The caravan rolled out of Timberbrook just as the first hints of dawn peeked over the horizon, a thin band of orange splitting the night’s fading darkness. Fifteen wagons trundled in single file, their creaking wheels and the soft clatter of hooves the only sounds in the still morning air. Each wagon was battered and weatherworn—logging wagons repurposed for the journey eastward.

The townsfolk moved with the quiet efficiency born of years spent working together, their faces set with grim determination. Everyone knew their purpose: aid Fairhaven, assess the damage, and bring back any survivors they could find. Rook sat on the lead wagon, flanked by Elric and Mareen, two of Timberbrook’s better archers.

Grassland stretched endlessly before them, the sea of green shimmering with dew in the pale light. It was the kind of landscape that could lull a person into a false sense of safety, but Rook’s eyes never stopped scanning.

“Fairhaven’s not far, not if we keep this pace,” Elric said, his voice low.

“Still a day out,” Rook replied, leaning forward to survey the horizon. “And a lot can happen in a day.”

The wagons rolled on, the soft murmurs of conversation drifting back through the line. Everyone knew everyone here, their lives intertwined by shared labor and hardship. Yet the mood was subdued, the memory of Timberbrook’s own battle still fresh in their minds.

By midday, the grasslands gave way to sparse clusters of trees, the wagons weaving through the natural breaks in the landscape. It was here they encountered the first signs of Fairhaven’s devastation.

A small group of haggard survivors stumbled into view from the treeline, their clothes torn and their faces hollow with exhaustion. The caravan came to a halt, and Rook climbed down from his wagon, motioning for the others to hold position.

“Fairhaven?” he asked the nearest survivor, a man with a bloodied bandage around his arm.

The man nodded, his voice hoarse. “Gone. Monsters came in the night. We ran, but not everyone made it. There’s still people there. Hiding, maybe. Or worse.”

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Murmurs swept through the caravan as the survivors were helped onto the wagons, given water and scraps of food.

“They’ve been gone from there for at least two days,” Mareen murmured to Rook.

“Two days is time enough for the worst to take hold,” Rook said grimly. “But if there’s still people hiding…”

Their conversation was cut short by a distant sound. At first, it was barely noticeable—a low rumble that grew into a bone-shaking roar.

“CHEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAT!”

The giant’s voice carried across the plains, so far away it seemed unreal. Yet the force of it was unmistakable, making everyone in the caravan stop and turn toward Timberbrook.

“What in the hells was that?” Elric whispered.

“Cheese,” Rook said under his breath, his stomach knotting. The giant’s rage echoed again, another guttural roar that seemed to shake the very ground. Rook exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. “We’ve got a job to do. Fairhaven’s ahead, not behind.”

The caravan pressed onward, the air now charged with unease.

As dusk settled in, they approached Fairhaven. The town loomed in the distance, its silhouette eerily quiet against the fading light. What walls remained stood blackened and crumbling, and the fields surrounding the town bore the scars of fire and battle.

Rook called for the wagons to stop a safe distance from the town’s edge. “Elric, Mareen. Scout with me,” he ordered, climbing down. “The rest of you stay here. Don’t light fires, and keep quiet.”

The three of them crept forward, their boots silent on the charred earth. Fairhaven was a skeleton of its former self, buildings reduced to rubble, the air thick with the acrid smell of smoke. Yet here and there, faint signs of life—shadows moving behind broken walls, the faintest whisper of footsteps—hinted at survivors.

Rook motioned for Elric and Mareen to hold position as he moved deeper into the ruins. He crouched behind a shattered barrel, scanning the street ahead. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional crackle of lingering embers.

Then, without warning, a massive explosion ripped through the night. The ground shook violently, and a column of fire erupted from the center of the town, illuminating the ruins in a hellish glow. The shockwave sent debris flying, and Rook barely had time to throw himself flat as a chunk of stone whistled past his head.

From behind him, Mareen cursed. “What in the gods’ name was that?”

Rook’s heart raced as he pulled himself upright, his ears ringing. “Something’s still here. And it’s not done yet.”

The roar of the explosion faded into an ominous silence, broken only by the distant crackle of flames. Rook turned back toward the wagons, his jaw tightening.

“Fall back,” he ordered. “We regroup with the others. Fairhaven’s not safe.”