The Fallen Light
The morning after the Wild Hunt, the world still lay under the cold weight of winter’s grip. The night had been long and terrifying, but the sun had risen again, bringing with it the promise of a new day. The first faint light of day struggled against the lingering chill, as though something deep within the earth itself had been disturbed, preventing the sun from finding its usual strength.
The sky was pale, but not with the gentle hues of dawn. No, it was as if the light itself had been drained, leaving the land washed in a dull, muted gray. There was an unsettling stillness in the air, as if the light itself was tentative, uncertain. The world outside had been cleansed of the night’s terror, but the family could still feel the chill, an echo of the darkness that had passed too close. The wind had shifted, the air heavy with something they couldn’t name, something lingering at the edges of their perception.
The family, still shaken from the eerie passage of the Wild Hunt, had returned to their routine. Yet an unsettling sense of unease lingered in their hearts. As they went about their chores, the wind continued to whisper, carrying a strange, almost mournful hum. It wasn’t the familiar sound of the winter wind—this was something else, something ancient.
It was just as Thomas was chopping wood, the sound of his axe striking against the frozen logs echoing in the silence, when a distant sound caught his attention—a sound like something heavy, something strange trying to make it through the snow. The wind shifted, carrying a scent he couldn’t place. He could smell burnt earth, scorched metal, and something that seemed.. older?
“Do you hear that?” he called to his wife, his brow furrowing in concern.
Martha came to the door, her eyes narrowing as she listened. The sound was an unmistakable thud of something large moving — growing louder. It wasn’t the sound of deer or any creature they knew. It was methodical, deliberate, like the weight of something vast and terrible approaching.
Before she could answer, a loud crash shook the house, rattling the frame.
“Papa?” Elara whispered, her voice trembling. “What is it?”
Thomas exchanged a look with his wife, his instinct urging him to be cautious. He placed the axe down and moved to where he heard the sound.
He hesitated, but something—something in the air—made him reach for the latch.
As he turned the corner, the figure that stood was not like any man, but was like a man? His golden garments shimmered, though fading like the embers of a dying fire. His face, handsome, was gaunt, but as though the very life force had been drained from him. His eyes looked as if simultaneously brilliant, glowing like twin suns, but also now flickering weakly. Whatever this person was, it seemed barely alive—and the light about him was fading. Fast.
The man—if man he was—collapsed! His cloak was shredded as if having fought a great beast, but was magical as it seemed to hum faintly. The cloak was glowing — was. It began to flicker. It was clear to Thomas and Martha that this figure was gravely injured.
“Help… me…” the figure rasped, as though speaking through an immense fog. “I could not… The darkness… is..”
The cloak lost its light. The man lay motionless.
The family rushed to his side, their breaths shallow and quick. He was burning with fever, his skin scorched, though no flame had touched him. He was still alive. His chest still rose and fell.
Thomas crouched down, feeling his pulse quicken. He had no idea what this man was, or what he spoke of, but the desperation in his voice was palpable. “Hello?! Can you hear me?!! Who are you??”
The stranger’s breath faltered.
The family stood around him in stunned silence, unsure how to help, unsure even what was happening. The wind that had been howling only moments before was now strangely silent, as if the earth itself held its breath. The family turned their heads instinctively towards the forest. For a moment, the woods beyond the cottage seemed unnaturally still.
And then, from the deep recesses of the forest, a dark shape began to emerge—a swirling cloud of shadows that seemed to twist and writhe with malice. It was not a creature of flesh, but something far darker, an essence that seemed to exist solely to devour.
The man’s eyes opened and stared. His fading eyes locked onto a shape in the distance, and in that moment, the light inside him flared once again—brief, brilliant, but fading. “He… comes,” he gasped, his voice full of a terrible certainty. “The shadow… is near…”
A low, unearthly sound rumbled from the depths of the forest, like the growl from an ancient beast, and the earth seemed to tremble with the force of it. The shadow advanced, billowing like smoke on the wind. And though the sun had barely risen, the light that had once filled the world retreated again, swallowed by an oncoming tide of darkness.
“Please…” the man whispered.
Thomas felt a chill unlike any winter cold, seeping into his bones. He glanced once more at the shadow moving closer and then back at the man—this stranger who was so clearly more than human.
He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, but he knew that whatever this was—it was not a mere story. This was real, and it was happening now.
In a final act of defiance, the stranger raised one trembling hand toward the sky, his last effort to hold back the gathering darkness. Light emanated from the man’s hand, surrounding the house. His eyes, though dimming with every passing second, seemed to transfer the power to the home. The man’s body arched in pain, his final burst of power pushing against the tide of shadow.
“I will not… be…”
But his strength was not enough.
With a final, wrenching gasp, the light within him flickered out entirely. His arm fell limply to the ground. The power had stopped. His body went slack in the snow. The once-brilliant golden cloak lay in tatters around him, now gray. The light that had once burned so brightly in him was now reduced to nothing more than a faint, fading ember.
The darkness was unstoppable.
Except for around this house.
The shadow that had emerged from the forest reached the cottage in mere moments, the blackened form of some great being manifesting in the clearing. His shape was a mass of void, swirling and consuming, with eyes that glowed a terrible, fathomless black. The earth beneath them seemed to sink with the weight of his presence. The void shrieked, and if animal life existed in the forest, it would have run in terror.
Thomas and Martha could do nothing but watch in horror as the dark being loomed before them. The air around the being trembled with ancient power. His presence pressed against the world as if it would crush the very light from existence.
“The sun appears no more.”
The home still glowed, but the light was retreating inward, as if supported by its walls and hearth. Yet, there was still light around the family as they watched, caught between courage and fear, darkness and light.
“You cannot protect this home forever. I will eat his essence yet.”
With that, the dark being stretched his form skyward, and the last vestiges of dawn—what little light had come with the rising sun—were swallowed into the blackness.
As the world around them darkened, Thomas and Martha stood frozen, clutching their daughter close. They had seen the stranger’s sacrifice, the fading light of hope. And as they stood together, they realized the truth in his words: the sun… was gone.
The world was left to the long night.
All they could do was wait for another dawn. But that might never come.
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