Seraph’s gaze darted anxiously among the group, her pulse hammering in her ears. Confusion was etched on every face—except for Caelus. His posture was unnervingly still, his head dipped ever so slightly, sharp eyes locked onto the stablekeeper. A shadow of something unreadable passed over his face, like a predator calculating its next move.
Then, subtly but deliberately, he tilted his head toward Seraph and gave the smallest of nods. The unspoken message was clear: I felt it too.
Seraph felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. Reluctantly, she released Elira’s arm. The other woman turned to her, frowning in confusion, but Seraph avoided her gaze. Shame burned hot on her cheeks as she dropped her hands and retreated, her steps stiff and mechanical. She could feel the weight of the group’s stares pressing down on her like a leaden cloak, each glance adding to the burden of her embarrassment.
Reaching Caelus, she leaned back against the stable wall, folding her hands behind her back to steady their trembling. She stared at the ground, trying to quiet the chaos of her thoughts.
“I felt it too,” Caelus whispered, his voice barely audible.
Seraph blinked, startled. She glanced up at him, her shock evident. “You… you did?” she whispered back. “I saw a vision. It was blurry, but… the man, he wasn’t himself. He turned into… something. A monster. Like he was being taken over and then—” She faltered, the memory knotting her stomach. “I just reacted.”
Caelus nodded gravely, his expression as calm as it was serious. “I sensed something was wrong in that moment too. It was subtle, but unmistakable.” His gaze flickered toward the group, ensuring no one was eavesdropping. “Let’s keep it quiet for now. Observe. No need to alarm everyone yet.”
Seraph exhaled slowly, nodding in agreement. She followed him back to the group, her head low, though she could feel Magnus’s concerned gaze lingering on her. Pip, ever the watchful companion, was no different. The little creature’s body language was unmistakable, ears drooping slightly as it padded closer to Seraph. Though it didn’t speak, its concern was palpable, the worry in its small eyes reflecting a bond far deeper than words could convey.
“All right,” Darius said, breaking the uneasy silence. “Let’s get moving. Thanks for taking care of the dragons for us.” He gave the stablekeeper a polite wave.
“Ah, yes. My pleasure,” the stablekeeper replied, his smile unwavering, though something about it now seemed off.
As the group turned to leave, Caelus lingered for a moment, his hand resting on the weathered frame of the stable door. His sharp eyes flicked back over his shoulder, drawn by an unshakable sense of unease. The stablekeeper stood motionless, his posture unnaturally rigid. That same wide grin stretched across his face, frozen and unblinking, as if it were painted on.
A chill prickled at the back of Caelus’s neck. There was something off about the man’s gaze—too steady, too intent. The warmth of his expression felt like a thin mask, barely concealing something far darker. Caelus’s stomach churned uneasily as the heavy wooden door groaned on its hinges and swung shut behind them, mercifully cutting off the man’s disconcerting stare.
By the time they stepped into the streets of Ashenbrook, the night had fully descended, draping the town in a heavy, suffocating gloom. The cobblestone streets were slick with frost, reflecting the faint light of a crescent moon that hung low in the sky. A biting wind howled through the narrow alleys, carrying with it the mournful creak of warped shutters and the dry rasp of ivy scraping against crumbling walls.
The town felt lifeless. Shadows clung to the sagging rooftops, and the air carried a stale, earthy scent, as though the place had been left to rot. Windows gaped like empty sockets, their glass shattered or grimy with layers of neglect. Here and there, faint shapes moved—perhaps the wind stirring loose debris—but they vanished as quickly as they appeared, leaving the group on edge.
“What was that about?” Elira asked, her voice a mix of confusion and concern as she turned to Seraph. Her emerald eyes searched Seraph’s face for an answer, but Seraph quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.
“I…” Seraph hesitated, fumbling for words, but Caelus stepped forward, his tone steady yet grim. “She had a foresight,” he explained, his dark eyes scanning the group. “That man at the stables… she saw him transforming into something—a monster. I can’t explain it, but I felt it too. There was something there, something deep and dark.”
The group fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a shroud. Magnus, standing with his arms crossed, cleared his throat, his voice calm but tinged with a rare hint of unease. “I believe I felt something too,” he admitted, glancing toward the direction of the stables as though expecting the man to reappear. “It wasn’t strong, just a faint… wrongness. At first, I thought it was the lingering presence of the Withered Woods—this whole area is saturated with dark magic—but now I’m not so sure.”
Riven shifted her weight uncomfortably, her hand reflexively resting on the hilt of her weapon. “So, what are we saying here? That we’re surrounded by cursed villagers or something?”
Magnus shook his head, his expression firm. “Not necessarily. But just to be safe, we need to stick together while we’re here. No wandering off. If anyone feels anything unusual, speak up immediately.”
The group murmured their agreement, their usual banter replaced by a more sombre atmosphere. Lorian held Cheese a little closer, his wide eyes darting nervously between the others. Elira, on the other hand, appeared utterly unbothered. Her carefree demeanour remained intact, a faint smile playing on her lips as she adjusted the straps of her bag. If she felt even the slightest unease, it was impossible to tell. Her steps were light, her expression serene, as though the oppressive atmosphere of Ashenbrook didn’t faze her in the slightest.
Riven shivered violently, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Her breath emerged in visible puffs that vanished almost instantly in the freezing air. “Anyway, let’s find an inn,” she said, her voice tense and muffled by the cold. “I’m freezing out here.”
Cheese trembled in Lorian’s arms, its gooey surface quivering with every gust of icy wind. Lorian held it closer, murmuring reassurances as he tucked it under his cloak for warmth. “We’ll find shelter soon,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.
Meanwhile, Pip curled its tail tightly around its small body, seeking warmth and comfort in the chaos of the moment. The creature pressed itself closer to Magnus, its fur bristling slightly from the cold, the chill of the place creeping into its bones. Though its usual bravado was still present, there was a subtle vulnerability in its posture, a quiet need for reassurance. The warmth of Magnus’s presence seemed to soothe it, even as the air around them grew colder and more oppressive. Pip’s fur, usually sleek and smooth, stood on end in a soft, almost unnoticeable shiver, betraying its unease.
The group pressed onward, their boots crunching against frostbitten cobblestones. The road twisted and turned through the heart of the town, leading them past a graveyard of dilapidated buildings. Signs hung crookedly from their posts, their painted letters faded and flaking. A tavern with shattered windows stood dark and silent, its once-inviting facade marred by deep claw marks.
As they turned a corner, a faint light flickered ahead—a soft, golden glow spilling out from the windows of a squat, crooked inn. Its sign swayed gently in the wind, creaking with an eerie rhythm, the words "The Crow’s Nest" barely legible beneath years of grime and peeling paint.
Caelus stepped inside first, his boots scraping against the warped wooden floorboards. The door groaned loudly as it swung shut behind him, its hinges protesting as if reluctant to close. The air inside was noticeably warmer than the bitter chill outside, but the heat didn’t bring the comfort one might expect. It clung too heavily, stifling rather than soothing, and carried with it a faint, metallic tang that Caelus couldn’t quite place.
A modest hearth crackled at the far end of the room, casting flickering light across the interior. Shadows danced along the walls, their restless movement giving life to the worn beams and faded tapestries that adorned the space. The room itself was sparsely furnished—several mismatched tables and chairs scattered about, their surfaces marred with scratches and scorch marks. A large, circular rug, its patterns faded and fraying at the edges, covered the centre of the floor like an old wound.
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Behind a wooden counter stood an elf woman, her long, silver hair tied back in a simple braid. She was striking, her high cheekbones and angular features illuminated by the golden glow of the firelight. Her smile was wide, almost unnaturally so, as if she had practised it in a mirror. Her eyes, however, betrayed her—a touch too sharp, too calculating as they flitted over each member of the group.
“Rooms for the night?” she asked, her voice melodic but overly sweet, as though she were reciting a line from memory.
“Yes, please,” Caelus replied, stepping forward. He reached into his pouch and withdrew a small handful of coins, setting them on the counter. The clink of metal echoed briefly in the quiet room.
The elf woman’s smile stretched even wider, but it didn’t quite reach her pale, almost luminous eyes. “Of course,” she said brightly, sweeping the coins into her hand with a fluid motion. For a fleeting moment, her fingers lingered on the counter, the tips of her nails tapping softly against the wood. The sound was oddly deliberate, like a faint countdown.
Only Caelus and Seraph seemed to notice the subtle wrongness that hung in the air around her. It wasn’t just the way her gaze lingered a heartbeat too long on each of them, as though sizing them up. It was the faint, almost imperceptible stiffness in her posture, the way her shoulders seemed tense despite her cheerful demeanour. It was the way her voice had a manufactured quality, like a performer on stage who had recited her lines one too many times.
“We don’t get many travellers through Ashenbrook these days,” the woman continued, her tone almost apologetic. “It’s such a shame, really. But I’m glad to see your group made it here safely.”
Her words, while polite, carried an undertone that made Seraph shift uncomfortably. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something in the woman’s smile—something too knowing, as though she were privy to some dark secret.
“We’ll need enough rooms for all of us,” Caelus said, his voice steady but cautious. He could feel the weight of her gaze lingering on him, probing, testing. “How much for the night?”
The elf woman chuckled softly, the sound pleasant yet hollow. “Oh, no need to worry about that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I can tell you’re all weary from your travels. Consider it a gesture of hospitality. Just promise to spread the word about The Crow’s Nest when you leave.”
Her words sent a small ripple of unease through the group. Magnus, standing near the door, exchanged a wary glance with Pip before sharing the same glance with Riven, whose brow furrowed in confusion. Cheese, typically brimming with its usual bubbly energy, pressed itself closer into Lorian’s embrace. Its normally vibrant form seemed a shade dimmer, its gelatinous surface trembling faintly as though it could sense something amiss.
Lorian glanced around the group, his gaze flitting from face to face. He caught the tension in Magnus’s jaw, the crease deepening on Riven’s forehead, and even the slight rigidity in Seraph’s normally composed posture. It’s not just me, he realised, the unease settling more heavily in his chest.
“Generous,” Darius muttered, though his tone was wary. His tail flicked once behind him, betraying his unease.
Caelus inclined his head slightly, offering a polite smile in return. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” His tone was measured, but his guard remained firmly in place.
The woman reached beneath the counter and retrieved a small set of tarnished keys. “Your rooms are just up the stairs. They’re modest but comfortable.”
As she handed the keys to Caelus, her fingers brushed against his. The contact was brief but cold, unnaturally so, and Caelus resisted the urge to flinch. He nodded curtly and stepped back, subtly passing the keys to Seraph as they made their way toward the stairs.
The innkeeper’s gaze followed them, her smile unwavering, but her eyes glinted in the firelight—sharp and watchful. Caelus caught her staring as he ascended the stairs, and his stomach tightened. For the second time that evening, he was struck by the distinct feeling that they were being studied, evaluated like pieces on a chessboard.
Elira chuckled, her voice cutting through the heavy silence as she exclaimed, “Wow! What a nice lady! I can’t believe we got rooms for free!” Her enthusiasm echoed in the otherwise quiet halls of the inn, drawing a few wary glances from the group.
The others, however, didn’t share her optimism. The unease had been growing steadily, beginning as an inexplicable tension but solidifying with every interaction in Ashenbrook. The cheerfulness of the innkeeper had felt forced, and the memory of Caelus and Seraph’s reactions to the stablekeeper lingered in everyone’s minds.
Magnus shifted uncomfortably, his broad shoulders tense as he glanced back at the inn they had just left. Riven’s sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, as though expecting shadows to spring to life. Cheese wobbled slightly in Lorian’s arms, its usually bright form dimmed to a muted blue.
At first, the suspicion had been nothing more than gut instinct—a subtle prickle at the edge of their senses. But now, with the group silently piecing together the strange events of the evening, trust in one another’s instincts began to take hold. They didn’t need to voice their concerns; it was an unspoken understanding that something was deeply wrong with this place.
Still oblivious, Elira strode ahead of the group, her cheerful stride a stark contrast to the tension hanging in the air. Caelus exchanged a brief glance with Seraph, the quiet resolve in their eyes reaffirming their shared unease.
Riven leaned in closer to the group, her voice barely above a whisper. “That lady at the counter—there’s something strange about her,” she said, her tone sharp with unease.
Lorian nodded, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, there’s something… off. She was smiling, but it didn’t feel real.” His voice was low, barely audible over the soft crackle of the distant hearth.
Caelus’s jaw tightened as he cast a quick glance around the dim hallway of the inn. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Stay alert. There’s more to this place than meets the eye.”
Elira blinked, her confusion evident as she looked at the others. “What are you all talking about? She’s the nicest lady ever! Even the guy at the stables was friendly. Are you sure you’re not overthinking this?”
The group exchanged uneasy glances, but no one else spoke. The tension was palpable, unspoken but undeniable. Even Darius, usually the first to dismiss baseless concerns, shifted his weight uneasily, his hand brushing against the halberd on his back as if on instinct.
Elira frowned, clearly baffled by their suspicion, but the conviction in her companions’ expressions was enough to make her pause. “Alright, alright,” she said, throwing up her hands. “If you all feel so strongly about it, I guess I’ll keep my eyes open too.”
The group filed into each of their respective rooms, inspecting the interiors with wary eyes. Each room was furnished with simple, functional pieces—beds draped in modest linens, a small nightstand, and a flickering candle on the windowsill. The rooms were plain, unremarkable even, and there was nothing to suggest anything sinister lurking within.
Elira stretched her arms overhead, letting out a dramatic yawn as she flopped back onto the bed. “You’re all just overthinking this,” she said, her voice tinged with boredom. Her hands laced behind her head as she stared at the ceiling, clearly unfazed by the tension thick in the air. “There’s nothing weird going on here.”
Riven shot her a look, her brow furrowing as she scanned the room one last time, a lingering sense of unease settling deep in her gut. “You can’t possibly be this relaxed right now, Elira,” she muttered, but her words fell on deaf ears. Elira didn’t respond, already too comfortable to care.
After thoroughly inspecting each of the rooms, the group gathered back in the hallway, exchanging glances that spoke volumes. There were no hidden dangers—at least not that they could see. But the air still felt heavy with uncertainty. Despite their initial reassurances, they decided it was better to be safe than sorry and agreed to share a room for the night. Two beds, however, meant some uncomfortable arrangements.
“It’s fine, I’ll sleep on my own,” Elira announced nonchalantly, waving a hand dismissively. “Seraph can go with Riven, Lorian with Caelus, Magnus with Darius… and I’ll go with me,” she said, already turning toward the room at the end of the hall, her steps light and carefree.
Before anyone could protest, the door clicked shut behind her with finality. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, leaving the group in a brief, stunned silence.
Riven let out a deep sigh, crossing her arms. “She has zero sense of danger,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she shot a glance at Caelus, who was already looking back at her with a similar mix of concern and resignation.
Darius exhaled sharply, his posture stiff as he crossed his arms over his chest, a line of concern etched deeply across his face. “You don’t think they did something to the dragons, do you?” His voice, usually calm and composed, now held a trace of worry that he couldn’t quite mask.
Caelus turned toward him, his hand resting firmly on Darius's shoulder in an attempt to offer reassurance. His gaze was steady, his tone calm yet unwavering. “We’ll check first thing tomorrow, I promise.” His voice was soft, but there was an undeniable strength behind it, one that seemed to settle Darius’s nerves, if only slightly.
Darius nodded slowly, though the worry didn’t completely leave his eyes. “Alright,” he murmured, still troubled, his gaze lingering on the hallway as if the shadows themselves might hold some kind of threat.
The rest of the group stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Riven’s brow furrowed, her fingers tapping absentmindedly against the hilt of her sword as she contemplated the strange happenings of the day. Magnus leaned against the wall, his jaw clenched, eyes distant as he tried to piece together the unsettling events.
Seraph’s eyes darted toward Caelus, a hint of concern flashing in her gaze before she quickly masked it, her mind still replaying the vision she’d had earlier. She sighed, her gaze flicking nervously toward the darkened hall.
Lorian, too, was lost in thought, his hands fidgeting with Cheese, the slime clinging to him more tightly than usual.
It was clear that everyone shared a single, unspoken concern. Something was amiss—something darker than they could yet understand.
Caelus’s voice broke the heavy silence, his words measured but carrying an edge of urgency. “Meet at first light?” His gaze flickered to each of them, his mind already racing ahead, formulating plans even as unease gnawed at him. “I’ll wake Elira up tomorrow. Don’t let your guard down tonight.”
One by one, they dispersed into their rooms, the soft thud of doors closing behind them the only sound in the otherwise still inn.
But as Caelus moved to his room, the darkness of the hallway seemed to stretch unnaturally, a chill creeping through the cracks of the walls. The silence felt oppressive now, as if the night itself held its breath, watching them. There was no telling what awaited them when morning came, but the ominous weight of the unknown pressed on them all, thickening the air with each passing second.