It was hard for Anya to think clearly. Elina's words felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on her. The Draken. It was almost impossible to believe. They were like creatures from bad dreams, thrown out of the world a long time ago, and just the fact that they existed felt wrong. But what they had seen was real. The fear in Elina's eyes, the creepy mark on the sheep... it showed a dark truth that Anya couldn't ignore anymore.
"We have to tell everyone else," Anya said, her voice steady even though her heart was shaking. "We have to warn them."
Elina nodded, her face pale. "But who will believe us? The Draken... they're just stories, Anya. Tales to scare kids."
"They'll believe us when they see the mark," Anya answered, her eyes becoming serious and determined. "And we need to talk to the old people. They'll know what this means."
Together, they walked back to the middle of the village, where the happy celebration was still going on, and people didn't know about the darkness that was starting to gather around them. Anya felt a sharp sadness, like something bad was about to happen. This peace, this happiness... it felt weak, like a short moment of light before the darkness came.
They found the old people sitting together in the special woods, a circle of old trees with twisted branches reaching up like the arms of forgotten gods. The old people were the ones who knew the village's history and kept its traditions. They were wise because they had lived for many years and felt a strong connection to the spirit world.
Anya and Elina went up to them, their faces serious, their voices quiet with both fear and respect. Anya spoke first, choosing her words carefully, her voice echoing in the quiet woods.
"Elders," she began, "we have news about a shadow that's falling on our village. A darkness is moving in the forest, something we haven't felt for many generations."
She told them about Elina's dream, describing the shadowy person with cold, fiery eyes, and the scary feeling that filled the dream. Then, she took them to the open space where the dead sheep was lying, its body with no blood a horrible sign of the evil that was hiding in the shadows.
The old people became very quiet as they looked at the dead animal, their faces showing worry. They knew the mark on the sheep's neck, the old symbol of the Draken, something that hadn't been seen in their lands for hundreds of years.
Old Branwen, the wisest of the old people, a woman whose eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the past, stepped forward. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and serious, filled with a sadness that everyone could feel deeply.
"The Draken," she whispered, the word sounding heavy with fear. "It's like the old stories said. When the line between the living and the dead gets thin, when the balance between light and dark weakens, they will come back to take what was theirs before."
A quiet sound of fear went through the group of old people. The stories of the Draken were a strong part of their memories, tales of a time when the world was covered in darkness, when the Draken ruled with cruelty and meanness, their power coming from the suffering of humans.
"But... but how?" a younger old person asked, his voice shaking. "How can they come back? They were forced out, locked away by the power of the old ones."
Branwen sighed, looking far away, as if she could see into the past. "The locks are getting weak," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "The balance is changing. The world has forgotten the old ways, the ancient promises. And the Draken... they are patient. They have waited for their time to come."
Anya felt a cold fear spread through her. The meaning of Branwen's words was terrifying. The Draken weren't just a scary story from the past. They were a danger now, a dark force gathering close to them.
"What must we do?" Anya asked, her voice full of desperate worry. "How can we protect our people? How can we stop them?"
Branwen turned to her, her eyes showing both sadness and a strong will. "The path ahead will be full of danger, child," she said. "The Draken are strong, their magic is dark and old. But we are not helpless. The old ones left us with gifts, with knowledge that can help us in this fight."
She pointed to the circle of old oak trees around them, their branches reaching up like silent protectors. "These trees," she said, "they are more than just wood and leaves. They are living memories, holding ancient power. And they speak to those who know how to listen."
Branwen closed her eyes, bowing her head as if she was talking silently to the old trees. A moment passed, and then another. The only sounds were the rustling of the leaves and the faint crackling of the festival fires.
Finally, Branwen opened her eyes, her look sharp and determined. "The old ones tell of a prophecy," she said, her voice sounding strong and new. "A prophecy of six women, born at different times, each with a special destiny. Women who will stand up against the darkness, to bring back the balance, and to decide what will happen to the world."
Six women. Anya felt a strange feeling inside her, like she recognized something, a feeling that this prophecy was connected to her, to what was meant to happen to her. But who were the other five? And what part would she play in the trouble that was coming?