They passed through the bones of the village—moss underfoot, ghosts in the air, and the morning sun glinting off the pendant swinging against Jane’s chest.
Behind them, the fire might still smolder.
But ahead?
The village watched.
Waiting.
A shift in the air—sharp. Wrong.
Dain stiffened.
“Something’s not right,” he muttered.
A hush fell over the group. The old stones seemed to hum with tension, as if the truth they’d uncovered had disturbed something long buried.
A breeze stirred the leaves.
Colder than it should have been.
Rowan stepped forward, eyes scanning the crumbled buildings. “You feel that?”
Jane did.
It wasn’t just the cold or the silence—it was a pressure.
As if the ruins themselves had started watching them.
Then the earth groaned.
A tremor rattled through the g
