As night descended, lanterns began to rise into the sky one by one, their soft glow mirrored in the river below. The wistful cry of a flute drifted across the valley, signaling the start of the Festival of Awakening — the sacred night that always preceded the coming-of-age ceremony.
The once-quiet village bloomed with sound and light. The square at the heart of it all — Awakening Square — overflowed with laughter and the warmth of countless lanterns. At its center stood a marble statue of Mercy, the goddess of fertility and blessings, her outstretched arms bathed in flickering gold. The lanterns swayed gently around her like a constellation brought down to earth.
The aroma of roasted meat and sweet glazes mingled with the crisp scent of spring wind. Vendors shouted over each other, hawking grilled skewers, candied fruits, and steaming dumplings. Children darted between stalls waving paper charms, while magicians dressed as jesters performed sleight-of-hand tricks to the delight of passing families. Golden-red banners — symbols of the Awakening — hung in long ribbons between rooftops, crossing and tangling above the crowd like a web of shimmering silk.
Willow and Elm moved together through the tide of festivalgoers, their faces lit by lanternlight. Villagers greeted them with smiles and laughter, pressing treats into their hands — skewers of glazed boar meat, honeyed fruit, even a small cup of spiced milk wine. Willow thanked them politely, though inwardly he wondered why they were being treated with such warmth tonight. Perhaps it was just custom before the ceremony… or perhaps people were simply drawn to Elm's bright smile — or to his own unearthly charm.
He noticed, however, that his sister seemed unusually close this evening. Elm's hand lingered on his sleeve longer than usual, her shoulder brushing against his as they walked. It wasn't possessive, exactly — more like the closeness of someone who wanted to hold onto a fleeting moment.
They met their parents along the way. Their father, flushed red with drink, was being scolded by their mother, who alternated between laughter and irritation as she tried to keep him upright. The sight drew a quiet chuckle from both siblings — a reminder that some things never changed, no matter how solemn the occasion.
After a few more exchanges of laughter and small talk, their mother turned to them, her expression softening. "You two should go see it," she said, handing them a small lantern of their own — a delicate orb painted with gold leaf. "It's your last night before the Awakening. Make it count."
Following her suggestion, Willow and Elm found themselves on a familiar path that wound up a narrow trail behind their home. It led to a cliff overlooking the entire village — a secret spot known only to their family. The view opened like a painting: hundreds of lanterns floating in the night sky, the glow of fires below, and the endless sweep of stars above.
The wind carried with it the scent of grilled food and burning incense, weaving the sounds of laughter and song into a distant hum. Standing there, Willow felt the weight of nostalgia settle in his chest. According to the game's lore, this cliff held deep significance — it was where their father had once proposed to their mother, long before the story began.
Now, standing there again, it felt almost sacred.
He looked up, watching the moon pour its light over them, soft and serene. For once, it didn't seem so lonely up there in the endless dark.
"Want some?" Elm asked, extending a stick of skewered meat glazed with honey. The glaze shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
Willow shook his head. "No, you have it," he said quietly, eyes still fixed on the lively village below. From where he sat, it almost looked unreal — the glow of lanterns, the movement of the crowd, the laughter carried by the wind. He still couldn't believe that sixteen years had already passed since he'd arrived in this world. Sixteen years in a place of magic and myths, living a life that wasn't supposed to exist.
"Have you ever thought about life?" Willow asked suddenly, his tone calm but distant. The scenery made it easy to drift into strange thoughts. "About where we might've been if we weren't born to our parents? Maybe we could've been princes. Or even kings."
He turned to Elm with a faint smile. "A whole different future, all decided by the hands of the gods. So many things that could've gone differently. So many chances we'll never get to take."
Elm didn't answer. Her gaze lingered on him — the quiet way he looked at the world, the fragile beauty of his expression under the moonlight. She had always thought he looked divine when he spoke like that, even when his words were laced with melancholy.
Willow let out a small, self-conscious laugh. "Sorry. That was kind of random," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he noticed her hands trembling in the cold. Without thinking, he reached out and took them in his. The warmth between their palms was gentle, almost fragile, but comforting in a way words couldn't describe.
"Your hands," Willow said softly, comparing them to his own. "Were they always this big?"
Elm's lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. She could only look at him — at his soft eyes and the faint blush dusting his cheeks — and feel that ache inside her chest once again.
She knew herself better than anyone. She knew of the many gifts she'd been blessed with, all before her Awakening. Her strength. Her intelligence. Her wisdom. People called it divine, but to her, it had always felt like a curse.
Wisdom made everything predictable. It stripped away wonder, surprise, and hope. To Elm, the world was a mechanical thing — a great box of toys whose workings she understood too well. Everything moved as it should. Everything followed its rule. Cold. Slow. Gray.
When she was born, she hadn't cried. When she opened her eyes to the world for the first time, she hadn't laughed. Life was quiet, dull, mechanical.
Until him.
Her world of black and white suddenly burst into color the moment she saw her brother. In her infant mind, before words and logic existed, she had already known it — that this being beside her was someone irreplaceable. Someone the gods had made beautiful beyond reason.
Since that day, she had been chained to him — bound by blood, by family, by rules that forbade her from wanting what she wanted most. Fate had been merciless. To love him was to sin. To reach for him was to fall.
There were moments when the thought of taking him by force entered her mind, when she imagined silencing the distance between them. But the image of his tears always broke her resolve. She could never bear to see him cry, not even in her dreams.
So she endured. She smiled. She played the role of sister when her heart screamed for more. The restraint that everyone praised her for was, to her, the cruelest burden of all. Oh, how deeply, how helplessly in love she was.
Above them, the night stretched wide and endless. The stars glittered like scattered diamonds, and the sky was painted in shades of ocean blue. Elm thought that even the Goddess Neptune must be smiling upon them tonight. The constellations burned bright, a map of light across the heavens. To the west, a storm gathered above the mountains, lightning flickering through clouds of violet and gray.
But none of it — not the stars, not the storm, not even the divine moonlight — could compare to the beauty of the boy beside her.
Her brother. Her sin. Her everything.
Her naive brother smiled, eyes half-closed as he leaned into the wind and her warmth. How small he looked in her arms — fragile, soft, impossibly delicate. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing against her chest, the faint tremor of life in every exhale.
From where she sat, she could see the reflection of the festival in his eyes — cerulean mirrors shimmering with gold and firelight from the valley below. He sat quietly, knees drawn up, a boy of sixteen looking as if the world itself were too large for him.
Elm's heart skipped. A thousand words pressed against her throat, each one an unspoken confession waiting to spill out. She wanted to tell him everything — to speak of the love that had grown like wildfire in her chest, to claim him here and now beneath the gaze of the moon.
But she didn't.
Her wisdom, the same gift that blessed her, whispered that the world would never accept such a love. Fate itself would rise to strike her down. So she made a silent vow. If the world meant to deny her, then she would defy it. She would become strong enough to shatter the heavens if she had to. She would rise above kings and saints and crown herself the King of Kings.
And when that day came, she would offer the world itself at his feet — before finally taking what her heart had long desired.
For now, though, simply being near him was enough.
She shifted closer, slipping her arms around his slender waist and drawing him against her shoulder. He tensed, startled, then slowly relaxed, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. Elm fought to keep her breathing steady, pretending she didn't ache to tilt her head and steal the taste of his lips.
The sounds of the village faded — laughter, music, and the echo of distant drums all fell away until only the rhythm of her heartbeat remained.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Willow murmured, turning to her with those wide blue eyes that seemed to glow beneath the moonlight.
Her heart thudded painfully. "What is?"
"The village," he said softly. "The festival. Everything."
Elm's gaze lingered on him — on his gentle smile, on the way the moonlight brushed across his features like the hand of a god. She smiled faintly, her chest tightening with warmth and ache.
"Yeah," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "It really is beautiful."