A silver light danced on the water of the flowing river. Around, in the pitch-black forest, everything was silent. Everything, but the faint sloshing of the clear waters of the weaving river, with the strange silver light, all bathed in the gentle glow of the full moon.

A girl ran through the trees, panting, autumn leaves crunching softly beneath her shoes. Disturbing the peace and tranquility, the silence. Angering the animals and all the creatures she passed. But all for a good cause. She was late for the midnight celebration of the Seventh 'glass.