Oh, my dear ones, have I ever told you about the Festival of the Glittering Winds? No? Well then, pull your chair a little closer. This old heart does enjoy sharing the stories that have danced across Mythren far longer than I have.
Far beyond the bustling villages and emerald forests lies the Veil of Zahari, where endless dunes shimmer beneath the sun like fields of scattered gold. Yet for just a few precious evenings each year, something truly magical happens.
The desert begins to sparkle.
Tiny flecks of enchanted sand catch upon the wind, glimmering like thousands of tiny stars swirling through the air. The people of Zahari smile when they see them, for they know the Glittering Winds have returned.
It is a time of laughter, music, and hopeful hearts.
Families gather beneath colorful tents stitched with bright silks, musicians fill the air with joyful melodies, and merchants decorate every corner with ribbons of every color imaginable. Children chase the sparkling winds while elders share tales of heroes, wanderers, and the curious magic that lives within the desert itself.
But the ribbons…
Ah, now those are the heart of the celebration.
Each family writes a story upon a ribbon before tying it to the Festival Poles that stand throughout the city. Some ribbons tell of adventures that have come to pass. Others carry memories of loved ones who have journeyed beyond this world. Many are filled with worries, regrets, or burdens too heavy for one heart alone.
When the Glittering Winds arrive, the ribbons dance and flutter until, one by one, they break free and soar into the endless sky.
The people believe the winds carry those old stories across the desert, where they become part of Mythren itself. In return, the winds leave behind room for new stories to take root.
There is an old saying among the people of Zahari:
“A story carried by the wind is never truly lost. It simply finds another soul who needs to hear it.”
As evening falls, everyone gathers beneath the stars for the Night of New Tales. Rather than speaking of what has already happened, each person tells the story they hope to live in the coming year. A child may dream of becoming a brave healer. A merchant might tell of discovering a forgotten oasis. Adventurers often speak of distant lands they have yet to explore.
Whether these stories become truth… well… perhaps that is for the Glittering Winds to decide.
There is one final tradition, though few outsiders know of it.
An empty place is always left beside every campfire.
No food is placed there. No one sits there.
It is kept for a mysterious traveler who, according to the oldest desert legends, wanders among the festival each year disguised as an ordinary woman. Some call her a blessing. Others simply offer her a warm smile and a place to rest.
Most laugh and say it is only an old tale.
Still…
No one has ever been foolish enough to leave that place empty.
Lately, however, the traders arriving from Zahari have spoken with quieter voices.
They say this year’s Glittering Winds have begun arriving far earlier than expected.
The ribbons have not taken flight.
Instead… they twist upon the breeze as though waiting.
Waiting for someone.
Or perhaps…
Something.
No responses yet