Golden rays of sunlight danced across the rooftops of Oraila, a quiet village nestled between hills and whispering woods.
They shimmered on the clay walls and glinted off the tiny stream slicing through the village square, as if writing a secret message in the language of light.
Leora ran barefoot through the soft dust, her dark-blue-black hair flying behind her like the shadow of a forgotten dream.
Behind her, Riven panted, yelling dramatically:
"You're cheating! Fast-feet magic is banned in races!"
She turned her head and stuck out her tongue.
"And you cheat with your mouth! It runs faster than your legs!"
He almost tripped from laughing.
"My mouth is smart, thank you very much! At least I don't run like a panicked chicken!"
She leapt over a rock in the stream and shouted:
"That panicked chicken just beat you! Wanna face the truth?"
Suddenly, she jumped toward him, and he shrieked as he backed away:
"Nooo! Don't touch me with wet feet! You're like a ghost from the Lake of Death!"
She laughed and fired back:
"You cry over cold water! Even if it's just ice tea without a warning!"
They passed through the square, where mothers kneaded barley dough and laughter rose from their glowing hearts.
The bread sizzled on stone ovens, smelling of comfort—warm, toasty, like something that hugged your soul before your stomach.
Nearby, men fixed wooden fences while trading stories about flying wolves and a dragon that said "good morning" before vanishing into a well.
No one believed a word. No one cared.
They reached old Nyara, who sat embroidering patterns into a pale cloth.
Her designs weren't flowers, but strange circles branching into tangled lines—like an underwater tree.
She looked up, eyes gleaming, and said with a sly grin:
"Run all you like… soon, you won't get the chance."
Leora froze. A small frown tugged at her lips.
Riven blinked and asked,
"Wait… why? What do you mean?"
Nyara chuckled,
"Oh, I didn't mean you won't be able to run… I just feel things. In my own strange way."
She turned to Leora.
"You, blue-eyed girl… I saw you in my dream last night. You were flying in a crimson sky."
Leora raised an eyebrow, her voice playfully dramatic:
"Was I at least pretty while flying?"
Nyara said calmly,
"You were screaming. But yes—beautiful."
Riven grinned,
"If she was screaming, I must've been gliding peacefully, right?"
Nyara smirked,
"You were running… around a giant turtle. Wearing a crown."
Leora burst into laughter.
"Even in dreams, you're running away!"
He crossed his arms proudly,
"I don't run—I reposition. Strategically."
Nyara closed her embroidery box and looked at them deeply.
"You laugh now… but the Whispering Forest is beginning to yawn.
And the island… it's gasping its final breath before it exhales something new."
A quiet settled around them.
Then she added softly,
"Everything changes. Even laughter."
Riven, refusing the seriousness, shrugged and said:
"Well I don't trust anything that talks and is also a tree. Or a dragon that says good morning."
Leora leaned in toward Nyara,
"Can we take you with us when we visit the forest?"
Nyara smiled sadly.
"I've outgrown discovery… My part now is to watch. And hide secrets."
They left laughing, but Nyara's words stayed in Leora's heart…
like a cold wind that passed between two smiles.
🌅 That evening…
They sat on a large rock overlooking the sea.
The sky was a melting painting of soft blues, purples, and golds.
Leora pulled out half an apple from her pocket, wiped it on her shirt, and said:
"Do you think we can explore the Whispering Forest tomorrow?"
He took a bite and replied:
"If you can beat me there first… without magic feet!"
She grinned,
"Deal! But if we see a turtle with a crown—you handle it!"
He looked at her sideways,
"Only if you stop talking to me in that soft, sweet voice."
And then, they each returned to their homes,
as the village filled with the sounds of mothers, laughter, and glowing hearths…
No one knew that this was…
the last quiet evening in Moralesca.