In one of the houses of Luminosa, the windows were tightly sealed with wooden shutters. From the streets outside came the muffled sounds of the evening city — the tolling of bells, the distant murmur of the crowd, the heavy rhythm of marching guards.

  “Grandfather…”

  The old man did not answer at once. He sat in his armchair by the fireplace, slowly tracing the worn spine of an ancient book with his fingers.

  “Grandfather, tell me another story.”

  “It’s late,” he muttered without lifting his gaze.

  The boy turned toward him and repeated, his voice quiet but insistent:

  “Tell me that one… the one where the night came alive.”

  The old man gave a dry chuckle.

  “That is not a story meant for children before sleep.”

  “But you said it was only a fairy tale.”

  At that, the old man finally raised his eyes and glanced toward the shuttered window. Beyond it, the darkness was thickening.

  “People like to call things fairy tales when they cannot understand them,” he said softly.

  The boy held his breath. The old man sighed — and began.

  “There was a time when the sun shone brighter. People believed it would last forever. They called it a blessing.”

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  He paused.

  “In those days, a king ruled — a king they named the Luminous. The kingdom flourished. Its people lived in peace and careless joy. Nothing foretold disaster, and everyone believed tomorrow would be just the same.”

  The boy smiled.

  “So everything was good back then?”

  The old man slowly shook his head, and a shadow passed over his face.

  “No one prepares for darkness while living in the light.”

  A log cracked softly in the fireplace.

  “That night, the dogs howled until dawn… but dawn never came.”

  His voice grew quieter.

  “The night deepened — darker than any before. Lantern light could barely push back the blackness beyond an outstretched hand. The shadows thickened, as if they had weight… as if they could be touched. The air turned cold, and people began to whisper that the shadows were moving on their own.”

  The boy gripped his blanket tighter.

  “And then… from the depths of the dark, they emerged.”

  The old man fell silent for a moment.

  “No one knew what they were. Some called them monsters. Others claimed they were divine punishment. And some whispered that they were the reflection of human sin and fear.”

  “Were they frightening?” the boy asked, his voice trembling.

  “They were hungry,” the old man replied. “And the night became their hunting ground.”

  He continued:

  “Then the people united under the Luminous King. Knights. Mages. Farmers. They fought bravely. They died. And still, they refused to yield.”

  “And they won?” the boy asked eagerly.

  The old man was silent for a long time.

  “Darkness cannot be defeated. It is a part of this world.”

  He looked at the boy with quiet sadness.

  “They sealed it.”

  “Sealed it?” the boy whispered.

  “Victory ends a nightmare,” the old man said slowly, his gaze drifting toward the dying fire. “But a seal… a seal means the threat remains. It never vanished. And one day, it will return.”

  Silence filled the room.

  The boy spoke first.

  “But it’s only a fairy tale, right?”

  The old man looked at him for a long moment.

  “Of course,” he answered gently. “Because if it weren’t…”

  He did not finish the sentence.

  Outside the window, it seemed as though the shadow on the neighboring wall trembled.

  The night swallowed the last remnants of light.

  The fire in the hearth finally died.

  And beyond the shutters, the darkness grew even deeper.