"How troublesome, how troublesome."

An old man could be heard muttering under his breath. He checks his hair once more and straightens his posture, making sure that he looks presentable.

"And I was planning on playing some Shogi today too. Oh well, it can't be helped now can it. Serves me right for simply ignoring the problem…"

Kal Turan, leader of 'North River's Village' walks forwards to a rarely visited part of the village. The place is deserted but very well maintained. It is an open field hundreds of meters across, fenced off and isolated, the only irregularity being the large several story tall house positioned in the center.

It certainly is an odd sight for the city folk, Turan notes, considering how often he'd been asked why it is off limits. Truly, why have such a large unused space in the middle of the village of all places?

Well…

He strolls down the road leading to the house, taking in the serene atmosphere. It takes him a couple of minutes, considering his age, but he gets there.

Standing in front of the house- no, the Manor, Turan steadies himself. He tries to ignore the incomprehensible glowing lines and symbols carved into the stone and wood, pulsing with such power that even he is able to feel them.

He knocks.

Not too strongly, as to convey urgency or anger, and not too softly, to convey meekness and terror. Just the right amount of strength.

The door creaks open, opened by an invisible force. Turan remains stoic even though his heart skips a beat.

'Hai… I'm getting too old for this, my heart won't last. Maybe I should finally consider handing over the title of village head to one of the kids. Most of the ones fit for the job are working as administrators in Themten, I should pay Bjorlamu to deliver them a few messages on his next trip.'

He enters.

The first thing he sees is shelves upon shelves filled with books and scrolls.

A quick survey of the room leaves him, quite honestly, baffled.

'What happened here?'

The room presents an unusual sight as every inch of it is painted in a dark shade of black. Upon closer inspection, one can discern the presence of barely visible inscriptions, the markings emitting an eerie green glow, further adding to the odd aura of the place. The room is strewn with an array of scrolls, herbs, and crystals, haphazardly placed on the floor or somehow and for some reason held onto the walls and ceiling.

The overall effect of the disarrayed placement of the objects is that of a messy and unkempt space.

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The most striking feature of the room is undoubtedly that of the massive direwolf corpse lying unceremoniously on the wooden floor. The creature measures roughly ten meters in length, and its imposing size commands attention in the otherwise cluttered chamber.

"What is it?"

Startled by the sudden interruption, Turan recoils slightly before quickly getting a hold of himself. Despite the initial shock, his extensive experience allows him to remain composed.

"Master Cultivator Zephyr" he greets with a deep bow, the last thing that Turan needs is to offend the man "I have come to report a threat to the village." The scratching sound of a pen on parchment can be heard in the background.

"Go ahead and report it then."

Standing up from his bow, Turan fixates his gaze on the cultivator before him. The man, adorned with disheveled black locks and piercing blue eyes that betrayed his youthful demeanor, appeared no older than twenty winters. Engaged in his task, he occupied a spot on a cluttered desk, nonchalantly scribbling away.

"I shall first recall an event from twenty winters ago, as I believe it to be of relevance to our current predicament."

The man does nothing to indicate that he's listening but Turan continues nevertheless.

"Our previous guardian cultivator's fate is likely not unknown to you. He met his demise at the hands of an Emerald-Netted Cobra. Despite vanquishing the creature, he succumbed to its poison shortly thereafter, leaving our village unprotected. It is during this period, between his passing and your arrival, that the incident in question unfolded. I believe that it happened during the night, coincidentally there had been a very noticeable blood moon back then, bathing the lands in its crimson light."

Cultivator Zephyr halts his pen mid stroke, his eyes lifting from the parchment he locks them with those of the village elder. The air in the place suddenly grows heavy.

"A blood moon, you say?" Zephyr's voice resonates with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Turan nods in confirmation. "Indeed, Master cultivator."

Swiftly rising from his seat, Zephyr makes his way to one of the bookshelves situated around the room. Retrieving a book he gently turns its pages, seeking some specific knowledge.

His brows are furrowed in contemplation. "You can consider my interest piqued." He declares after a while.

Returning the book to where he'd gotten it from he settles back into his seat. Cupping his hands under his chin he leans forwards, his attention now fully focused on the elder in front of him.

The village head suppresses a frown.

"As I was saying, I believe that it happened during the night. A total of ten villagers had been found dead in their home by their neighbors roughly around noon. Six children, their mother and father along with their grandmother and grandfather. I was there to witness the aftermath and I must say that the state of their bodies was most dreadful and confusing. They appeared to have had all of their liquids removed, leaving them an empty husk that cracked the moment you put on the tiniest bit of pressure."

"The farm the family lived on was subsequently abandoned and the incident, since nothing more came of it, forgotten. Until today that is."

Zephyr waves his hand, signaling for Village Elder Turan to continue, the weight on his face increasing with each subsequent word uttered by the man.

"A few hours ago I was approached by some of the villagers. As it turns out, they'd discovered that some kids had taken over the abandoned farm and turned it into their playground. They'd gone in, eager to drag them back and give them a stern talking to. But…"

Turan stops himself from speaking any further, his gaze becoming unfocused for a short moment. He couldn't shake off the haunting expression he had witnessed on that heartbroken mother. Even after all these years such matters are more than enough to leave a dark mark on his soul. With a heavy sigh he musters the strength to continue.

"The villagers discovered a six-year old boy, lifeless and cold, amidst the farm. He had been stabbed in the neck. More troublingly, they'd found three others, roughly of the same age, still alive but changed. Their eyes had been painted black. Black sclera with a yellow iris–"

The cultivator suddenly leaps to his feet, manifesting a brilliant green blade larger than he is seemingly from nowhere.

"I've heard enough." The man grabs some of the items scattered around the room. "I want every single soul within a kilometer of that farm evacuated. You have thirty minutes, Understand?" He turns to look at the old man, focusing the entirety of his crushing intent on him.

Turan's eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor.

"Of- of course, Master Cultivator!" He stammers out a response, giving his deepest bow.

But the cultivator had already moved on to other matters, focusing on the items before him, his aura a visible whirlwind spreading in every direction.

Not waiting for a second longer Turan bolts out of the front door, moving as fast as his old bones allow him to. He shouts out for the men he'd left behind, to the entrance of the fenced off property.

He doesn't dare think of what could cause a cultivator like Zephyr to act with such urgency.