Faoin ngeallghrian San Fhómhar, tá nach raibh aon luí na gréine cosúil leis sin sa domhan.

Under the autumn ngeallghrian, there was no sunset like it in the world.

Bhí an oíche ag titim go mall.

The night was slowly falling.

Bhí an áit ciúin, mar a bhíonn sé i gcónaí an t-am seo den bhliain.

The place was quiet, as it always is at this time of year.

Ach faoi na haillte cumhachtacha Mhothair, bhí rún mór faoi cheilt.

But beneath the powerful cliffs of Mhothair, there was a great secret hidden.

I labhairt faoi thalamh faoin tráthnóna, bhí Cian agus Saoirse ag obair go dian in a saotharlann rúnda.

Speaking underground in the afternoon, Cian and Saoirse were working diligently in their secret laboratory.

Bhí an saotharlann lán le feisteas nua-aimseartha agus leabhair ársa.

The laboratory was filled with modern equipment and ancient books.

Bhí solas beag ait ag lonrú, taibhsiúil i measc na ballaí cloiche garbh.

A strange little light was glowing, ghostly among the rough stone walls.

Bhí boladh salainn ón aigéan á mheascadh leis an aicíd na mistéir.

The scent of salt from the ocean mixed with the air of mystery.

Bhí Saoirse suite díreach agus ag scríobhrach, agus Cian a bhí ag léamh ó sheann-leabhar.

Saoirse was seated upright and scribbling, while Cian was reading from an old book.

Bhí Cian á aeróg, a pictiúr scéal draíochta.

Cian was like an aerial, a picture of a magical story.

Bhí cuma óg agus fiosrach air, ach bhí sé á ciapadh ag tinneas corr.

He appeared young and inquisitive, but he was tormented by an odd illness.

In amanna, aghaigh a athraigh nó casadh a chraiceann gorm.

At times, his face changed or his skin turned blue.

"Conas is féidir liom é a bhuaigh?

"How can I overcome it?"

" a d’iarr sé ar Saoirse le dóchas éigin sa ghuth.

he asked Saoirse with some hope in his voice.

Bhí Saoirse cosúil le stoirm chalm.

Saoirse was like a calm storm.

Bhí sí ábalta, bhí sí dírithe, agus bhí sí ann le cabhrú le Cian.

She was capable, focused, and there to help Cian.

Bhí Samhain ag teacht, agus le sin, mbeadh an draíocht is láidre.

Samhain was approaching, and with it, the strongest magic.

“Tá a fhios againn go bhféadfaidh draíocht féile na Samhain cabhrú linn féachaint ar do scéal,” d’fhreagair Saoirse go cinntitheach.

“We know that the magic of the Samhain festival can help us find a resolution to your story,” Saoirse answered confidently.

Agus é ag druidim i dtreo na Samhna, mhéadaigh a fhrustrachas.

As it approached Samhain, his frustration increased.

Bhí na turgnaimh insaotharlainne doiléir, agus bhí fios aige go raibh orthu oibriú in am.

The experiments in the laboratory were obscure, and he knew they had to work quickly.

Chun na hintreacha a thuar, chuir an bheirt acu instealladh béime ar eolas ársa na gCriamh, codanna scéalaíochta a mheascadh le teicneolaíocht.

To predict the outcomes, both of them emphasized ancient Criamh knowledge, mixing elements of storytelling with technology.

Tháinig an oíche féile, chomh draíochtúil le cumhachtaí áilne na aeróige.

The festival night arrived, as magical as the lovely powers of the aerial.

D’fhás a iontas Cian go mór, agus chonaic siad go gasta go raibh cáithnín draíochta sa leabhar fíorthábhachtach - foirmle éigin.

Cian's wonder grew greatly, and they quickly saw that there was a magic particle of significant importance in the book - some formula.

Mhothaigh Saoirse an fócas agus staidéar Cian, an fhear ar a fheictear, ag athrú.

Saoirse sensed Cian's focus and study, the man once seen, changing.

Naofa flaith, thaispeáin an draíocht a áilleacht i bhfíon Cian.

Holy splendor, the magic showed its beauty in Cian's wine.

Chonaic Saoirse eochair le caoin - bhí an cúis sa leabhar.

Saoirse saw a key with compassion - the cause was in the book.

“Níl ach seans amháin,” a dúirt Saoirse, ag brath go raibh foghlam i bhFolc na gCriamh.

“There is only one chance,” said Saoirse, relying on the learning in the Folc of the Criamh.

Rinne sé an rogha sin.

He made that choice.

Instinct, teaspach a chuaigh roimhe.

Instinct, eagerness that went before him.

Nuair a chuir sé an leigheas isteach, bhí sé cosúil le stoirm feargach a mhaolaigh, d’fhill gnás a chuma arís go seasta, gan aon dealachadh uathúil - tonn gorm le cuma dhomhanda.

When he applied the remedy, it was like a furious storm calming, his appearance steadily returned to normal, without any unique influence - a blue wave with a universal appearance.

D’fhoghlaim Cian rud luachmhar.

Cian learned something valuable.

Bhí sé toilteanach ceann reatha an eolais a leanúint, rud éigin a chuir náisiúin traidisiúnta agus tionscnaimh cosán nua.

He was willing to follow the current of knowledge, something that set traditional nations and initiatives on a new path.

Bhí anáil na Samhna luchtaithe le geallúintí fós - draíocht na haillte ar maidin go maidin.

The breath of Samhain was still laden with promises - the magic of the cliffs from morning to morning.