Θψe̞ẵʃ /ˈθiːtəːʏeɪ'alf/

ðə fəːst ˈkarəktə ɪntrəˈdjuːs; a ˈhɪərəʊ.

〘Watch for the moon, for its light blinds.〙

The town of Melanvale was a quiet one. Nestled deep after the Bowland Fells and the other woodlands beyond to the north, it overlooked a large bay that fed to the ambience of how miniature and trivial it was.

With less than four thousand in population, the town garnered no attention to visitors or others, keeping merely to itself and its inhabitants. If a car was to ever be found there, it was likely one that was passing through. There was nothing to find there other than the baleful maunder of the elderly and the silent gossip of adults and children alike. It was, like most towns, a town that thrived on myths.

But there, in that melancholic and peaceful town, something new would stir up. And on the thirteenth hour of Eirínium’s eve, a tale of unexpected nature started.

It began, as any opening to a tale one might expect, with a moment of peace.

In a night sky, riddled with stars scattered about in havoc, there lied a moon, shining brightly as a midnight sun would in the summer. The night retained its sombreness among Fall’s gentle breeze. Not a soul wandered the streets, leaving it for the creatures of the night to settle freely. Only the sound of the crickets echoed every so often. Every house and building lost its light to the darkness of slumber.

And then… it happened.

*̷̞̍̈́̈̄̓̎̏͌̎̾̍͂̕͝C̶̨̨̬̻̟̄̔̿R̶̥̩͙̟͓̙̮̻̩̓͂͑͌̓̈͂͝A̶̪̩͉̬̞̗͈͕̲̹̼̫̝͆̅̇̅͗ͅĈ̸̯̫̥̗̦̦̻͉̭̳̰͛̋́̄͊͑͒͑͝͝͝K̵̜̝̲͙̠̝͚̙̪͍̑̎͆̄̎̀̋̎̓̚*̸̢̛̺̮̖̦̑̂̈́̒͌̓̏̑̓̉̚͜͝

A bolt of electricity struck down at inconceivable speed, lighting up all there was to the darkness of the night. As lightning struck and the thunderous roars continued, the world shook with its waves.

It was like a hurricane, to describe it as anything less would be undermining it.

For a brief moment, it felt as if the entire foundation of the world fractured in two, creating a quake that outreached the seven skies and shook the Heavens. The wind blew in opposition on both sides, resulting in a division of the pressure that pushed anything in the middle to the brim. It was fantastic, unimaginable to an incredible degree it would stop one’s mind.

If there was one word to describe it: impossible.

A girl, fallen on the ground, watched the scene with her mouth agape. This was a kid who had always been crazy about stories of all kinds. From listening to the simple stories shared by drunkards, or the word of mouth between people, to dreamy fairy tales only found in the pages of children’s books to fantastical legends of old passed down from one generation to the next, she consumed all, no matter how long they were. But never, in her life, did she imagine witnessing a scene of this immaculate magnitude, filled with power, so much mystical power that the eyes could not properly process. She had seen everything through, but her mind was stuck in the limbo state of amazement.

And as the dust cleared with ease, a man stood atop the rumble, bearing a pristine physique that was not too great or little. Yet he posed a great presence over everything that stood before him.

With a smile on his face, he spoke with a confident tone.

“Juno Ashford!”

The girl was speechless.

“Come with me and I’ll show you a world of pure imagination.”

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This is how the world drowns and comes back again.