The moon hung high in the sky, its silver glow casting a soft light over the land. Stars twinkled like scattered jewels, and the cold night wind whispered through the swaying grass. A young girl stood outside her door, gazing up at the vast sky with a heavy sigh. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as the chill crept in and began walking along a well-trodden path, guided only by the moonlight. After a few minutes, she noticed the distant silhouettes of people approaching.


    The village market was alive with warmth and light, a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. Laughter and music filled the air, blending into a lively melody. In the center of it all stood a large bonfire, its flames dancing in rhythm with the wind. Around it, young men and women moved in a joyous circle, their bodies swaying to the beat of the festival.


    Ryanne lived in a quiet rural village, far from the bustling capital of the kingdom. With a population of fewer than three hundred, nearly everyone in the village knew one another. The festival was a rare moment of celebration, a tradition that had persisted for generations.


    The music grew louder, the rhythm of drums and voices swelling in harmony. Yet, rather than feeling overwhelming, the sound was enchanting, drawing in even those who had no intention of joining. Every year, before winter arrived, the villagers held this festival to honor Aalto, the spirit of the sea. They would prepare an offering, casting it into the waves in hopes of appeasing the spirit. The night was then spent dancing and singing until dawn.


    This custom had existed for so long that even the villagers themselves were unsure of its origin. Daekrahm, a seaside village, relied on fishing, making it natural for accidents to occur at sea. However, as time passed, fishermen began disappearing at an alarming rate, all within a specific stretch of water. Rumors spread, theories emerged—some spoke of mermaids luring sailors to their doom, others feared sirens singing them into madness. But the most popular tale was of a spirit dwelling beneath the sea, claiming lives as a price for its wrath.


    Though most villagers, including Ryanne, doubted the truth behind these stories, the festival remained a sacred tradition. Whether out of belief or habit, they continued to offer gifts to the unseen, ensuring the ritual was upheld.


    As Ryanne observed the festivities, her gaze settled on a group of children playing at the edge of the celebration. Away from the bonfire, they clutched white sheets of paper, folding them into intricate shapes while their laughter rang through the air.


    She approached them at a leisurely pace, arriving within moments. Sensing her presence, the children looked up, their cheerful expressions momentarily pausing. Among them was a boy with emerald eyes that shimmered in the firelight, his raven-black hair framing his face.


    "It''s getting late. You should head home now," Ryanne said softly.


    The boy''s face fell in disappointment. "Just a little longer? Can''t I stay?" her younger brother, Paul, pleaded.


    Ryanne understood his reluctance—she, too, longed to enjoy the festival, to lose herself in the merriment. But duty called, and responsibility came first. She sighed, this time with more resolve. "Mom will scold you if you don’t come home now. Instead of playing, you should be helping us prepare for tomorrow."


    Paul heaved a sigh of resignation. After bidding farewell to his friends, he followed his sister away from the festivities.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    They walked in silence, the only sound coming from the rustling leaves and the distant hum of the village. Ryanne’s long hair cascaded over her shoulders, swaying gently with the wind that grew stronger as the night deepened. The festive atmosphere still lingered in her mind.


    "Everyone seemed to be having fun," she thought, recalling the faces of her friends among the crowd.


    She quickly shook off the thought.


    As the eldest daughter, Ryanne knew that family responsibility always came first.


    "Ah, Sister, I read something interesting earlier. Want to hear it?"


    Ryanne glanced at her brother before returning her gaze to the road. "If it''s another piece of gossip, like Mister Geoffe taking another mistress, then I''m not interested."


    Mister Geoffe owned the local tavern. Unlike most villagers, he was educated and well-spoken. If he had another sibling to inherit the family business, he likely would have left for the capital, Lyndhurst, like so many others dreamed of doing. Ryanne shared that dream—one day, she hoped to leave Daekrahm behind and experience the world beyond its shores.


    If Geoffe had one glaring flaw, it was his insatiable appetite for women. He flirted with every woman he met, married or not.


    "I wouldn’t be surprised if his wife asked for a divorce sooner or later. Honestly, it’s more surprising that she’s lasted a year with a man like him."


    "It’s not gossip," Paul insisted. "I read it in a newspaper. Azra is going on hiatus for the next few months."


    Ryanne halted in her tracks. "What? That must be fake news!" she exclaimed, turning to her brother with disbelief.


    Paul shrugged. "It’s true. It said she’s taking a break due to health reasons."


    For a moment, Ryanne was speechless.


    Azra was a name that had taken the kingdom by storm three years ago. A singer of unparalleled talent, she was often invited to perform at noble banquets, yet her music also resonated with commoners. Even though Ryanne had never seen her in person, Azra''s voice played in taverns and shops, filling the air with her melancholic yet enchanting melodies. It was a voice that felt almost otherworldly, capable of entrancing anyone who heard it—Ryanne included.


    Though she didn''t want to believe it, Paul had no reason to lie.


    "I wonder what happened. I hope she gets well soon," she murmured, a hint of sadness in her voice.


    *****


    A few kilometers away from the village…


    The sea stretches endlessly beneath the bright full moon, its surface eerily still. Not a single wave disturbs the water, as if life itself has abandoned this place.


    At the heart of this vast emptiness, a lone boat drifts. A woman sits inside, shivering against the biting cold.


    "Fuck… Goddammit."


    Did I betray my country in my past life? Did I kill someone?


    Why am I so fucking unlucky?


    Is this what they call karma?


    She pulls her hood tighter as the wind howls through the empty night. Despite the layers of thick clothing wrapped around her, the chill seeps into her bones, making her feel as if she might freeze to death at any moment.


    "Really… Hah. Fucking hell," she mutters, her eyes landing on the unmoving lump at the other end of the boat, concealed beneath a white cloth.


    If anyone saw this scene, they would probably assume she was a serial killer, out here to dispose of her victims in the dead of night.


    Who would have thought that the renowned figure the world believed to be recovering in solitude was actually here, sailing into the unknown with ten corpses in tow?


    She stops rowing.


    "This should be far enough," she whispers, though she knows no one will respond. She speaks anyway, hoping the sound of her own voice will calm the erratic beating of her heart.


    Her gaze sweeps over the endless sea once more.


    Too quiet.


    Too still.


    The unnatural calm only fuels her unease.


    They say that anyone who ventures beyond this point simply vanishes. The Bermuda Triangle of this world. But staring at the dark waters before her, she sees nothing. No monster lurking beneath. No storm brewing above. Just silence.


    She exhales a slow, shaky breath.


    "Why am I even here?"


    She just wanted to go home.


    Swallowing her fear, she reaches for the first corpse and hoists it over the side of the boat. It’s heavy. It takes time and effort, but she forces herself to continue, tossing them into the sea one by one. One. Two. Three. By the time she’s done, her arms feel like lead, her breath ragged from exertion.


    She straightens, fists clenched at her sides, and looks up—first at the water, then at the sky.


    Her heart pounds.


    The wind howls, sending a violent shiver down her spine as she removes her cloak.


    "It’s fine."


    She has regrets—so many regrets.


    But it was still a good life… wasn’t it?


    Fingers tightening around the cold metal of her necklace, she closes her eyes and takes a step forward.


    Then—


    She jumps.