For months, the Baron of Devalin had not known sleep.

  Dark clouds had settled above his lands, unleashing relentless torrents of rain. Crops had withered, rivers had overflowed, and lives had been lost. Every day, desperate villagers flocked to the castle, their pleading voices echoing through its vast halls. Despite all his efforts and countless prayers to the Spirit of Fire, no remedy had eased their suffering.

  Then one day, a white-bearded mage arrived, claiming to be a messenger of the gods.

  He offered a solution: to calm the river spirit responsible for the disaster, ten children and a large herd of livestock had to be sacrificed. In return, he promised balance would be restored and swore the children would become honored servants of a higher deity. Cornered and out of options, the baron had accepted the grim terms. While some praised his decision, others saw him as weak—a man willing to trade away the youngest of his people. Since then, he had avoided the eyes of grieving parents. Every morning, he locked himself in the prayer hall, begging the Spirit of Fire to protect those innocent lives and return them someday.

  As he knelt in the dim chamber, whispering sacred words, a flurry of rapid knocks shattered the silence.

  “My lord... My lord!” cried his steward’s panicked voice.

  “I am praying,” the Baron snapped coldly, barely containing his anger. He hated being disturbed during what he considered sacred moments.

  “Forgive me, my lord, but... the children. The children sent to the ceremony—they’ve returned.”

  The Baron froze, his breath caught in his throat.

  “The children? They... came back?” His voice wavered between disbelief and a fragile flicker of hope.

  “Yes, my lord. They’re on the boat. By the river. Just outside the castle.”

  Without another word, the baron threw open the door.

  “Take me to them. Now.”

  The baron rushed to the riverside, followed by his court and a few guards.

  When they arrived, he saw a dense crowd gathered. The villagers were weeping and laughing all at once, surrounding the returned children. Parents dropped to their knees, embracing their sons and daughters, some crying out prayers of gratitude to the heavens.

  The baron pushed through the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. Then he saw them—

  the children stood on the boat, weary but unharmed. As he gazed at them, an immense weight lifted from his shoulders.

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  A boy, no older than ten, stepped forward. His clothes were soaked, and exhaustion marked his face.

  The Baron recognized him instantly—Adrian, the son of a close vassal. With a trembling hand, he placed it on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Adrian... what happened? Who brought you back?”

  The boy lifted his shining eyes.

  “It was the Prince of Light. He saved us.”

  Gasps spread through the crowd. Whispers turned into murmurs.

  “The Prince of Light? Who’s that?”

  A little girl, clutching a battered doll, spoke softly.

  “He fought the bad men. He said he’d go get the others.”

  The baron, shaken, searched the children’s eyes for answers.

  “The others? What other children?”

  Adrian nodded.

  “All the ones taken before us. They’re still there. The Prince of Light said he’s coming back for them.”

  The revelation of the Prince of Light sent a wave of hope and gratitude through the crowd.

  The baron, though deeply shaken by what he had just heard, straightened his posture and turned to his steward.

  “Prepare a feast at once. These children must be fed and cared for. Send messengers to every village—announce their return and gather their parents.”

  As preparations for the feast began, the baron withdrew to his chambers, lost in thought.

  The joy of the children’s return could not erase the truth: the followers of darkness had infiltrated his barony. Their presence posed a far greater threat than he had imagined.

  He realized then that his barony stood at a crossroads.

  This mysterious hero had exposed a crack in their defenses. The baron knew he had to act swiftly—not only to protect his lands, but also to restore the trust of his people.

  He rose suddenly and called for his chief advisor.

  “Mobilize the guards. We must strengthen our borders and begin patrols in the villages. I also want a full investigation into the rumors surrounding this Prince of Light. Whether he is a hero or a stranger, he has earned our gratitude.”

  The feast ordered by the baron that morning had set the entire barony in motion.

  For hours, the kitchens had been bustling, tables had been arranged, and torches placed all around the castle’s grand courtyard stood ready to be lit. Yet despite the excitement, a number of the baron’s men and several villagers remained by the riverbank, eyes fixed on the horizon, their anticipation laced with hope.

  The baron himself, dressed in ceremonial attire, stood tall by the docks, his gaze locked on the water.

  Since early morning, he had summoned soldiers and volunteers to keep watch for any sign of the Prince of Light and the missing children. The tension was thick in the air—every whisper among the crowd echoed like thunder in the heavy silence of waiting.

  Hours passed, and the first hues of sunset painted the sky in shades of orange, when a cry rang out:

  “Over there! Look—boats!”

  Every eye turned toward the horizon, where silhouettes began to take shape in the fading light. The boats were approaching slowly, carried by the river’s current.

  The first visible figures were children, standing on the decks, waving their hands with excitement.

  A murmur rose from the crowd, growing rapidly into cheers.

  Parents rushed toward the docks, some already in tears as they recognized their sons and daughters among the shapes aboard.

  “It’s them! It’s our children!”