☀️ Arselia and Akonia

A carefree autumn sun cheerfully peeked over the wide mountain ridge, its rays piercing through a lone cloud drifting across the clear sky. A frosty breeze swept across the vast stone path, buffeting against a sheer natural wall, in whose shadow lay a tiny, forgotten village. On each side, gentle meadows of lush greenery adorned it, even at this time of year, teeming with countless unique plants and shrubs. Beyond the bend of a sandy hill, neat wooden fences branched out, enclosing various domesticated animals. Powerful gusts of wind spun the blades of a windmill, proudly piercing the top of the nearest hill. The rare dance of clouds daring to climb high cast whimsical shadows on the roofs of the vibrant homes. One of these homes was where a sturdy, broad-shouldered man was headed. His back was slightly stooped from years of hard work, and his hair was streaked with gray, revealing a man on the verge of well-deserved old age. His calloused hands, hardened by daily labor, held a bundle of firewood. After setting down his load and hiding a huge axe, which required a strength of 50+, away from curious children, the man approached the threshold of his home. There, he was greeted by his beloved wife, and around them, his restless grandchildren and great-grandchildren were jumping with joy. Grabbing a group of children in his arms, the man hoisted them onto his shoulders and made a grand circuit around their dwelling. The aromas of hot, home-cooked food soon drew the cheerful group to the kitchen. There, a large table was already set: today, they were celebrating the engagement of the youngest daughter of the family, and many guests were expected for the meal. The head of the table was rightfully occupied by the old man, Chegver. On either side of him sat his four beloved sons and six daughters, including the bride-to-be, with her neighbor's son – a decent and hardworking young man, but who, due to established cultural traditions, had not yet earned the old man's approval. Familiar hunters, an old fisherman, pompous philosophers, a peculiar researcher of Kridean ruins, and, of course, the neighbors, all came to join the celebration. The old sage, who lived on the mountaintop, was also invited, but to no avail. Dishes clattered, cutlery jingled, drinks flowed freely, and cheerful conversations filled the air. On this pleasant autumn day, everyone was in high spirits. The old man himself, leaning back in his chair, closed his eyes slightly, savoring another chapter in his life. Having received a dilapidated house and a small plot of barren land from his father, while philosophers and ascetics spent 12 hours a day competing in understanding the meaning of life, he worked day and night to create a true haven of comfort and security in Kridear. Fate had brought him together with the most beautiful girl in the village, and together they built a strong family, focused on the future. And now, he was surrounded by numerous descendants, finding peace in the knowledge of his family's future. Noticing how sadly his beloved wife had fallen silent, the old farmer placed his hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes with affection. "Ah, if only Klinushka were here with us..." the woman murmured with a sigh. For a moment, a thoughtful silence hung over the table, broken only by the cheerful chatter of the children, who had never known their missing relative. "But Klinets is always with us. Right here," the lumberjack said, placing his fist over his heart. Despite any possible prejudices, he felt no negative emotions towards his son, who had set out to seek his fortune. Just as he had supported and wished him well, he continued to do so now. Even though their beliefs differed somewhat from the accepted beliefs in the empire, he still prayed every evening for the well-being of his son. "He'll have his fill of adventure and return soon. I feel it in my soul," he added, looking around the table with conviction. "And that's true, father. He'll probably come back all fancy, wearing a crown and wielding a sword worth a hundred thousand," his eldest brother chuckled. "And with a beautiful bride," murmured the middle sister. "And with letters of recommendation from the imperial court!" echoed an old friend. "And with three villains defeated!" chimed in the twin philosophers. "Yes, I'd love to hear that story," agreed the old man. "I hope Klinushka is eating well..." the mother smiled sadly. "He's probably very thin. Those imperials only eat semi-finished products." "Well, then we'll have a reason to work hard. So that when he returns, we'll have an even better feast," he nodded to the youngest, "and twice as many people. I always have soup and a place to stay for everyone." The meal was coming to an end, and the lively discussions were subsiding. Then, a distorted, maddening roar pierced the heavens. The sturdy cabin easily withstood the hurricane caused by the flap of demonic wings, suffering only broken windows. The children screamed in terror, and the adults looked up in confusion at the shaking ceiling. "What the...?" The forester took two wide steps, opening the front door and looking out. The sun and sky faded into a bottomless, dark void. Looking closer, he realized that it was not just an unexpected night: even the stars had been devoured by an unknown magic from the black sky. The earth trembled in anticipation of a storm, and the old mill groaned and collapsed down the cliff, but even that sound was completely absorbed by a veil of absolute silence. A new gust of wind pressed the trees to the ground, and even the mighty farmer could barely stay on his feet. In the pitch darkness, he felt an approaching heat, but could not determine the direction of the attack. Finally, looking up, he understood everything. For a man with his life experience, he didn't need the abilities of an apostle of contemplation to assess the situation. Judging by all accounts, they had a minute, maybe a minute and a half. "Follow me, gather everyone!" he roared to his beloved sons, gripping the axe more firmly. They had faced worse troubles than a winged meteor emerging from its lair. "Take cover in the house!" he gave a short order to the women and children. Instantly regaining his former resolve, the mother and the neighbors hurried to hide the defenseless in the spacious cellar. "Mommy, I'm scared! What's happening?" the plaintive voices echoed. "Hold hands," she said, closing the heavy door, and they were left completely alone in the light of a hastily lit, flickering candle. "There. Don't worry, the goddess will protect us. Our boys will take care of everything." On the summit of the highest snow-capped mountain, the old, blind hermit and Klin's teacher felt the approach of despair. Directing his sightless, withered face towards the approaching stream of destructive fiery matter, he set aside his staff and smiled mysteriously, accepting his fate. At the foot of the mountain, several ants were hastily scurrying around, defenselessly moving from side to side, as if under the foot of a cruel giant. Losing their courage, Klin's brothers one by one dropped their useless weapons and fell to their knees, lifelessly lowering their petrified heads. Only the father, as before, firmly gripping the handle of the heavy axe, continued to gaze confidently at the falling star. Placing his other hand on his chest, he uttered a short cry in the old Kridean dialect, which resonated in the hearts of every member of the Chegver family, every inhabitant of the mountain country, granting their souls peace for a single moment. Landing on a wide mountain plateau on the other side of the mountain, the stranger briefly disappeared from view. A moment later, the mountain peak that had covered the horizon cracked along its seams, and its top dissolved in a black flash of immense energy. And then, Klin's village was consumed by despair.