The air in Drakthorin City was filled with excitement as the sun set, turning the sky bright orange and purple, and casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets. The Festival of Flames, a big celebration honoring the city's long history and its ancient protectors, was in full swing. The streets, usually busy with trade and work, had changed into a colorful, noisy scene, as if the city was alive with its past. Bright banners of red, gold, blue, and green hung from windows and lamp posts, waving in the evening breeze like flags of happiness. Lanterns made of glass, glowing with soft, flickering light, lit up every corner, giving off a warm golden glow that shined on people's faces.

  Music from tambourines, drums, and flutes mixed with laughter and chatter, creating a lively and timeless atmosphere. Vendors called out from their stalls, selling treats and small items, while children ran through the streets, their faces painted in the festival’s colors. The air felt full of energy, celebrating not just survival, but the strong spirit of Drakthorin’s people.

  Finn and Enzo stood at the entrance to the square, amazed by the sight in front of them. The festival had a way of making even the most serious person feel lighter, as if the air itself carried happiness that could lift even the saddest heart. People moved around them, wearing costumes that seemed to mix reality and myth. Beautiful robes, decorated with golden threads, shimmered in shades of deep red, purple, and gold as the last light of the day touched them. Cloaks in rich blues and greens flowed smoothly, their colors shifting like calm water. Masks of all shapes and colors covered the faces of the people, some fun and others eerie, showing off the city’s rich history of stories and legends.

  Some wore costumes of mythical creatures—huge, horned beasts with glowing eyes, wolves with sharp teeth and long tails, and graceful winged creatures with feathers that sparkled like stars. The costumes were so detailed, it felt like the creatures had stepped out of the old stories. Others dressed as the legendary protectors of Drakthorin—ancient dragons whose powerful forms lived on in every story told around the city. Their scales were shown in beadwork and painted designs, some glowing softly in the twilight, giving the feeling that the dragons might be watching from the shadows.

  The whole scene was full of movement and color, like the city had come alive, celebrating its history, its myths, and the connection between its people. Finn and Enzo couldn’t help but feel caught up in the magic, as if they were part of something much bigger than themselves.

  Finn, tall and lean, wore a finely made tunic of midnight blue, and as the warm light from the lanterns reflected off the silver details on his clothing, he felt a quiet but comforting sense of belonging. The tunic was simple yet elegant, perfectly blending into the night’s atmosphere. The half-moon mask he wore, crafted from delicate silver, covered his eyes but left the rest of his face open, letting him watch the celebration from a distance. It was a perfect balance—he could stay unnoticed, yet still feel part of the joy around him. His black sash, loosely tied around his waist, hid a small wooden box given to him by Chief Arlen earlier. It was beautifully carved, a mysterious treasure Finn hadn’t yet dared to open. But as he stood there, surrounded by laughter and music, the air felt strangely peaceful, as if the world’s worries had momentarily faded, forgotten in the warmth of the festival.

  Next to him, Enzo was the opposite. While Finn was calm and composed, Enzo seemed to bring energy into every space he was in. His tunic, a deep green, shimmered softly in the lantern light, with golden threads woven into swirling patterns that seemed to move with him. His fox-shaped mask, with amber eyes and sharp, playful features, made him look mischievous, just like his personality. Enzo’s excitement was clear in his wide grin and the sparkle in his eyes as he took in the vibrant scene. Every movement of his seemed to follow the beat of the night, as if he was one with the rhythm of the festival. Finn couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his friend, feeling a quiet thankfulness for the balance they brought to each other.

  “You sure you’re not gonna join the dancing?” Enzo teased, nudging Finn with his elbow. “Come on, it’s the festival. Loosen up a little.”

  Finn raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. “You’re the one who wants to be the center of attention.”

  Enzo laughed loudly, spinning around with a dramatic flourish. His cloak swirled behind him, catching the light as he twirled. “Well, I am the life of the party, my friend.”

  Finn couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend’s antics. For a brief moment, the weight of their journey—the long path they’d traveled and the dangers they’d faced—seemed to disappear, carried away by the laughter and music around them. It was as if the night itself was made to make them forget, even if just for a little while, the burdens they’d been carrying.

  The smells of the festival filled the air, sweet and inviting. Roasted meats, golden and crispy, mixed with the warm, comforting scent of fresh bread and sweet pastries. The rich aroma of hot food blended with the smoky scent from the bonfires crackling in the center of the square. The flames jumped high into the night, sending sparks into the air, as if they, too, were celebrating and reaching for the stars.

  People gathered around the fires, some caught up in lively dances, their laughter ringing out in the cool night air. Others sat in smaller groups, telling stories or enjoying the food from nearby stalls. A local baker, her apron dusted with flour, handed out hot, fresh rolls to a group of children, their faces lighting up with joy at the treat. Not far from them, the butcher’s stall was busy with sizzling meat turning on the fire, sending a mouth-watering smell of roasting pork and beef into the air. The mix of scents, the glowing lanterns, the warmth from the fires, and the laughter of the crowd made the night feel magical. It was a celebration to remember, a moment when the world outside the square seemed far away.

  “I’ll take some of that,” Enzo said eagerly, his eyes following the butcher as he expertly rotated the skewers of seasoned meat over the flames, the mouth-watering aroma drifting through the air.

  Finn glanced around, his stomach growling in agreement. “Let’s grab a couple of those. I’m starving.”

  The two of them made their way through the crowd, weaving between laughing groups and excited children. The sounds of conversation and music filled the air, but Enzo’s voice, when it came, was a low murmur, just above the noise. He leaned in closer to Finn, his tone suddenly serious. “You ever think about what happens after we get the Exilium Pill? I mean, what’s the plan, exactly?”

  Finn paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the busy festival as he thought over the question. He chewed his lip, carefully choosing his words. “We save the village. We make sure it never happens again. We stop this plague, once and for all.”

  Enzo wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing slightly. “I’m all for stopping the plague, but I meant... what happens after? Once you’ve done all that, what then? Do you think there’ll even be a village left to save?”

  The question hung in the air, heavier than the night around them. It was one Finn had asked himself countless times, but he didn’t have an answer. The enormity of what lay ahead weighed on him. Would there be anything left after the storm they were about to face? Would the village even survive, or would it be unrecognizable? Would anything ever feel the same again?

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  Before Finn could respond, Enzo slapped him on the back with a force that almost knocked him off balance, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Well, whatever happens, you’re not in this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

  Finn looked at his friend, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips despite the uncertainty swirling inside him. Enzo’s endless optimism, though sometimes a little much, was a comfort. In that moment, it reminded Finn that no matter how daunting the future felt, they weren’t facing it alone. Together, they’d find a way forward.

  “Thanks,” Finn said quietly, appreciating the sentiment, but the weight of their mission still pressed heavily on his shoulders. Enzo’s words were comforting, but the uncertainty of what lay ahead couldn’t be shaken so easily.

  The two of them made their way to a nearby table, and as they sat down, the lively energy of the festival continued to swirl around them. The music grew louder, more intense, as a group of dancers took to the center of the square. Their costumes were a dazzling mix of red, gold, and purple silks, shimmering in the lantern light, contrasting against the darkening sky. The dancers moved with fluid grace, their steps perfectly timed with the beat of the drums. The crowd cheered, clapping in rhythm with the dancers, and their excitement added to the pulse of the celebration.

  Finn took a bite of the roasted meat, savoring the tender, juicy flavor. For a moment, the simple pleasure of the food—hot, flavorful, and satisfying—helped push aside the lingering doubts in his mind. He glanced at Enzo, who was already halfway through his skewer, a look of pure contentment on his face. Finn couldn’t help but chuckle at how quickly his friend devoured his food.

  But Enzo wasn’t done yet. His gaze had already wandered to a nearby table piled with sweet pastries, their golden crusts gleaming under the lantern light. His eyes practically sparkled as he stared at them, no doubt imagining how delicious they must be.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Finn warned, his tone playful but firm as he caught Enzo’s gaze.

  Enzo looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What?” he said with mock surprise, though his grin gave him away. “I’m just admiring the craftsmanship. How could I not? It’s a work of art.”

  Finn rolled his eyes, but there was warmth in the gesture. “Don’t get greedy. We’re supposed to be careful,” he reminded him, his voice soft but with a hint of seriousness.

  Enzo sighed dramatically and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Fine, fine. You’re no fun.” But the mischievous glint in his eyes never quite left.

  Finn just shook his head, smiling despite himself. In the midst of all the uncertainty and the weight of their task, moments like these—simple, carefree, filled with laughter—were precious. And for now, that was enough.

  Enzo shrugged, unfazed by the warning. “Well, I’m not gonna let that stop me,” he said with a grin, eyes still fixed on the pastries, his earlier mischief not entirely gone.

  But then, the atmosphere around them seemed to change. The crowd, once lively and animated, suddenly parted as if a shadow had fallen over them. A tall figure emerged at the edge of their table, stepping into the firelight. His presence was immediate, commanding, unmistakable. Cloaked in dark, flowing robes, his face hidden beneath the brim of a wide hat, the man seemed almost to glide through the crowd. He was taller than most, his posture imposing, and yet there was something otherworldly about the way he moved—like a wraith, untouched by the revelry around him. His very presence felt unsettling, as if he were a part of the night itself, not the celebration.

  Finn’s instincts flared. His gaze snapped to the figure, every muscle tensed. He couldn’t explain it, but something about the man set him on edge, like a storm was gathering just beneath the surface. The stranger paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd as though searching for something—or someone—and then, as if guided by some invisible force, his gaze landed directly on Finn.

  The air shifted, thick with tension. It was as though time itself had frozen, holding its breath.

  Without a word, the man moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate. He reached into his robe and produced something small, wrapped in plain brown paper, which he extended toward Finn.

  Finn blinked, his thoughts racing. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice steady despite the unease crawling up his spine.

  “A gift,” the man said, his voice low and raspy, like dry leaves scraping across stone. “For you.”

  Enzo, always the skeptic, leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “We don’t take gifts from strangers,” he said, his tone sharp with suspicion.

  The stranger’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles—more an impression of a smile than a true one—but his eyes never left Finn’s, unwavering. "The journey you are about to take requires more than just strength. It requires something else." He paused, his gaze deepening, his words heavy with meaning. “You’ll understand when the time comes.”

  Finn’s fingers hovered over the small, wrapped object. It was no bigger than a clenched fist, and it felt strangely light for its size. The plain brown paper was simple, unremarkable—but there was something about it, a quiet unease that Finn couldn’t shake. The moment seemed to stretch out, like the shadows of a storm cloud gathering on the horizon.

  He reached out, his fingers brushing the cool, solid paper, and a shiver ran down his spine. Something about the man, about the gift, felt wrong, yet there was an undeniable pull—an urge to take it, to understand what it was.

  The stranger remained silent, his eyes locked on Finn, waiting.

  For a long moment, Finn hesitated, caught between caution and curiosity, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like a hand he couldn’t see but could feel.

  “I don’t—” Finn started to say, but before he could finish, the man had already turned away, his cloak swirling like a shadow. He melted into the crowd as silently as he had come, vanishing as though he had never existed at all.

  Enzo blinked, clearly confused. “What the hell was that about?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and unease.

  Finn didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the small, wrapped package in his hands. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he began to peel away the paper. The soft crinkle of the wrapping was the only sound in the otherwise bustling square. As the last bit of the paper fell away, the object was revealed: a dark, polished wooden box. It was carved with intricate, arcane symbols, each line sharp and deliberate, though none of them looked familiar to Finn. The carvings seemed to hum with a strange energy, faint but undeniable, as though the box itself were alive in some unsettling way.

  The weight of the box felt wrong—lighter than it should have been, and as Finn held it, a chill spread through his fingers like ice. It was as if the box had been kept in a place untouched by time, a place where warmth and light had no place.

  “It’s almost like…” Finn muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers traced the carvings. The symbols flickered in the dim firelight, shifting ever so slightly, though he couldn’t be sure they had moved. For a moment, the shadows around them seemed to twist unnaturally, as if the box were pulling at the very fabric of the night.

  Enzo leaned forward, suspicion etched across his face as his eyes fixed on the box. “That thing... it doesn’t look right. And the way that guy just vanished—what kind of magic is that?”

  Finn didn’t reply. He couldn’t. His mind was racing, his instincts telling him that this box was far more than a simple gift. It felt dark, wrong in a way he couldn’t explain. The coldness, the pulsing symbols, the sense that something sinister lay beneath the surface—it all felt like a warning, a secret sealed within the box.

  Enzo, sensing the unease in Finn’s silence, glanced around the square, his eyes darting nervously toward the dancers and the flickering bonfires. The celebration felt distant now, like it belonged to another world. “You think it’s some sort of warning? I mean, the festival’s supposed to be a celebration, but that thing… it feels like a dark omen.”

  Finn stared at the box, contemplating Enzo’s words. Was it a warning? Or maybe an invitation? He wasn’t sure. But the heavy cold in his chest told him it didn’t matter. The moment the man had handed him the box, something had shifted. The air around them had changed, growing thick and oppressive. The sounds of the festival—the laughter, the crackling fires, the music—felt distant, muffled, like they were fading into some other world.

  His fingers traced the deep carvings again, and the unease grew stronger. Whatever was inside this box, it wasn’t meant to be discovered lightly. And yet, the pull to open it was undeniable, as if it were calling to him, urging him to uncover its secrets.

  Enzo’s voice cut through the silence, softer now, as though he were trying to reason with himself as much as Finn. “You’re not thinking of opening it, are you?”

  Finn sighed. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, the gravity of what might lie ahead. Whatever was inside this box, it wasn’t meant to be taken lightly. But the pull was there, deep in his chest, as if the box were something that needed to be understood. Needed to be opened.

  He stared at the object in his hands, the coldness radiating from it, feeling the weight of unseen eyes watching him from the shadows.

  Enzo glanced around nervously. “Something’s not right. That guy—I think he knew us. How?”