The midnight pages

Nestled in the shadow of towering mountains, the village of Eldenrest was a place where time seemed to stand still. The morning sun would bathe the village in golden hues, and the air carried the crisp scent of pine and earth. This was home to Arin, a lively boy of twelve with a mop of unruly hair and eyes that sparkled with mischief. Though small in size, Arin's heart brimmed with an insatiable curiosity that often led him into the depths of the surrounding forest.

Every day after his chores, Arin would lead his family's goats into the woods to graze. The villagers warned him of the dangers lurking in the forest, from treacherous cliffs to wild beasts, but Arin found solace in the rustling leaves and the call of birds. To him, the forest was not a place of fear but one of endless wonder.

It was on one such afternoon, as the sun began its descent, that Arin's life took an extraordinary turn. He had wandered farther than usual, following the playful skips of a young goat named Tilly. The little creature's energy knew no bounds, and she darted through the underbrush like a mischievous sprite.

"Tilly, wait up!" Arin called, laughing as he ducked under low-hanging branches. The forest around him grew denser, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in shimmering patches.

That was when he saw it.

Amidst a grove of ancient trees stood one unlike any he had ever seen. Its trunk was wide and gnarled, its bark marked with intricate patterns that looked almost like writing. A faint glow seemed to emanate from its base, drawing Arin closer. He felt a strange pull, as if the tree itself was beckoning him.

Curiosity piqued, Arin stepped forward, his heart pounding with excitement. At the base of the tree was a small hole, no larger than his fist. Kneeling down, he peered inside. The darkness within seemed to stretch endlessly, but there, just within reach, was something gleaming.

Arin hesitated. His mind raced with possibilities. What if it was treasure? Or perhaps some magical relic left by the forest spirits the elders spoke of in hushed tones? Without another thought, he reached in, his fingers brushing against something cool and metallic. With a firm tug, he pulled it free.

It was a map. A small, weathered piece of parchment, its edges frayed with age. Strange symbols and markings adorned its surface, along with a series of lines that seemed to lead to a specific point. Arin's heart raced as he studied it, the realization dawning that this was no ordinary find. This map was a guide—to what, he could only guess.

"What have you got there?" came a voice, startling him. Arin whirled around to find Tilly staring at him, her head tilted as if in curiosity. He laughed nervously, tucking the map into his satchel.

"Just something interesting," he said, patting her head. But even as he spoke, his mind buzzed with questions. Where did the map lead? Who had placed it there? And why had he been the one to find it?

The journey back to the village was filled with anticipation. Arin's thoughts raced as he considered his next steps. He couldn't tell the elders; they would only forbid him from venturing further. This was his secret, his discovery, and he intended to see it through.

That night, as the village settled into quiet slumber, Arin sat by the flickering light of a candle, poring over the map. The symbols were unlike anything he had seen before, yet they felt oddly familiar. His finger traced the lines leading to a marked spot deep within the forest. He knew he had to follow it, no matter the risks.

The next morning, Arin rose before dawn. He packed his satchel with essentials—bread, a waterskin, and a small knife his father had given him. Tilly seemed to sense his determination, bleating softly as she nudged him.

"Not this time, girl," he said, scratching behind her ears. "This is something I have to do alone."

The forest felt different as Arin ventured deeper than ever before. The air was cooler, and the trees seemed older, their twisted branches forming a canopy that blocked out much of the sunlight. The path marked on the map led him through winding trails, over moss-covered rocks, and across a babbling brook. Each step brought a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Hours passed before he reached the spot marked on the map. It was a clearing, bathed in an otherworldly glow. At its center stood a stone pedestal, weathered by time but still majestic. Resting atop it was a book, its cover shimmering with an iridescent light. Arin's breath caught in his throat as he approached, his hand trembling as he reached out.

The moment his fingers touched the book, a surge of warmth coursed through him. The cover opened on its own, revealing a single blank page. As he watched, words began to appear, written in elegant, flowing script. They spoke of events far beyond the village—a flood threatening a neighboring town, lives hanging in the balance.

Arin's eyes widened as he realized the truth. This was no ordinary book. It was a window into the future, a guide to events yet to unfold. The weight of its power settled on his shoulders, and he knew his life would never be the same.

The sun dipped below the horizon as Arin carefully closed the book and placed it back on the pedestal. He turned to leave, his mind racing with the enormity of what he had discovered. The forest seemed to hum with energy as he retraced his steps, the map clutched tightly in his hand.

By the time he reached the village, the stars had begun to twinkle in the night sky. Arin's heart was a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, fear, and a sense of purpose he had never felt before. The Midnight Pages had chosen him, and he was ready to rise to the challenge.

The following morning, Arin awoke before the rooster's crow. His dreams had been filled with visions of the glowing book and the ominous warnings it revealed. The weight of the discovery pressed heavily on his young shoulders, yet he felt an inexplicable determination to act.

As he slipped out of bed, the village lay blanketed in mist, the morning air thick with the promise of rain. Arin crept out of the house, careful not to wake his family, and made his way to the clearing once more. The forest seemed eerily quiet, as if it, too, awaited his return.

When he reached the pedestal, the book was there, exactly as he had left it. This time, as he opened the cover, the blank page began to fill with words almost immediately. The script detailed a neighboring town, Greystone, where the river was set to overflow its banks by nightfall. Lives were at stake.

Arin's heart pounded. Greystone was a full day's journey from Eldenrest. He couldn't possibly warn them in time, could he? Yet the book's warning felt like a direct plea for action. He couldn't ignore it.

Determined, Arin ran back to the village and sought out the one person he knew would listen: Old Marcus, a retired traveler who had once been a messenger in his youth. Marcus was known for his swift horse and keen sense of direction. Though many in the village dismissed his stories of far-off lands and daring escapades, Arin had always believed him.

"Marcus, you have to help me!" Arin burst into the old man's cottage, clutching the map tightly. Marcus, seated by the hearth, raised a bushy eyebrow at the intrusion.

"What's got you in such a frenzy, lad?" he asked, setting down his pipe.

"There's no time to explain everything," Arin said breathlessly, "but Greystone is in danger. The river—it's going to flood by tonight. We have to warn them!"

Marcus studied the boy for a long moment, his sharp eyes narrowing. "And how do you know this?"

"I… I just do," Arin stammered. "You have to trust me."

Something in the boy's earnest expression seemed to convince Marcus. He rose with a groan, reaching for his coat. "If what you say is true, we'll need to ride fast. Let's hope your instincts are right, boy."

As they set out on Marcus's horse, the urgency of their mission weighed heavily on Arin. The journey was fraught with challenges—muddy trails, fallen trees, and an ominous sky that threatened rain. Yet Marcus's experience and Arin's determination pushed them forward.

By the time they reached Greystone, the river had already begun to swell. Villagers scrambled to reinforce the banks, but it was clear their efforts wouldn't be enough. Marcus wasted no time rallying the townsfolk, organizing them into groups to evacuate the most vulnerable and secure essential supplies.

Arin, meanwhile, couldn't shake the feeling that the book's warning

💠 To be continued