Free from fear

The scent of roasted meat and spiced cider drifted through the streets, children's laughter echoing alongside the melody of a musician's flute. Colorful banners hung overhead, lanterns flickered with warm light, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Goldspire had come alive.

But Darian wasn't celebrating.

He stood just inside the doorway of his small home; his fingers curled around the rough wood of the frame. His wife, Mara, held onto his arm, her grip tight with fear. Outside, their neighbors had begun to step into the streets, drawn by the music and the promise of festivity. Even their young son, Taron, tugged at his mother's sleeve, his wide eyes pleading to go outside.

"Papa, can we?" the boy asked, his voice filled with excitement. "I wanna see the dancers!"

Darian swallowed hard, his throat dry. He should let them go—his wife and son deserved this moment of peace. But fear clenched his chest, an iron grip refusing to let go.