Our intrepid Hero has a Vision, and then a Conversation takes place

Behind the grey fortress walls of a small town there was a spacious square. It was special, because it was the centre around which all city life revolved. The paving stones, polished by time, glittered in the sun. In the very centre of the square stood an ancient fountain, which quietly babbled, as if talking to the wind and passing on the latest news to the local sparrows.

In the mornings the square was filled with lively sounds - the cheerful laughter of children and the ringing voices of traders:

"Honey apples, sugar cherries!" the old man proclaimed, and his voice sounded like a melody. "Sweet as first love, rosy as a girl's shame!"

"Linden honey, flower honey!" the woman declared, her face glowing with enthusiasm. "In the spoon it's like a ray of sunshine, and on the tongue it's a real paradise!"

"Clay pots, painted jugs!" the man said hoarsely, and his voice sounded as if every word had been honed by many years of tradition. "Cooking porridge in such pots is like simmering in an oven, and on the table they are beauty itself!"

Children ran between the counters, scaring away fat pigeons. Old men, hiding in the shade of linden trees, told tales about distant lands, where the sea sings its lulling song, and the stars whisper to each other at night. And when spring came!

Jugglers threw colorful balls into the air, as if they were catching a rainbow. Musicians played such melodies that your feet started dancing on their own. Girls in colorful scarves whirled in a circle, and their laughter flowed like streams after rain. Even in winter, the square did not fall asleep. People warmed themselves by the fires, shared hot tea and stories, and the kids made snow giants - so huge that it seemed they could reach the moon.

"Do you remember how we built a snow giant that was taller than the bell tower?" Grandma asked one day, wrapping herself in a patterned shawl.

"Of course!" exclaimed her grandson, jumping up and down. "And then you told me how the stars sing songs at night!"

"This square remembers everything," the old woman smiled, "every laugh, every tear, every song..."

But that day the square held its breath. No cheerful shouts, no jingling of coins, no tramp of children's feet could be heard. Only heavy whispers and the anxious rustle of clothes. Even the wind had died down, caught between the cobblestones. And in the middle of the square, before a line of guards in shining cuirasses, stood a girl. Her hands were tied with ropes, her dress was torn, but she held herself with such pride as if she was wearing a brocade dress and not rags.

"You dared to break the sacred jug!" the commander thundered, and his voice rang out like a sabre falling on the stones. "You let out a light that was not supposed to shine! For this you will pay with your life!"

The girl raised her head. Her eyes burned with a quiet but unquenchable fire.

"You can take my life," her clear voice sounded, "but the light is already free. It is now in each of you."

The crowd stirred like ears of corn in the wind.

"She speaks the truth..." the young mother whispered, pressing the child to her chest. "I saw that light... It was warm, like the first sun after winter."

"Shut up!" his neighbor hissed, but he himself involuntarily clenched his calloused palms.

The commander grimaced contemptuously:

"Do you seriously think that this pathetic crowd will change anything? They are just submissive sheep, trembling with fear!

The girl smiled - not triumphantly, but as one smiles when one knows something very important.

"Look into each other's eyes," she said simply.

And people looked. And they saw that fear was melting like snow under the spring sun.

"Enough!" the commander roared. "Carry out the sentence!"

The sabre flashed in the air. The crowd froze, but no one burst into tears or ran away.

"Storm..." someone whispered.

"The storm is coming!" another one chimed in.

"THE STORM IS COMING!!!" rolled across the square.

The old blacksmith, whose hands remembered the weight of every hammer, raised his mighty hand.

"She freed the light. Now it shines from our eyes.

"But what can we do?" someone's voice trembled.

"That's it," the woman said quietly, hugging the child. "If we stop being afraid."

And then the baby in her arms suddenly laughed and reached for the sky:

"Look! The stars have become brighter!

Everyone raised their heads. And indeed, the stars were shining so brightly, as if they were gathered in a circle. And then the fortress wall shook. Cracks ran along the ancient stones. And through them poured the light - the same one that the girl had released.

"Forward!" thundered the blacksmith.

And the people moved. They didn't rush, they didn't run - they moved steadily and inexorably, like a tidal wave. The guards retreated. Even the commander, suddenly faded like a washed banner, backed away, dropping his weapon.

"You... You don't dare..." he muttered, but his words were lost in the growing din.

"We are not just people, we are a storm," the blacksmith said simply. "And the storm does not ask if it is possible!"

And the walls of the fortress collapsed with a sigh of relief - as if heavy chains had finally broken loose. And in the place where the girl had fallen, an unusual flower grew - as if woven from sunbeams. And everyone who passed by felt their chest getting warmer. Because the light, once released, can no longer be locked away. Even in the strongest jug.

...666...

The boy blinked, driving away the images of the dream, but they did not disappear immediately, they clung to him like sticky leaves: a fountain dangling in the middle of the pavement, with sparrows fussing over it, balls tossed into the air with precision, and girls whose laughter played in the wind like glass in a children's mosaic. Then - as if the sun had fallen below the horizon - darkness, the ropes on the girl's hands, the spark of a sabre, the hidden murmur of the crowd. "The storm is coming," they cried, as if she wanted to destroy the city walls with just one word.