The air was unusually still that afternoon—too still for a place usually humming with soft forest breezes. Two farmers walked side by side along the sloping farmland, baskets on their backs, eyes flicking between the cloudy sky and the drying soil.
"Strange, isn't it?" the older one murmured, kneeling to crumble the dirt between his fingers. It fell apart like ash. "Feels like these fields are giving up."
His friend snorted. "Giving up? The land doesn't 'give up.' You probably woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
"It's not just today," the older insisted. "Season's been odd. The soil's stiffer. Wind smells dry. Even the birds stopped coming."
"Hah! Next you'll tell me the carrots are screaming."
"…I'm serious."
The younger farmer paused, expression shifting as he glanced around.
"What're you trying to say?"
"My wife…" The old man hesitated. "She said this land—Fairy Land—it's losing its vitality. Bit by bit."
The other burst into laughter. "Oh, come on. Your wife worries too much. Always imagining doom. This land protected us for generations. And besides—"
He lifted his hand and pointed up through the thin clouds.
"Look—Astral Barrier's right there. Shining like always. That thing's saved us for—"
"Wait."
The older man's voice suddenly went quiet.
"Hey… look."
His friend followed his gaze down to the field.
Something was wrong.
The soil wasn't just dry.
It was flattened. Like something heavy had pressed the entire crop field into the earth.
The river nearby was nothing but cracked stone, steam still curling from its edges as if the water had boiled away.
"…What in—"
A quiver passed under their feet.
The younger farmer swallowed. "…You felt that?"
The older didn't answer.
He pointed up—hand shaking.
And the younger man finally saw it.
A thin white fracture split across the glowing sky.
Not lightning.
Not cloud.
A crack.
In the Astral Barrier.
"…No." The younger farmer's voice dried out instantly. "That… that can't…"
Behind the cracks… something glowed.
A deep, furious red.
A light that pulsed like a heartbeat.
A sound—low, groaning—escaped the crack, like something massive grinding its teeth.
Then—
The red light moved behind the crack.
Smooth.
Slow.
Watching.
Both men stumbled backward.
"W–We need—"
"RUN!"
They didn't look back.
---
The mood inside the Alder home was a world away from the horror outside.
Children gathered around the village head as though around a campfire.
Feya and Lior clung to his robe as he finished the end of a whimsical tale—wild hand gestures, silly sound effects, the works.
"And that," he announced proudly, "is how the fairy queen sneezed the lake into the sky!"
The children erupted in laughter.
"So!" he said. "What is today's lesson?"
Lior raised his hand. "Um… don't sneeze too hard?"
The village head burst into a delighted cackle. "Brilliant!"
Paul chuckled from the corner. "Your stories are getting weirder as you age."
"Age?" The old man gasped dramatically. "I'm in perfect condition! My life force increases every time these little demons laugh!"
Talia and Niana entered carrying tea, handing cups to both men.
The old man accepted his cup and exhaled contentedly. "By the way… where is Rion? Haven't seen him for quite some time."
Paul waved a hand lazily. "Probably sulking somewhere. Teacher left. He's heartbroken."
"Ohh…" The old man nodded sympathetically. "He'll grow out of it. He's smarter than he looks."
They all laughed softly—
Until the front door crashed open.
The two farmers from earlier stumbled in, pale, drenched in sweat, shaking like dying leaves.
Paul and the village head stood instantly.
"What happened?" Paul's voice sharpened like a drawn blade.
The men tried to speak—words breaking, breath short.
Their faces alone were enough.
Paul didn't wait.
"Talia. Niana. Take the children home now."
Both wives moved immediately—gathering the kids and rushing them out.
Paul and the village head followed the trembling farmers outside.
---
Within minutes, torches lit the village square, the glow fluttering across hundreds of terrified faces.
The two farmers explained everything—
the fields crushed flat,
the river dried to nothing,
the blood-red glow behind the cracked sky.
Each detail twisted the villagers tighter.
A woman screamed, "We're all going to die! If the Astral Barrier breaks—monsters—monsters will—!"
Panic exploded.
Voices rose.
Hands trembled.
Some prayed.
Some cursed.
Some sobbed into their chests.
Before fear swallowed the crowd completely—
Paul's voice roared over everything.
"ENOUGH!"
The square froze.
"Panicking won't save anyone," he said. "Think. Breathe. We need a plan."
All eyes turned to the village head.
"Paulo," Paul said, "your decision?"
The old man inhaled, eyes dark with a seriousness he rarely showed.
"We leave," he said quietly. "Tonight. All of us."
Gasps filled the air.
"But… I expected something like this years ago," he continued. "So I prepared another place. It's safe. Far from here."
Relief rippled through the crowd like wind in tall grass.
Paul nodded sharply. "Then we pack. Now."
Within moments, villagers scattered—
some crying as they touched the walls of their homes,
some praying to gods they hadn't spoken to in years,
some whispering apologies to the land they were leaving behind.
Paul stood guard at the outskirts, scanning the sky, ready to kill anything that moved.
Talia and Niana hurried over, worry etched into their faces.
"Paul," Niana whispered, "are we truly safe?"
"As long as I stand," he said softly, "no one will touch you."
Talia paused. "But… Rion. He hasn't come back."
Paul frowned. "That boy should've returned already."
Steps rushed toward him.
"Mr. Paul—!"
It was one of the farmers.
He swallowed hard before saying:
"Rion… he's not anywhere in the village."
Paul's heart thudded once—
Hard.
Talia gasped.
Niana clutched her mouth.
The village head stiffened beside him.
Paul's voice cracked for the first time in years.
"…Where is my son?"