A Shadowy Goodnight

Once, in the forgotten frozen North of Frost Peaks rests a snow bound town nestled between mist-laden hills chilled by wintery embrace. There existed a legend whispered among the seniors; a tale of state magic and the dreaded Nightblades.

The children gathered around the hearth fire the warm crackle keeping the blistering cold at bay. As they sat huddled together inside their wooden cabins as the tale was spun.  One of the grisly seniors with a long white beard began the story. It was a tale meant to scare little ones around harvest season.

“Once upon a time little children just like you were warned never to stay awake past their bedtime, for when the moon hung high and the world slept, the Nightblades emerged from the shadows. They were silent, sleek figures draped in inky darkness, their movements swift as whispers on the wind.

Among the children of the town was a young boy named Theo, a mischievous boy with a penchant for breaking the rules. Despite his parents' warnings and the eerie tales spun by the elders, Theo's curiosity often led him to sneak out of his room after the household had succumbed to slumber.

One fateful night, as the clock struck midnight, Theo, emboldened by his youthful defiance, slipped out of bed and tiptoed through the quiet corridors of his home. Ignoring the echoes of caution in his mind, he ventured into the moonlit hills, unaware of the lurking danger. With his woolen sweater he slipped out into the snowy wilderness. 

The town lay cloaked in an eerie stillness, the only sounds the distant hoot of an owl and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze of the tall strong pine trees. Shadows danced at the corners of Theo's vision, elongating and contorting into sinuous forms that slithered along the cobblestone paths. He couldn't even tell if it was simply his eyes that played tricks on him or just the snow that had picked up into a raging blizzard. The mittens blown back from his poor little fingertips growing icy cold.

As he wandered, an unnatural ominous wind swept through the air, and a sense of foreboding washed over him. It was then that he caught sight of them; the Nightblades, their silhouettes melding with the darkness, eyes gleaming like shards of cold moonlight.

Panic gripped Theo's heart as he attempted to flee, but the Nightblades moved with unearthly swiftness, encircling him in a vortex of shadowy tendrils. Their whispered incantations filled the night, weaving a sinister spell that bound Theo in place.

"You have disobeyed," their voices resonated in unison, chilling Theo's bones. "You have trespassed into the realm of the Nightblades, and now you must face the consequences."

Theo trembled as the dark figures closed in, their shadowy magic pulsating around him. Each Nightblade bore a mark, a symbol of their ancient order etched into their palms, glowing with an otherworldly intensity.

"You shall face your punishment," they intoned, their words reverberating with an eerie finality. The senior reader snarling with a fake bite that would startle the huddled up group of children and he cackled greatly and went back to the story.   

“With a flicker of their hands, the Nightblades summoned tendrils of shadow that coiled around Theo, binding him in a suffocating embrace. His heart raced in terror as the dark magic enveloped him, coursing through his veins with an icy grip.

Visions of his disobedience flashed before him, each mischievous escapade etched in the tendrils of shadow that ensnared him. His transgressions manifested as specters, haunting his mind with guilt and fear. Many illusions replayed again and again in his head. As he screamed and grabbed his head trying to keep out the torturous images. Begging for them to stop. 

The Nightblades' judgment was swift and merciless, the state magic punishing Theo for his defiance. It seemed an eternity passed before the tendrils released their hold, leaving him trembling on the ground, haunted by the spectral echoes of his misdeeds.

As the first light of dawn painted the horizon, Theo stumbled back to his home,  the long line of his footsteps crunching over the snow.  Now reformed and changed into a good boy. He never dared to defy the bedtime rule again, haunted by the chilling memory of the Nightblades and their spectral punishment.

And so, the legend of the Nightblades persisted, a cautionary tale passed down through generations, a reminder to the children of the town to heed the rules of the night and never wander when darkness beckons, lest they incur the wrath of the shadowy assassins who hunt those who stray from their beds after bedtime.” 

The senior smirked at the reaction of the little ones as they gasped and jumped throughout the tale. Closing the dusty old book. 

“Ok so who wants cookies? But remember no going out after dark. Or the Nightblades with get you. Wahahaha!”