(3rd Person POV)
The Star Wars trailers ignited imaginations across the world. Fans dissected every frame, and movie critics weren't far behind.
Among them was Kimmy—a forty-year-old demoness with sharp eyes and sharper opinions. A veteran critic for Silver Magazine, a prestigious film publication based in the Wales Kingdom, Kimmy had built her career on detailed analysis and bold takes.
Now, she sat in her cluttered office, surrounded by stacks of books and film journals. The glow of her bulky monitor flickered as she replayed the Star Wars trailers on her VHS player for the twentieth time.
She leaned forward, jotting notes as the narrator's voice echoed through the room. Her fingers skimmed across pages of old texts, cross-referencing myths and theories about the cosmos, desperate to find what might have inspired Arthur's vision.
Her computer screen flashed with a document titled: «A Tale From The Stars».
For days, Kimmy had thrown herself into her work, connecting dots, scrutinizing imagery, exploring the world-building hinted at in just two brief trailers.
And finally—it was done.
She leaned back, a tired but satisfied smile on her face. Her eyes, though heavy, sparkled. "Now… to send this to the editor."
With a few keystrokes, she transferred the file over the network.
In the next office, her editor heard the soft ping of a new message. He opened it, eyes scanning the document with curiosity.
"Huh… Kimmy actually broke down Star Wars from just the trailers?" he mused. As he read on, he nodded thoughtfully. "Impressive. Who would've thought she could pull this much detail from so little?"
---
The following day, the magazine hit the stands.
Long-time readers eagerly picked up the latest issue, flipping through the pages until their eyes caught the headline they didn't expect—but instantly craved:
«A Tale From The Stars: The Worlds That Might Have Inspired Hellfire's New Movie»
The article began boldly:
"There are books—ancient, speculative, some even banned—that speak of worlds beyond our own. Tiny dots in the night sky, they say, are not just stars… but entire realms. Vast worlds teeming with life, hidden in the endless expanse above."
Readers were hooked.
"Many scholars have long argued that we are alone—that no life exists beyond our own lands. But there are others who believe the universe is wide, mysterious, and full of possibilities. That the sky we see is only the beginning… That is the belief Star Wars dares to explore."
The piece resonated.
Fans who couldn't wait for the film devoured every word, sharing the article with friends, quoting lines on Hellbook, and fueling even more discussion.
"What if this is true?" one reader wondered aloud. "What if Arthur's film is based on real ideas… about real worlds beyond our skies?"
Another grinned, holding up the magazine. "Whether it's fact or fiction—this just made me want to see the movie even more."
Within a day, Silver Magazine's new issue became a hit among Hellfire fans and movie lovers alike. Kimmy's thoughtful dive into the Star Wars mythos gave restless fans something to chew on—and cemented her reputation as one of the sharpest minds in cinema critique.
---
In the days that followed, the calendar turned to October 10th, 1275.
Kimmy's article sparked a wave.
Other critics soon followed—each offering their own take on Star Wars. Some explored the film's possible political undertones, others speculated about the mysterious masked figure. The perspectives varied, but the result was the same: engagement skyrocketed.
Even those who had little interest in Hellfire's new film found themselves drawn into the conversation.
Across the world, from Horn Kingdom to Bharat, and deep into the U.S.E., the buzz refused to die down.
In fact, it only grew stronger.
Despite major U.S.E. media networks attempting to suppress the hype—refusing to air trailers, downplaying the film's significance—Star Wars remained on everyone's lips.
Especially among the younger generation.
While television coverage was controlled, the internet wasn't. Family-owned computers became gateways. Online forums lit up. The freshly released trailers spread like wildfire—pirated, shared, and discussed.
Moviegoers could feel it.
Anticipation.
And in the shadow of this hype, another studio felt the pressure.
Mr. Mouse Entertainment, known for its family-friendly cartoons, had recently taken a bold turn. (AN:Formerly known simply as Mouse Entertainment.)
Inspired by the success of Hellfire's terrifying hit, Child's Play, they ventured into horror.
Two of their previous horror releases had gained modest success—praised for originality and genuine scares. Encouraged, the executives at Mr. Mouse prepared their next big release, confident it would dominate.
Until Star Wars crashed into the scene.
Mr. Mouse's new horror film still garnered attention, particularly from die-hard fans of the genre. Its trailers aired without issue, and unlike Hellfire's tightly guarded projects, Mr. Mouse released the full synopsis.
The film told the story of a family from Empirica, who moved to a remote village in Wales—only to find themselves entangled in the sinister rituals of a forest cult. Shadows crept through their home, whispers followed them in the night, and the deeper they dug, the more terrifying the truth became.
It was dark. It was unsettling.
But it was also facing an uphill battle.
While horror lovers were intrigued, the wider public's gaze was elsewhere.
Hellfire's secrecy fueled the flame. The unknown world of Star Wars, the cryptic trailers, the rumors—it was a storm Mr. Mouse hadn't anticipated.
Their film would launch.
But whether anyone would notice... was another story.
---
Movie lovers across the world held their breath, waiting.
All eyes were on Hellfire HQ, inside the grand conference hall at Hellfire Park, Horn Kingdom. The media, fans, and critics alike believed today was the day—the day Arthur Pendragon would finally announce the release date for Star Wars.
Under the glare of lights, with cameras rolling and microphones crowding the podium, Arthur stood poised, a faint smile playing on his lips.
He glanced across the eager faces, then spoke smoothly.
"In November 1," Arthur began, his voice smooth, confident, "we'll be releasing a new kind of film. A slight touch of horror—but something entirely fresh."
Gasps rippled through the room. This wasn't what they came for.
"A horror movie?" one reporter blurted out. "Wait—does that mean Star Wars is a horror film?"
Arthur chuckled. "No, no. Star Wars is something else entirely. This is a different project. It's called 'Nightmare Before Wintermas'. The trailer's already out—though it's been a little... overshadowed by the hype around Star Wars."
He paused, letting that sink in.
This film was his way of introducing a new tradition—Halloween, starting November 1st.
With Winter Day or Wintermas already established as this world's version of Christmas, he aimed to slowly shape cultural events through cinema. The film would plant the seed.
Arthur gestured to the man standing beside him, sharply dressed in a tailored suit. "The film uses technology similar to animation. I've trained one of my top directors to lead this under my vision. Allow me to introduce Amon Oblivion—the man behind the project."
Amon, dressed sharply, stepped forward with a professional nod.
But the crowd?
Unmoved.
Reporters shifted, unimpressed. Viewers at home watching the broadcast felt the same.
This wasn't why they tuned in.
A female reporter raised her voice. "Then when will Star Wars be released?"
Arthur's smile deepened. "December 25th."
A beat of silence.
Then murmurs.
"Wintermas?"
"So long?"
"He's dragging it out to build hype… just to rake in more gold."
Arthur heard it all—but his smile never wavered.
From his seat nearby, Enyalius watched the scene unfold. His eyes briefly flicked to the cameras, then back to Arthur.
'This world… it's changed so much. Who would've thought?'