Chapter 3

As the clock approached the noon hour, the vibrant pulse of life in the old castle courtyard reached its peak. The sun beat down relentlessly, casting a warm glow over the ancient stones that echoed with centuries of history. Seeking respite from the midday sun, some patrons gravitated towards the shaded alcoves, their laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves overhead. Meanwhile, others ventured into the heart of the bustling marketplace, where a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and smells awaited.

"Decisions, decisions," remarked a mischievous-looking boy to his friends, his gaze sweeping across the sea of stalls and vendors.

"I'm at a loss," sighed one of his companions, her brow furrowed in indecision as she surveyed the myriad offerings.

"So many options, so little time!" exclaimed another, his eyes wide with excitement.

A ripple of laughter echoed through the group, punctuated by the playful banter that flowed freely among friends.

"I think you mean so little money," quipped another with a smirk, earning a round of chuckles from the group.

"Regardless, we ought to grab a bite before the ceremony begins," declared the roguish boy, his eyes alight with anticipation as he gestured towards a stall adorned with colorful banners. "Let's try that one today; I've heard it's excellent."

With a shared sense of excitement, the group set off towards the tantalizing display of local sweets, their mouths watering in anticipation of the treats that awaited them.

"The ceremony..." sighed an old man who had overheard their conversation, his weathered features betraying a hint of nostalgia.

Johan—known affectionately as Old Johan among the villagers—was the second-oldest inhabitant of Aiglatson. "Not for long! That old hag will kick the bucket any day now," he often quipped to anyone within earshot. 

At 86 years old, Johan's perspective spanned decades, and he was one of the few who remembered details about the ceremony.

 While the festival itself was ingrained in the town's collective memory, the true significance behind it remained shrouded in mystery.

 As Johan often lamented, the reasons for the festival's existence and its connection to the enigmatic crystal that loomed over the decrepit castle were lost to time. The only fragment of information that lingered, known only to a select few—including Johan—was that the festival commemorated sacrifices made by their ancestors against a long-forgotten enemy. What that enemy was, along with any further details, had faded into obscurity over the years.