“Don’t go near that mountain,” a mother advised her adventurous son. “Nor the valleys in the area.” She put a basket of fruit on the table.
“Rituals again?” her son whined.
“Or the dragon lord will be outraged,” she answered. “He destroyed the whole Ghost Valley.”
“How do you know that? These are just stories.”
“I was there,” she said. “I saw it.”
And so she was. Back then, Ghost Valley had been a place with human inhabitants. She guessed that the dragon lord had been in a rage when he flew by, because one second the whole valley was fine, the next he had flapped his black wings and set a house on fire. The rituals began after that incident, and everyone moved out–to where they lived now. The valley became known as the Ghost Valley after ten years. Maybe some people knew why, but she didn’t.
“You’re lying,” the boy accused.
“Don’t go there!” she warned once again.
“You’re lying!” he yelled, making his way into the Ghost Valley.