The Feast of Shadows

The sun cut across the village like a blade. Yesterday’s gold shimmered now with an almost painful brightness. Elara blinked, shielding her eyes, as the warmth touched her skin. It should have felt comforting — safe. But it didn’t.

Kael sat perched on a low wall, tail flicking in lazy irritation. His silver eyes followed her every movement, unreadable.

“Get up,” he said without moving his head. “If you lie there much longer, someone might mistake you for part of the scenery.”

“I… I can’t tell if this is beautiful or… wrong,” Elara whispered.

He gave a slow blink, as if weighing whether to humor her. “It’s both. That’s the point.”

She swallowed, stepping forward. Children ran through marigolds, kicking up petals. Their laughter rang, pure and piercing. But something prickled at the edges of her awareness — a wrongness she couldn’t name. One boy tripped, scraped his knee, and the adults around him laughed instead of helping. Another child stumbled, fell, and the laughter followed again. It clung to the air like smoke.

“Do they seem happy to you?” Kael asked, voice low, casual, but the words carried weight.

“Yes,” she said, though her chest tightened.

“Look closer,” he said, tail flicking. “Light doesn’t heal. It only exposes what people hide.”

She glanced at the villagers — the smiling women with golden bangles, the men with sweat-stained foreheads waving from carts. They were beautiful, bright, orderly. Yet their eyes slid over the beggar boy, the cracked walls, the empty wells. Like they were pretending the decay didn’t exist.

Elara felt the weight of it settle in her chest. “Why… why do they pretend?”

Kael’s eyes flicked away, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the shadow behind them — the kind of grief that could stretch across centuries. “Because pretending is safer than knowing,” he said, voice quieter now. “And knowing? Knowing can kill.”

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By nightfall, the village square exploded in color and noise. Torches lined the cobblestones, firelight licking every corner. Drums pounded, dancers twirled, music rose like a living thing. The Feast of Shadows had begun.

Elara wandered, heart tight, noticing the small betrayals behind every laugh. A man shoved another into the firelight — just enough to make him stumble. A woman wept behind her scarf while praising her neighbor’s jewelry. Wine spilled on hands, yet smiles remained. Light shone, but it illuminated nothing real.

Kael followed silently, suddenly at her side, his presence a grounding force.

“Do you see it now?” he asked, tone teasing, almost like a sibling mocking a mistake.

She turned sharply. “I see that everything is… wrong. But why aren’t they crying?”

“Because crying is dangerous,” he said. “They’ve learned the hard way. Joy is easier to fake than grief is to survive.”

She looked at him. “And you… do you hide your grief too?”

Kael’s ears twitched, tail flicking. “Not hiding. Just… smart enough to know it’s not my problem.” His gaze softened for the briefest second, though the warmth didn’t reach his voice. She caught the shadow there — something he carried across lifetimes, a loss too deep to speak.

A black feather appeared in his paw suddenly, glinting in torchlight. “Here,” he said, tossing it lightly. “A gift. Or a warning. Your choice which.”

She bent to catch it, curious. “Why?”

“Why what?” he asked, but the corner of his mouth quirked. “Why notice the cracks? Why care that the sun bleeds too bright?”

“I… I want to understand,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said, tail curling around his paws. “Then pay attention. And remember — some lessons aren’t taught. They’re survived. If you’re brave enough to see.”

The wind picked up. The shadows of the dancing villagers stretched long across the cobblestones. The gold of the feast flickered and warped. Light could blind, yes, but shadows remembered everything.

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Elara felt it then — the first pull of the world beneath the light. The first whisper of truth in the Feast of Shadows. And beside her, Kael waited, silent, patient, carrying a grief too heavy to name.

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