A Red Evening - The beginning

As the sun cast its warm farewell glow upon Everwood, the evening unfolded with a serene beauty, the sky ablaze in hues of orange. The village pond, a mirror to the painted sky, lay undisturbed, its tranquility broken only by the gentle wriggling of small fishes weaving through the water.

Beyond the pond, a lush forest embraced nearly half of the village, its foliage rustling in the soft evening breeze. Most structures, woven intricately from wood and straw, stood as a testament to the villagers' craftsmanship. An estimated fifty families called Everwood home, generations living a harmonious existence.

Everwood, an island enclave surrounded by the boundless sea, thrived on its self-sustaining ecosystem. The villagers, in their pursuit of a peaceful life, predominantly consumed plant-based fare. Yet, during joyous celebrations, the rhythmic beat of drums echoed as they ventured into the forest, occasionally returning with the spoils of a communal hunt.

Merchants navigating the seas found solace in Everwood's shores, a pause in their journey where they exchanged goods with the locals. This symbiotic relationship had long defined the island's rhythm, a delicate dance between the seafaring merchants and the rooted islanders.

However, on this particular evening, the tranquil air of Everwood shuddered with the ominous approach of a black ship. Its sails billowed with an unholy wind, and fierce men adorned with cryptic tattoos and brandishing menacing weapons littered its deck

(yep, pirates)

At the helm of the ominous vessel stood two men, the captain with an eyepatch, his discerning gaze fixed on the approaching land.

A subordinate, with a map unfolded in hand, reported, "Captain, we are almost done with the preparations. According to the slave, their old ship acquired the blood peach from the island we are approaching," he declared, pointing ominously at Everwood Island.

As darkness descended, casting shadows across the village, a solitary figure within Everwood found solace in his humble abode. The youth, named Johnny, possessed jet-black hair and blood-red eyes. His features, in the process of maturation, hinted at a potential that extended beyond the island's borders – a potential akin to that of a model destined for fame on distant shores.

Seated cross-legged within his small hut, Johnny engaged in rhythmic breathing, a practice he's been following for a long time. The bare expanse of his torso revealed a physique sculpted with a perfection reminiscent of a seasoned model. 

However, I can't seem to focus today; I'm having flashbacks, visions of when I was a 7-year-old kid.

In the midst of my trance, I vividly recall being with another child of my age, whose features mirrored my own. The enthusiastic kid urged me to play, his expression wronged as he asked, "Brother, you are always practicing. At least come and play with us today. It's Amanda's birthday, brother. Brother, eat this cake..."

The soft knock that echoes through the stillness brings me back to my senses. 

'Thud-thud-thud.' 

A meek voice pierces the silence, "Brother Johnny, have you already gone to bed?"

Quickly draping a shirt over my bare chest, without bothering to button it, I open the door. Standing before me is Carl, a rather chubby teen boy, the village head's son. Known for his sweet personality, Carl is loved by everyone in the village. With a bit of shyness, he enjoys following me around throughout the day.

"Brother, here is the rice soup Grandma told me to give you. Eat before it turns cold and sleep well," Carl says, presenting the warm container. 

I respond with a gentle smile, nodding in agreement, and expressing gratitude. After a brief exchange, Carl leaves, and I slowly close the door, my smile vanishing immediately.

My heart churns with turmoil due to the visions I've just experienced. Those are memories from before the accident – memories of my twin brother, Jonathan Raider, and our parents in the Raider household. Despite a decade passing, I still can't recall much about my family before the tragic event.

Ten years ago, during a trip to a friend's home, we were attacked. The memory of the assault remains vague, and I woke up in Everwood with no recollection of my past. The first sight that greeted me was a wooden ceiling and the excited face of a 5-year-old chubby boy, Little Carl, sitting next to my bed. The boy joyfully exclaimed, 

"Dada, the sleeping bwather is awake. He's awake."

Approaching footsteps heralded the entrance of a slightly chubby middle-aged man. He cautioned Little Carl not to disturb my rest and asked about my well-being and name. Confused and suffering from a pounding headache, I couldn't recall anything about myself.

Why am I here?

Who am I?

I remembered only one thing. Remembering the name

"Johnny Raider" I said.

I was blank, I remembered nothing else.

Suddenly, a huge explosion brought me back from my trance as blood-curdling screams echoed around me. I was all too sudden.

The door of my hut was kicked open violently.

'bang'