The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over Emberfall. Kieran tightened his grip on his sword hilt, standing at the edge of the village with Jace by his side. Rag sniffed the air, ears pricked and alert. The patrol had begun, and the silence was thick enough to choke on.
"Feels too quiet," Jace muttered, peering into the darkening forest. "Like something's waiting."
Kieran nodded, his eyes scanning the treeline. "Stay sharp. If anything moves, don't hesitate."
They walked in tense silence, boots crunching over gravel paths. The air was cooler tonight, and a faint mist curled around the roots of the ancient oaks. Kieran couldn't help but think back to the stranger—the hooded figure whose presence had sparked this whole mess.
"Think it's the stranger?" Jace asked, almost reading his mind.
"Maybe," Kieran replied. "But those marks... they felt wrong. Not just a warning—like a claim."
Jace shivered. "Claim on what? The village?"
"Maybe." Kieran glanced at Rag, whose nose was twitching toward the western path. "Or something—or someone—in it."
They continued on, checking the outer farmhouses and the roads leading into the village. Nothing seemed out of place, yet the unease wouldn't fade. At the southern edge, where the river cut through the hills, they paused.