Rafa’s howl of vengeance

"In Evaroth some nights begin with fire rather than darkness." Based on Fictional settings Lanterns hung like glowing spirits on the rooftops of Evaroth, between forgotten hills and rivers that only old maps remember. A yearly celebration to drive out evil and welcome peace was held in Evaroth, and we call it the Festival of Lights. Unfortunately, peace will not come tonight. So I sat at the edge of the festival crowd. I wasn’t known for drinking or dancing, well. I haven’t been the jovial one since my brother died mysteriously five years ago. But for Jasmine, my goddaughter, I made an exception. Somehow she has her way of pulling me out of my silence. “Uncle Rafa!” came her voice, bouncing through the crowd with festival paint all over her face. “You’re being grumpy again,” she said, poking my ribs. “I'm being observant,” “There are too many strangers here this year.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a festival. Everyone’s allowed to be happy for once. Even you.” But within me, I knew something wasn’t right.(a primal instinct) I felt like we were being watched. When the fireworks began, Jasmine pulled me through the crowd. We passed stalls glowing with candied roses, painted masks near an old stone well at the edge of the square, where I played when I was a child, as they erupted in cheers. Everyone was happy. “If you make a wish into this bottomless well on a festival night, the old well will hear you” “ Uncle Rafa, you used to believe that, didn’t you?”(smirked) I kept quiet and looked around once more. I noticed some people’s faces blurring into masks. The night became darker with time and as the night deepened, more strangers arrived. A man bumped into me. Afterward, he apologized and vanished into the crowd. I only saw the red cloak he had put on, but for a moment I thought he had no shadow. Jasmine spun around and danced with her aged mates while I tried to stay closer. The music increased louder. That itch returned. That's when I saw, right across the square, near the grove path, a figure stood half in shadow. Watching. Tall, unmoving, and within a blink it was gone. I rolled up my sleeves knowing something was wrong somewhere. “Let’s go home soon.” “One more lantern!” she pleaded. A burst of fireworks lit the sky in red. In the flash of a red light, I blinked as the lights faded…and Jasmine was gone. It happened so fast, I felt like it wasn't natural. The fireworks died in the sky, leaving behind only smoke and shadows. Shoving through the crowd…shouting Jasmine’s name. Jasmine!!!. No answer. I spotted a crushed flower crown laying on the ground near a vendor’s cart. “Did you see a girl? Painted face. Neon crown.” The man blinked. “Lots of girls like that, my friend.” But no one had seen her. I could feel my heart beating faster than the drums playing on the festival grounds. The worse was that no one admitted they saw her. “She was just here” “She couldn’t have gone far.” I spoke to myself. I searched the alleyways behind the lantern vendors, the abandoned garden behind the old church, even the swamp path locals warned children about. Nothing. Not even a footprint. No scent. No sound. Only silence and the cold breath of something old slithering through the night air. By morning, search parties had formed. The police arrived late, uninterested. “Teenagers run off during festivals all the time,” one of them shrugged. Having heard that, I almost hit him. But i didn’t Local search parties later found her, her dress shredded and stained with a blackish-red substance that smelled of rust and death. She was lying close to a tree at the edge of a river, lifeless. Everyone gathered in the town square, and I was summoned. The elders were present, where she was seen lying lifeless and returning to Evaroth. I couldn't look at Jasmine's dead body twice when I arrived at the square. I couldn't hold back the tears dropping from my eyes. “Evaroth is covered with so many strange and mysterious things. I'm talking about black magic, demons and beasts”. Evaroth was founded centuries ago by exiles from the southern kingdom who sought to hide from man and monsters. Black magic exists among the people of Evaroth and it possesses many people. This is a place where dreams and nightmares sometimes become real. Over generations, the town families learn to coexist with these forces. Every generation the blood test occurs. When shape-shifters lose control, someone is sacrificed to maintain balance. The year Rafa lost Jasmine was a signal that the curse had awakened again. The elders whispered. “It’s happening again,” one muttered. And no one would speak aloud what Rafa needed to hear. No one would admit that this wasn’t just murder, it was ritual. I left the square. There was no reason to explain why I didn’t shout. Something deeper than fear rooted in my chest, and so I have taken it upon myself to personally investigate deeper. I see Jasmine in my dreams crying out to me saying her spirit needs to be saved. I can't handle this alone. I need someone, and I mean anyone, to tell me what's going on. But not even the old seers of Evaroth could whisper to me what I intended to hear or know about. Each night, I light a candle at her window, hoping to bring her peace. But her voice returns, more desperate with each passing dream. “Uncle Rafa,” she sobs in that strange half-world between sleep and waking. It’s not over. I’m not at rest. You have to find the man in red." He took me.” The man in the red cloak. (flashback), the man who bumped into me that night was putting on a red cloak, but I couldn't see his face clearly enough. Seeking the answers to this mystery seems to come at a cost and even if it means leaving this city to find the cause of Jasmine’s death and the person behind it, I will proceed without having to look back. Jasmine had spent that night surrounded by friends and children her age, some from the market street, others from the neighboring city. I went door to door, quiet and steady, face still stained with grief. The parents knew better than to lie to me. Some let me in. Others said nothing but gestured toward the back, where the children sat, silent and shaken. The first was Rina a quiet girl with curled hair and tired eyes. She clutched a faded rag doll and wouldn’t look at me at first. “She was dancing with us,” she whispered. “But then... she got quiet.” “What do you mean?” I asked, leaning in. “She said someone was calling her name from the woods. We told her not to go.” “Did she go?” Rina’s mouth trembled. “She said she’d be right back.” Next was Kayla. She was older, sharp-eyed and clever. “She said a man in red gave her a coin,” Kayla said. “A weird one.” “What kind of coin?” “She didn’t show it to me. "I just said it was heavy and cold. "I told her to toss it in the wishing well.” Kayla paused, then lowered her voice. “That’s when the music changed.” “What do you mean?” Kayla frowned. “The drums. The rhythm went fast. Like” she beat her fingers rapidly on her knee, “like a heartbeat. It was scary. Like waking up.” Each child’s story added another thread to a tapestry of unease. The man in red. The strange coin. The heartbeat drums. Pieces. Just pieces. But none of them saw her leave. None of them saw who took her. It was as if she simply vanished. But none of their stories gave me peace. I mean it doesn’t make sense to me. Quickly, I returned to the place Jasmine and I were before she vanished. Just at the edge of the square. By day, it looked harmless, but the silence here felt unnatural, like the place itself was holding its breath. I noticed a set of drag marks in the dirt when I scanned the ground. Two lines, uneven. As if someone had been pulled away, heels first. The trail led me to the well’s edge, not the main one in the square, but a smaller, older well-made of rotting stone and overgrown with vines. I knelt there, clearing the leaves and dead petals. Something was carved into the stone in a language I couldn't read, but then I saw an object under a small rock, barely visible. A coin. Same coin Kayla spoke of. Something deep in me stirred me up. The coin was impossibly heavy for its size, and it burned in my pocket. This was no ordinary object. I wrapped it in cloth and tucked it into my coat. Then I noticed something else: claw marks on the bark of a nearby tree. Deep gouges, far too high and far too wide to belong to any known animal in these parts. That night, she returned to me in a dream. “Uncle Rafa,” (crying)