort in her thoughts, the forest of Enkaryon continued to pulse with life. Brana believed that silence meant safety, but the world around them was far from dormant.
Among the towering trees, which seemed to almost touch the moons, pale and slender figures moved with predatory grace. Their grayish skin faintly reflected the moons' light, and their eyes glowed in the dark like beacons. They were tall, with pointed ears and black hair that flowed like shadows in the wind. Their clothes, made of leaves and leather, blended seamlessly with the environment.
One of them, crouched on a thick branch, raised a hand, signaling the group to stop. "Something moved," he said in a guttural but still melodic language.
Another, younger, replied cautiously, "It's not human. Too heavy." He leaned forward, observing the ground with sharp eyes.
"Then we hunt," the first declared with a cold smile. He held a black bow, its edges faintly pulsating with an eerie energy. The group disappeared into the darkness, their steps so light that even the leaves beneath them made no sound.
Not far from there, a group of human survivors huddled in a corner of the forest. They had found a rocky formation that provided some makeshift shelter. They were exhausted, their faces dirty and marked with tension. A small fire burned between them, barely illuminating the surrounding area.
"This is madness," said a middle-aged man, glancing around with wide eyes. "These things… these creatures… this isn't normal."
"Keep your voice down," a woman whispered, hugging her knees. "If they hear us, we're dead."
"Then what do we do?" asked the youngest of the group. "Stay here and wait for them to find us? Or go out and get eaten?"
The older man shook his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I don't know. But I'm not going to die sitting here." He grabbed an improvised knife and stood, staring into the darkness as if challenging the forest itself.
Suddenly, a sharp sound echoed—something between a scream and a roar. Everyone froze, their eyes wide, as the sound drew closer. The shadows around the fire seemed to stretch, taking on menacing forms. When the sound disappeared, silence returned, filling the air with unbearable tension.
"We're all dead," the youngest muttered, but no one dared to respond.
In a distant clearing, a massive creature lumbered through the trees. It was enormous, its body covered in dark fur and its eyes glowing like burning coals. Its claws left deep gouges in the ground, and its elongated snout sniffed the air.
Above, a group of pale figures watched in silence. Their postures were rigid, but their glowing eyes burned with intensity. A young one, clearly inexperienced, whispered to the leader, "It knows we're here."
"It doesn't matter," the elder replied firmly. "We are not its prey tonight."
The creature paused for a moment, sniffing the air again, but eventually chose a different path. The watchers remained still until it disappeared into the darkness.
"This world has changed," the leader said, gazing at the creature's trail. "And so have we." Without another word, the group continued their journey.
Near a small lake, a woman with golden skin walked slowly. Her hair, which seemed made of liquid light, reflected the three moons like a mirror. In her hands, she held a stone bowl filled with clear water. Kneeling beside a tree with exposed roots, she poured the water onto the soil. The ground glowed momentarily, pulsing with energy.
"Grow and protect," she said, her voice melodic like the sound of a distant harp. When she finished, she rose and vanished into the trees, leaving only the faint glow of the roots as evidence of her presence.
Even as Brana and Luma rested, the world around them continued to change. The forest was alive, full of stories and movements barely understood. Enkaryon was a stage, and everyone within it was a piece in a larger game—whether as players or as prey.