I collapse onto my bed with that old book heavy in my hands. Honestly, this writer really sucks. Who talks like this nowadays? "Even in the tangled hours, this world shall bend"? Give me a break. And the whole other-world reincarnation plot? Seen it enough times to predict every twist before it happens. Generic and boring even if you ask me.
Though, I can't seem to stop reading. There's something about it like a weird pull I can't explain. Makes me want to see how far the story goes — even if it's so obviously a recycled mess.
"I better put this back to its place before mom finds me."
Carefully, I slide the book under the pile of clothes it came from, pretending it was never there. Mom hasn't called me. Looks like I'm safe for now.
Downstairs, Mom hums quietly as she wipes plates. "Up to what just now?" she asks without looking.
I lazily shrug, trying to sound casual. "Nothing, just organizing some stuff."
She glances toward the ceiling, like she's expecting something or someone, then goes back to the dishes.
Suddenly, the wind rushes through the open window, scattering the book's pages across the table like wild butterflies.
Then something strange happens — the letters start to glow deep red, pulsing with an energy that makes a skin prickle.
Glowing letters began to rise up, twisting and curling like a dragon making its way through the sky; as it didn't just fly straight up it wove through the clouds like it was dancing, looping around, swaying with a rhythm that made the night feel alive.
It flickered here and there, casting a soft red glow against the darkening sky.
The sunset faded slowly behind it, turning the horizon into a wash of deep blues and purples. Then, out of nowhere, the dragon stopped. It hung there for a moment, all still and tense.
Slowly, it folded itself like a stream of water curling down a drain. The bright red letters pulled together, shrinking fast until they formed a tiny, glowing droplet.
It hung in the air, pulsing softly before it dropped down, disappearing into a puddle of water
"I'm tired..."
I stretched out my stiff arms and legs as a yawn threatened to escape as my feet dragged just a bit more than they should.
We've been at this for hours already—snacking on whatever weird treats the festival stalls threw at us, trying out these strange little games that made no sense half the time, and even sitting through that slow, boring play that honestly felt like it lasted all day.
But somehow those two — Joren and Ryn— still have the energy to sprint around.
"Did they eat some kind of magic snack behind my back" I muttered, and squinted expecting thier mouths to glow or shoot sparks.
Then I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Joren, watch out!" I yelled instinctively to pull him back before a small cart slammed past us with a rattle and a screech.
Ryn's sharp voice cut through the fading noise.
"Lira! Joren! Are you two okay?"
We sank down onto a worn wooden bench as the weight of the unexpected chaos pressed on us.
My hand slowly brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
"Yeah, we're fine... just startled."
Joren rubbed at his bruised arm, managing a small smile, but his eyes flicked toward the street, unease bubbling beneath his tired grin.
I looked back at the spot where that cart had come barreling toward us moments ago.
"What was that about? Does anyone just drive a cart like that for fun?"
Ryn folded her arms, gaze narrowing. "It didn't seem accidental. Reckless maybe, but intentional?"
"Like maybe someone wanted to push us or cut us off? But why?"
We sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the festival fading into uneasy quiet. Then a scream tore through the air. A sharp, wild sound that set my blood to pounding.
All of us spun toward the noise, breath caught as the air thickened with tension.
That's when we saw him.
Emerging from the shadows was a figure unlike any I'd ever seen. A man, dressed in bright, patchwork clothes of reds, yellows, and greens, accompanied with the kind you'd expect from a circus, the only difference is his smile was cold, too wide and too sharp.
His pale face was framed by wild, orangey hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb in years, and in his hands was a slender flute, from which he blew a low, haunting melody.
He moved toward us slowly, each step deliberate, the sharp notes of his flute threading through the chaos behind him.
Behind this strange man, the village was unraveling into madness. People were shouting, screams punctuated the sky alongside the clash of metal.
Figures wielded knives and swords, slashing wildly, some not stopping until the other was burning beneath a fire.
Chaos spread like wildfire in the dim lantern light and the once harmony of the festival shattered into violent discord.
The man with the flute didn't seem disturbed or hurried by the chaos; instead, he kept playing, his eyes locked in and toward us.
Joren whispered with a voice tight, "Who is that?"
"I don't know but he is obviously dangerous," Ryn replied, fists clenched. "And we're right in its path."
"Well, well, what do we have here? Little lost lambs wandering far from the flock," he said, with twisted amusement.
Lira instinctively moved closer to Joren, her hand tightening around his wrist. Ryn's eyes darted between the man and the darkened alley behind him, and muscles coiled, ready to moveam at any moment.
I, too took a cautious step back, heart hammering in my chest as every instinct ingrave in me are screaming this was no ordinary enemy.
The Piper's gaze flicked toward each of us in turn, as if measuring our worth.
"Did you enjoy my little welcoming gift?" His flute's tune took on a mocking lilt, "a dose of chaos, just enough to unnerve the crowd. It's funny, isn't it? How easily peace shatters when the right note is struck."
The village you cherish the festival, the laughter, the music all so fragile. Why must things we cherish are made this way?
I swallowed hard but forced a shaky voice, "Who are you? Why are you doing this? What do you want from us?"
That man's smile deepened but his gaze never left ours, " Oh my! Pardon my unprofessional behavior.
To be honest, I've forgotten my own name. Funny, isn't it? But everyone calls me the Pied Piper; that's good enough don't you think? "
He raised the flute in a mocking bow. "Everything I do, everything that happens... it's all for the empire. This," he gestured to the chaos spreading behind him, "must be done."
He looked us over with sharp, calculating eyes. "And you... you're the sacrifice. Obviously, you should be thankful. Being part of something greater — that's rare. Consider yourselves honored."
A low, slow chuckle slid from his lips.
"Running is useless," he said simply, voice calm but heavy. "Useless and meaningless. You can't escape fate, no matter how fast you go. So why fight it? Why not just accept what's coming?"
Without warning, he raised his flute to his lips and blew a sharp, rattling screech tore through the air.
A sound that is worse than nails scraping across glass.
My ears exploded with agony, the ringing so loud it drowned out everything else.
It clawed deep into my skull, twisting and pounding. Instinctively, clamped my hands over my ears, but it did little good.
Colors bled and warped around me—street lamps flickered, lantern light wavered, and the edges of my vision darkened.
Seeing Ryn clutch her temples, and body trembling as she fought to hold on to her scattered thoughts.
Her face twisted in pain and panic, eyes squeezed shut as if darkness could drown out the unbearable noise.
Ryn's face was streaked with tears, her eyes wide and panicked, lashes fluttering wildly.
She sank to her knees but somehow stayed upright. Joren stumbled forward, his legs betraying him as he lurched toward the Piper's hypnotic presence and helpless to resist.
The scent of dust and burning wood filled the choking air as the screams and chaos of the village came alive around us, indistinct and distant behind the ringing blast.
Each breath was razor sharp, slicing my throat. My knees buckled but I forced myself to stand, desperate to not fall.
The man or so-called Piper's boots clicked softly against the stones as he closed the distance with deliberate grace.
His icy voice slid through the rawness of my mind.
"You should have some fun too," he said softly in her ears, reaching with a tender hand that felt anything but unsafe.
But she stayed frozen—as still as a statue though heart pounding fiercely against a cold dread of fear.
The moment his fingers brushed against Lira's arm, it was as if he'd hit a wall made of ice and steel.
The air itself thickened, humming with a strange energy, sharp enough to make the hairs on his neck stand on end.
The unseen force pushed back swiftly.
His hand trembled for a heartbeat, then jerked back, stumbling on the uneven cobblestones.
Lantern light flickered wildly, casting erratic shadows that danced like flames around his face, twisted now in surprise.
"You're different…" he whispered, teeth glinting.
Putting a hand to his chin, fingers tapping thoughtfully as his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Interesting. Very interesting," he murmured, voice soft but charged with amusement.
Slowly pulling back a faintest smirk curling his lips as he found a new toy to play with.
His tone drops to a low purr, dripping with another kind of pleasure.
"Maybe I let you be… or maybe I should force your dance just like the others..?"