The dry, crimson leaves flew in the air, swept away by the hiss of the wind that brushed against the branches of the trees. The air seemed to bite at the skin, its coldness penetrating to the very bones of the old man who tightly gripped his axe in the stillness of the gloomy day.
The sky had been swallowed by a mass of grey clouds, closing off the sunlight as if forbidding hope to touch the ground this evening.
The howling of wild dogs echoed sharply from behind the shadows of the distant forest, reverberating among the strange silhouettes of tree branches that stretched like dead hands, trying to reach the air.
The old man there still ignored the passing of time, continuing to swing his axe, slowly shaving the tough trunk of the tree before him. His breath was heavy, his body growing frail, but his mind seemed tethered to something deeper than the block of wood.
The village of Rutenir was gradually enveloped in silence, as lanterns and hearths were lit to combat the darkness of the early winter night.
Some farmers and hunters gathered in a small bar in the corner of the village, sipping on liquor to warm their cold bodies. The night wore on, and the villagers discussed their worries about the dwindling supplies for the winter, and the sudden disappearance of the game from the forest near Rutenir.
Suddenly, the bar door swung wide open. An old man stood there, his eyes vacant, his face pale, causing everyone to turn toward him. The old man mumbled repeatedly, saying the same words over and over.
"They've returned, they've returned, they've returned...!"
The elderly Grumir, almost known by every villager as the woodcutter, collapsed, his body trembling violently. His vacant gaze seemed distant, as though his attention had been diverted from the people approaching him with concern, but the old man did not respond, still muttering the same words.
They quickly wrapped his frail body in a blanket, hoping it might offer him some comfort. Bertha, the plump woman who owned the bar, immediately brought him a bottle of liquor, the kind Grumir usually drank to warm himself after a day of gathering wood on the edge of the forest.
Earlier that afternoon, Grumir, a regular at the bar, had not been seen, and now he appeared in the dead of night, freezing cold and rambling like this.
"Grandpa, drink this to warm yourself. Why do you still force yourself to come out at this hour? You know the weather has been terrible lately..."
Grumir remained silent. His eyes were still wide, and his lips kept repeating the same words.
"They've returned... they've returned..."
"It's no use. This old woodcutter isn't responding at all."
Bertha continued to offer the bottle anxiously. But instead of drinking, Grumir didn't even look at her, making Bertha suspicious. It was impossible for this old man to ignore his favorite drink.
Bertha quickly grabbed Grumir's head and forced his wrinkled face to look at her, speaking firmly with concern.
"Grumir! Calm down! It's me, Bertha, you're safe now!"
Grumir blinked, gazing at the face he recognized, as if waking from a long nightmare.
"Bertha... is it really you?"
"Of course, it's me, and you still haven't paid for your drink yesterday!"
"Oh... this is really Rutenir and not an illusion..." Grumir mumbled, a mixture of laughter and tears. "I should have left the forest before sunset, but they've returned, Bertha, I saw them with my own eyes in the Arua forest..."
Grumir spoke while crying, relieved to be back in the village, but Bertha was still puzzled as to why this poor old man was so terrified.
"Grumir, tell me what you saw in the forest?"
"Wraith, those cursed souls have returned. They emerged from the shadows of the forest, drifting like clouds of black smoke around me."
Almost every native villager in Rutenir began to feel uneasy. The Arua forest was known for its many mystical stories, but it had been a long time since there were rumors of spirits disturbing anyone who entered the cursed forest.
"Grumir, are you sure it was Wraith and not just your imagination?"
"Bertha, you've known me my whole life, you know I'm not a liar, and there wasn't just one, there were many wraiths, all appearing at once. These dark creatures will soon reach this place. Oh God... please save us all from those cursed souls."
They looked at each other, considering if what Grumir was saying was true, then everyone was in great danger. The silence in the bar was thick, until a laugh broke out from the corner of the room. A young man stood up from his seat, speaking with a mocking tone.
"Hahaha! You all believe such foolish superstitions? That old man is probably senile, having a mental breakdown, and hallucinating. My grandmother used to ramble like that too, so just ignore the old fool."
"Hey, watch your words, you're just a newcomer who doesn't know anything, you have no right to speak like that about Grandpa Grumir!"
The young man shrugged and smiled before answering the farmer.
"True, I haven't been in Rutenir long, but I'm not one of those villagers easily frightened by such folk tales. If there were really supernatural creatures lurking around here, surely someone would have seen them by now in the middle of the night."
He was still bold enough to speak, but soon, several screams were heard from the direction of the village, causing everyone to freeze in place. They knew that the wraiths had truly come to haunt the villagers.
Some people rushed outside the bar and looked around with anxious faces, but the night was so dark that the lanterns seemed reluctant to penetrate the shadows. Yet, they could feel something sinister lurking in the dark.
One hunter wasted no time and quickly drew his bow, pulling the string tight before releasing an arrow of fire into the air. The arrow soared high, its flame flickering in the night sky before slowly fading.
Everyone was shocked, for even though the light from the fiery arrow briefly illuminated a small part of the night sky, their eyes caught sight of many black figures flying across the sky over Rutenir, though most of these dark creatures ignored the village as if they were heading somewhere far to the north.
One of the hunters quickly ran to the tower and rang the bell as a danger warning. The sound of the bell echoed through the village, waking those who were asleep.
Doors were locked, windows tightly shut, children clutched tightly in their parents' arms, and prayers were silently whispered.
One wraith emerged, revealing its terrifying form from the shadows of an alley. A faceless figure as dark as mist, bound in rage.
A young man, his hands trembling, tried to steel himself and bravely lifted his sword, attempting to strike at the cursed creature.
However, the sword seemed to slice through only air, passing through the astral form as if it were black smoke, then spiraled around mockingly, as if to mock the futile efforts of man before disappearing back into the darkness of the night. Wraiths could not be harmed by ordinary weapons.
Its scream shattered the cold night. Hundreds, or even thousands, of Wraiths had emerged from the Arua forest to spread fear across the kingdom of Orlandia.