The next morning, the village was no longer the peaceful place it had been.
There was no laughter of children. No scent of baked bread. Only hushed voices behind shuttered windows and wide, haunted eyes that dared not speak the name of what they'd seen.
Karl, Molvar, and Cedric were summoned to the village's largest house—a black-roofed wooden hall at the center. The village elder, a white-bearded man with war-worn eyes, waited inside, flanked by several elders.
He stood as they entered and bowed deeply.
"Please," he said, voice dry as ash, "hear our plea. We are farmers, herders. We know nothing of blades or magic. But last night… we saw something that does not belong in this world."
"The Demon of Dusk," Cedric said, his eyes sharp as steel.
