Life in Elden was simple, but it was not easy. The villagers worked from dawn till dusk, tilling the land, tending to the livestock, and mending their homes. Eiran, Lira, Rael, and Joren were no different. They worked alongside the other villagers, their hands calloused, and their bodies weary.

Eiran often found himself working in the fields, his body moving rhythmically as he sowed the seeds and tended to the crops. Rael and Joren had their own roles in the village. Rael, with his quick wit and nimble fingers, was the village blacksmith's apprentice. Joren, with his quiet demeanour and observant eyes, helped the village elder with administrative tasks.

Lira, on the other hand, spent her days helping the village healer, her gentle touch and kind words bringing comfort to the sick and the elderly.

The village healer, an elderly woman named Maelis. "Remember, child, healing is not just about mending wounds," Maelis was saying. "It's about comforting the soul."

Lira nodded, her bright blue eyes serious. "I understand, Maelis," she said. "I'll do my best."

After her conversation with Maelis, Lira moved towards Bran's bedside. Who had recently lost his hand in a bear attack. The hunter was lying on a simple cot, his face pale against the rough-hewn pillow. His eyes were closed, his breaths shallow and uneven.

Lira took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation to come. She knew Bran was in pain, both physically and emotionally. She also knew that he was a proud man, not used to relying on others. Convincing him to accept his new reality would not be easy.

She sat down on the stool next to his bed, her hands folded in her lap. "Bran," she began, her voice soft but steady, "I know you're hurting. And I know you're scared. But you're not alone."

Bran opened his eyes, his gaze meeting hers. There was a hardness in his eyes, a wall built from anger and fear. But beneath that, Lira could see the pain, the uncertainty.

"I can’t believe it’s gone," Bran murmured, his bitter tone contrasting with his bandaged wrist. "How the hell am I supposed to hunt now? How am I supposed to provide for my family?"

Lira looked at him, her heart aching for his loss. "Bran," she said gently, "losing your hand doesn't mean you've lost everything. You're still here, and you're still strong. You can learn to adapt, to do things differently."

Bran's face twisted in anger. "Adapt? Do things differently?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the small hut. "What do you know about hunting, girl? What do you know about providing for a family?"

Lira flinched at his harsh words, but she didn't back down. "I may not know about hunting, Bran," she said, her voice steady, "but I know about loss. And I know that giving up won't make things better."

Bran glared at her, his anger palpable. "You healers are all the same," he spat. "Full of empty words and false hope."

"Bran," she said, her voice soft but firm, "I understand that you're angry and scared. It's okay to feel that way. But don't let your anger blind you to the possibilities."

Bran scoffed, his gaze hard. "What possibilities?" he spat. "I'm a hunter with one hand. What use am I?"

Lira reached out, placing her hand on his good arm. "You're more than just a hunter, Bran," she said. "You're a father, a husband, a friend. You're a part of this community, and we value you for who you are, not just what you can do."

Bran looked at her, his anger slowly fading. "You really believe that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Lira nodded, her gaze steady. "I do, Bran. And I'm not the only one. You're not alone in this. We're here for you, and we'll help you find a way."

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Bran was silent for a moment, his gaze dropping to his bandaged stump. Then, slowly, he looked up at Lira, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and gratitude. "Thank you, Lira," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "I... I needed to hear that."

Rael walked into the blacksmith's workshop, the sound of clanging metal filling the air. The master blacksmith, a seasoned man with weathered hands and a stern expression, glanced up from his work.

"Ah, Rael, what brings you here today?" the blacksmith asked, his voice gruff.

Rael grinned, leaning against the workbench. "Just wanted to see if you needed any extra hands, master," he replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

The blacksmith chuckled, shaking his head. "Always eager to lend a hand, aren't you? Well, I won't turn down some help. Grab that hammer over there."

Rael eagerly reached for the designated hammer, his excitement palpable. As he joined the master blacksmith at the blazing forge, their synchronized movements and the rhythmic sounds of their hammering created a steady harmony, the heat of the fire warming their spirits.

As they worked, sweat glistening on their brows, Rael couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie and trust in their shared craftsmanship. The master blacksmith, known for his wisdom and skill, was not only a mentor in the forge but also a confidant in matters that went beyond their work.

Taking a moment to catch their breath, Rael turned to the master blacksmith. "Master, did anything interesting happen in the village meeting yesterday?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

The blacksmith paused, wiping his forehead with a soot-covered rag. "Aye, lad," he responded, his tone turning serious. "There were talks of a shadowy presence lurking in the outskirts of our village. Whispers of dark rituals and secret gatherings... It's something we can't ignore."

Rael's eyes widened, his curiosity shifting to concern. "A shadowy presence? Right here in Elden?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and alarm.

The blacksmith nodded solemnly. "Aye, it seems so," he confirmed. "We must stay vigilant, Rael. Keep your senses sharp, and be watchful of any unusual activities. The safety of our village is paramount."

Rael nodded, his resolve strengthening. "I won't let any harm befall our people, master," he vowed. "I'll keep a close eye on things and gather information to protect Elden."

The master blacksmith placed a hand on Rael's shoulder, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "I know you will, lad," he said, his voice filled with confidence.

With their shared understanding, Rael and the master blacksmith returned to their work, the clanging of their hammers resuming their steady rhythm.

Joren, with his keen observation skills and analytical mind, had been assisting the village elder, Elder Theron, with his administrative tasks. As they sat together in the elder's study, stacks of parchment and scrolls scattered across the desk, the conversation delved into the unsettling discoveries discussed during the village meeting the day before.

"Elder Theron, I've been compiling the reports from yesterday's village meeting," Joren began, his voice calm and measured.

Elder Theron nodded, his weary eyes fixed on Joren. "Yes, Joren, those findings were deeply concerning," he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of weariness and concern. "It seems our village is facing a more sinister threat than we had anticipated."

Joren adjusted his glasses, his gaze focused. "Indeed, Elder. During the meeting, villagers shared their experiences of missing livestock, without any trace of their whereabouts," he explained. "It's as if the animals simply vanished into thin air."

Elder Theron sighed heavily, his fingers steepled in front of him. "Missing livestock... It is troubling news," he murmured, his voice filled with a sense of unease. "Our villagers rely on their animals for sustenance and trade. We cannot dismiss these disappearances lightly."

Joren continued, his voice gaining urgency. "Furthermore, there have been reports of strange carvings and symbols found both within the village and in the surrounding woods," he revealed. "These markings bear resemblance to dark ritualistic symbols associated with secretive and malevolent practices."

Elder Theron's brows furrowed, lines etched deep into his tired face. "Dark ritualistic symbols... So our fears were not unfounded," he muttered, his voice heavy with concern. "The presence of such markings suggests an organized and sinister force operating within our village."

Joren pressed on, his voice tinged with determination. "Additionally, villagers have shared accounts of black-robed figures lurking in the shadows, both within the village itself and in the depths of the woods," he added. "These figures move with eerie swiftness, avoiding detection and slipping away into the night."

Elder Theron's eyes narrowed, a mix of alarm and recognition flickering within them. "Black-robed figures... It appears our village has become entangled in something far more malevolent than we had initially anticipated," he acknowledged, his voice laced with a sense of urgency. "The safety and well-being of our people must be our top priority."

Joren nodded, determination shining in his eyes. "Indeed, Elder Theron. We must not allow fear to paralyze us. We need to gather more information, delve deeper into the significance of these symbols and sightings, and take measures to protect our village."

Elder Theron leaned forward, his gaze locked with Joren's. "You have proven yourself to be a meticulous thinker, Joren," he commended. "Use your skills to investigate further. Shed light on this shadowy threat and safeguard our village from its nefarious influence."

As their conversation reached its culmination, Elder Theron's gaze turned towards the window, his thoughts drifting to their own ruling kingdom. "I believe it is time to reach out to Avalora," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We cannot face this growing shadow alone. We must seek aid and support from our kingdom in uncovering the truth behind this mysterious cult."

Joren nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. "You're right, Elder Theron," he agreed. "Avalora, our powerful and thriving kingdom, has the resources and expertise we need to navigate the mysteries that lie before us. Their assistance will be crucial in safeguarding Elden from this unknown threat."

With renewed purpose, Elder Theron began drafting a letter, his quill gliding smoothly across the parchment. His words would carry the weight of their village's plea, urging Avalora to lend its aid in unravelling the secrets of the enigmatic cult. They knew that Avalora, as their ruling kingdom, possessed a history of supporting its communities and had a wealth of knowledge at its disposal.

Joren watched as the ink dried on the letter, sealing their hopes within its words. They shared a silent agreement, knowing that the fate of Elden rested not just on the determination of its inhabitants, but also on the support that Avalora, their kingdom, could provide.