The stranger arrived on a stormy night.
William saw him from the window of his house—a figure wrapped in a dark cloak, struggling against the wind and rain. The stranger moved with purpose, heading straight for the village square. In his hand, he carried a staff of black iron, capped with a crystal that pulsed with a faint red light.
William reached for his knife. He hadn't carried a sword in months. But old habits died hard.
"Stay inside," he told Elara. "Don't come out until I call."
"William—"
"Please."
He stepped out into the rain.
---
The stranger was waiting in the square.
He had thrown back his hood, revealing a face that was young but worn. His eyes were dark, sharp, missing nothing. He looked at William with the cold assessment of a man who had seen too much.
"You're Wil
