The sun slowly disappeared behind the endless reeds.
As twilight embraced the Black Marsh, small flames began to appear throughout the village.
Not flames of war…
But warm lanterns woven from white marsh reeds.
One by one, families hung them outside their homes until the village shimmered like stars resting upon the earth.
The laughter of children echoed across the water.
Tonight…
No one carried weapons.
Tonight belonged to the ancestors.
Zhao Long stood beside Little Stone, carefully tying a reed lantern.
Little Stone frowned as the knot slipped loose again.
“Why does mine always fall apart?”
Zhao Long smiled and silently retied it.
“There.”
Little Stone’s eyes lit up.
“I knew bringing you was the right idea.”
Before Zhao Long could answer, a gentle voice came from behind them.
“No.”
Both boys turned.
Grandmother Wu smiled as she adjusted Zhao Long’s knot.
“The right knot holds because two hands worked together.”
She looked at both boys.
“If one hand boasts…”
“…the lantern soon falls into the water.”
Little Stone lowered his head sheepishly.
“I understand, Grandmother.”
Grandmother Wu chuckled.
“I know.”
“You always understand after making the mistake.”
The nearby adults laughed.
Even Zhao Long couldn’t hide a smile.
At the center of the village, great pots simmered over open fires.
The air carried the scent of roasted marsh fish, wild herbs, honey cakes, and fragrant roots.
Children darted between the tables, stealing bites whenever they thought no one was looking.
Elder Han caught Little Stone reaching for another honey cake.
“A hunter who steals from his own table,” he laughed, “will one day discover that even his stomach refuses to trust him.”
Little Stone quickly hid the cake behind his back.
“I was…
protecting it.”
“From whom?”
“The other children.”
The old hunter burst into laughter.
“You’ll make a terrible liar.”
The first drum sounded.
Boom.
Another answered.
Boom…
Boom…
Young men and women stepped into the open clearing.
Around their ankles were strings of tiny shells that chimed softly with every movement.
The drums grew faster.
Feet stamped the earth.
Voices rose together in a song that had echoed through the Black Marsh for generations.
An elderly woman smiled as she began the first verse.
“When the mist returns, we remember those who walked before us.”
The villagers answered together.
“When the river sings, we welcome those who walk beside us.”
The children clapped in rhythm.
Little Stone leaned toward Zhao Long.
“Come on!”
“I don’t know the dance.”
Little Stone grinned.
“Neither do I.”
“That’s why it’s fun.”
Before Zhao Long could refuse, Little Stone pulled him into the circle.
The villagers laughed warmly as the two boys stumbled through the steps.
Grandmother Wu covered her mouth to hide a smile.
Elder Han laughed so hard that tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.
“Look at them!”
“They dance like frightened frogs!”
The entire village erupted with laughter.
For a little while…
Zhao Long forgot everything.
He forgot the pain of his previous life.
He forgot loneliness.
He forgot fear.
For the first time…
He felt he had a family.
Later that night…
The dancing slowed.
The drums fell silent.
Children gathered around the great bonfire while sparks drifted into the moonlit sky.
Elder Han rested both hands on his walking stick.
Little Stone’s eyes sparkled.
“A story!”
The old hunter smiled.
“I suppose the festival would be incomplete without one.”
“When I was no older than Zhao Long, I asked my grandfather why our people never feared the mist.”
Little Stone immediately interrupted.
“Were you as naughty as me?”
The villagers laughed.
Elder Han stroked his beard.
“Worse.”
Little Stone blinked.
“Really?”
“Much worse.”
The laughter grew louder.
Then Elder Han’s expression softened.
“My grandfather told me…”
He looked toward the silver mist drifting across the marsh.
“Child…
strangers see only fog.”
“We see the road home.”
The children became quiet.
He continued,
“Never mock someone because they walk a different path.”
“Perhaps they simply know a road you have never traveled.”
Zhao Long lowered his head, quietly committing every word to memory.
Far beyond the dancing…
Beyond the lanterns…
Beyond the laughter…
Dark figures watched in complete silence.
The mercenary captain slowly lowered the spyglass from his eye.
“So…”
“So this is the Poison Tribe.”
A soldier whispered,
“They’re celebrating.”
The captain’s face remained cold.
“Good.”
“The happier they are tonight…”
“…the less they’ll expect death before sunrise.”
The soldier swallowed.
“The men are in position.”
The captain drew his sword just enough for the moonlight to glimmer along its edge.
“Wait.”
“Let them finish their songs.”
“By dawn…”
“There will be no one left to sing.”
The distant sound of drums continued across the water.
None of the villagers knew…
It would be the last festival the Black Marsh would ever celebrate.