As the nights passed, the children’s joy and trust in the lights grew stronger. They became more confident in their movements, and even the youngest among them started to feel the gentle rhythm of the Dance of the Travelers. The orbs seemed to respond, pulsing brighter, their patterns becoming more intricate and beautiful. Meera could feel the connection deepening, as if the lights were weaving a bond between the children, the earth, and the sky.
But in the village, fear continued to spread. The adults who had stayed behind grew more uneasy with every tale the children brought home about the lights and their dances. “This isn’t natural,” one elder said. “What do these lights want from us? Why have they chosen the children?”
“They’re leading us into something dangerous,” another muttered. “We must stop Meera before it’s too late.”
One evening, as the children gathered by the lake, Meera noticed fewer of them arriving. Those who came told her the others had been forbidden by their parents. “They say the lights will hurt us,” one child whispered, her voice trembling.
Meera knelt beside the group, her voice calm and steady. “The lights haven’t hurt us, have they?” The children shook their heads. “Fear can make people see danger where there is none. But fear isn’t the truth—it’s a shadow.”
She stood, her voice stronger now. “When we shine our light, the shadows disappear. That’s why we dance. It’s not just for us—it’s for everyone, even those who are afraid.”
The children nodded, and one by one, they began to move. As their hands stretched toward the sky and their feet followed the gentle rhythms of the earth, the orbs pulsed brighter. Meera joined them, her movements slow and deliberate, her heart filled with quiet determination.
But as the group danced, shadows began to move in the distance. A group of adults from the village had come, their faces etched with fear and anger. “Stop this at once!” one of them shouted.
The children froze, their joy fading into uncertainty. Meera stepped forward, her voice calm. “We’re not doing anything wrong. The lights are here to help us.”
“To help you with what?” the elder demanded. “They’re tricking you, Meera. You’re leading these children into danger.”
Meera hesitated, feeling the weight of fear pressing down on them. But then she saw the orbs glowing brighter, their light spilling across the lake like liquid gold. She turned to the children. “Don’t stop shining,” she said softly. “Let your light speak for itself. Our lights shine through fear projected from uncertainty.”
The children nodded, and together they began to move again, their bodies flowing in harmony with the lights. The villagers watched, their fear clashing with the undeniable beauty before them. For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath.
And then, one of the villagers, a young mother, stepped forward. “Wait,” she said, her voice trembling. “The lights—they don’t feel dangerous. They feel…warm.”
Meera turned to her, hope lighting her face. “Then join us. Let the light show you the truth.”
