The last rays of dusk sank behind the mountains, but the entrance to Stony Creek remained crowded. Villagers hovered in silence, eyes fixed on the newly arrived hunter. His horse stood with its head low, flanks heaving, while his cloak was thick with road dust and the leather of his boots was split wide—marks no single day of travel could make. Rane handed him a waterskin. The man drained it greedily before his breathing finally evened out. The village elder stepped forward.
"Where are you from?"
"Riverbend," the hunter replied. The name brought blank stares. No one here had ever heard of it. The hunter didn't seem surprised.
"Makes sense. It's six or seven days' hard travel east of here."
Six or seven days? The crowd stirred with quiet anxiety. The hunter glanced around at the repaired palisade, the torches, and the leaned spears. His expression turned bitter.
"You've been under attack... haven't you?"
The elder nodded grimly.
"Three months now."
The hunter’s shoulders slumped. He let out a long, hollow breath.
"So it's true."
Those three words weighed heavily on everyone's chest. Rane stepped closer.
"What do you mean?"
The hunter remained silent for a moment, turning his eyes toward the dark forest.
"Because it isn't just your village."
Silence fell over the crowd.
"Riverbend. Windgap. Pine Ridge. Whitestone Slope. And a half-dozen smaller hamlets," the hunter listed softly.
"Everyone is dealing with the exact same nightmare."
Aether listened attentively. Names he had never heard were pouring into his mind. Behind each name was a village, a community, a life entirely different from Stony Creek, yet bound by the same dread. They gathered around the central campfire. The stranger began his story. The trouble hadn't started in Riverbend, but near Pine Ridge, up in the high crags. Six months ago, their trackers noticed the game thinning out while wolf packs swelled. Then it wasn't just wolves. Mountain lions began stalking the woodlines.
Big cats edged closer to homes. Even the skittish deer began invading farmland in desperate, panicked herds. At first, people blamed the harsh weather or a lack of hunters. But as weeks turned into months, the madness spread.
"We thought it was just our misfortune," the hunter said, staring into the flames.
"Then folk from Windgap showed up. Their story was identical to ours. Then Pine Ridge. Then Whitestone Slope."
The firelight flickered across the grim faces of the listeners.
"One night," the man continued, his voice heavy, "a few elders and head trackers sat around a fire just like this one. We talked till dawn. And by the end, we realized... we were all fighting the exact same war."
No one interrupted. They could picture the scene clearly: strangers from different lands, sitting by one fire, realizing they shared the same doom.
"What happened next?"
Kaelan asked.
"We realized none of us would survive on our own," the hunter said.
"So we formed an alliance."
Rane looked up.
"An alliance?"
"Aye. Shared game, shared intelligence, joint defense patrols. Anyone who could hold a spear joined the mountain watches."
The hunter grimaced.
"Even so, things kept getting worse. So we decided to seek help outside."
Aether leaned forward.
"Are you the only one?"
"No," the man shook his head.
"Four of us were chosen. We rode out in four different directions. Looking for anyone who could help us... or anyone who understood what in the hell is happening to the world."
He trailed off, his eyes glassy, as if reliving the day he rode out.
"We swore an oath. Whatever we found, result or no result, we'd do our damndest to come back alive."
Quiet settled around the hearth. Everyone understood the weight of those words. No one knew what lurked in the deep woods, nor if the other three riders were still breathing.
"I passed other scouts along the roads," the hunter added suddenly. People raised their heads.
"Not from our alliance," he clarified.
"Scouts from villages further out. They were searching too. Searching for answers. Searching for hope."
Aether swallowed hard. A sobering realization washed over him: it wasn't just Stony Creek or Riverbend. Men across the entire region were packing their bags, leaving their homes, and riding into the unknown just to find a single shred of truth. The stranger's tale grew bleaker. The most chilling part wasn't the attacks themselves, but the comparison.
"To be honest," the hunter muttered, "you lot are doing better than most."
The crowd stared at him in disbelief. Rane frowned.
"Better?"
"At least your walls are standing," the hunter replied bitterly.
"Riverbend had to abandon its northern pastures completely."
"Why?"
Aether asked.
"Couldn't hold them. Too many men getting mauled every night. Eventually, we just gave up on the land."
The fire cracked, casting long, nervous shadows across the silent crowd.
"Windgap had seven master hunters," the man whispered.
"Now they have four. Whitestone Slope is sending its children away to distant relatives. Pine Ridge is talking about burning the village and abandoning the valley altogether."
Sentence by sentence, the reality sank into the people of Stony Creek. They were not the only ones suffering —and they were far from the worst off. Aether stared into the embers, picturing those nameless settlements, the terrified families, the exhausted defenders. He thought of the young boy holding the pup, the old man mending barrels, the tired face of the elder. Those villages were full of people just like them.
A new feeling flickered inside him—not mere pity, but a terrifyingly vast sense of responsibility. Harold, who had been silent the whole evening, finally spoke up.
"Where did the trouble start first?"
The hunter thought for a moment.
"Pine Ridge, most likely."
"When?"
"About six months ago."
"And then?"
"It spread outward. Like ink soaking into cloth."
Harold didn't press further. He simply lowered his head, sinking into thought. Kaelan watched his father closely. He knew that look. Whenever Harold faced a problem too massive to solve, he grew dead quiet. He didn't jump to conclusions; he didn't offer empty platitudes. He would simply admit what he didn't know. When Kaelan was younger, he thought it meant his father lacked answers. Now he knew better.
What set Harold apart wasn't what he knew, but his ability to spot the details everyone else missed. And those overlooked details were often far more vital than immediate answers. Later that night, the hunter produced a rough hide map from his pack and laid it out on the dirt. It was crude—simple routes and landmarks painted in charcoal—but it was accurate enough to grasp the geography. They gathered around it. *Stony Creek. Riverbend. Windgap. Pine Ridge.
Whitestone Slope.* Name after name marked in black charcoal, brought together for the very first time. Aether crouched beside the hide map, staring at the distances separating the settlements—days of travel apart. Yet here they were, stitched together by the same invisible plague. The firelight flickered across the rough leather. No one spoke. For the first time, everyone realized this was no longer a localized crisis for Stony Creek or Riverbend. Something massive was changing across the entire realm.
And they were completely in the dark.