The common room of the inn was sparsely populated when Adrian, Carl, and Elarala descended for the evening meal. A handful of locals nursed their drinks in corners, speaking in hushed tones that fell silent whenever the newcomers passed too close. The innkeeper served them a simple but hearty meal of stewed venison and root vegetables, along with dark bread and a pitcher of bitter ale.

"What do you know of Elder Owen?" Carl asked the woman when she returned to collect their empty bowls.

The innkeeper paused, her expression guarded. "He's been leading the village council for fifteen years. Good man, fair-minded. Though these past weeks..." She trailed off, glancing toward the shadows in the corners of the room.

"We'd like to speak with him," Carl continued. "I'm a scholar researching the old histories. Perhaps he might grant us an audience?"

The woman studied Carl with narrowed eyes. "Scholars aren't welcome at the repository now."

"I understand it's closed," Carl replied smoothly. "But my interest is in the village's history more broadly. The repository is just one aspect."

After a moment's consideration, the innkeeper nodded reluctantly. "Elder Owen holds public audience each morning at the town hall. But I wouldn't mention the shadows to him, either." She lowered her voice. "His daughter's been... affected."

This new information settled over the table like a pall. When the innkeeper had moved away, Elarala leaned forward slightly.

"If the Elder's daughter has been touched by whatever darkness plagues this village, approaching him becomes both more dangerous and more necessary," she murmured.

"How so?" Adrian asked, keeping his voice equally low.

"He may be more sensitive to the threat, more willing to accept outside help," she explained. "Or he may be more fearful, more likely to reject anything that might disturb the delicate balance currently maintaining his daughter's safety."

Carl nodded thoughtfully. "I'll present myself as a historian interested in the village's founding. You two can be my research assistants. Nothing threatening, nothing that suggests we know about the shadows."

"And the repository?" Adrian asked.

"We'll get to that gradually," Carl replied. "First, we need to assess the situation more fully—who we can trust, who might be in league with the Obsidian Circle, and what exactly has happened here."

They retired early, agreeing to rise before dawn to prepare for their audience with Elder Owen. Adrian found sleep elusive, however. The persistent ache from the Evermark made him restless, and when he did manage to doze, his dreams were troubled by writhing shadows and silver-haired women whose faces he couldn't quite see.

He woke with the first light of dawn, feeling no more rested than when he'd lain down. After a quick breakfast of bread and dried fruit from their own supplies, the three companions made their way to the town hall—a sturdy timber building adjacent to the stone temple that housed the repository.

The village seemed even more subdued in the early morning light. Few people were about, and those who were hurried along the cobblestone streets with the same nervous energy they had witnessed the previous day. Adrian noted that many villagers wore protective charms or symbols around their necks—simple folk magic that likely provided psychological comfort rather than actual protection against whatever darkness plagued them.

A small group had already gathered outside the town hall by the time they arrived. Petitioners with matters to bring before the Elder, Adrian presumed. The villagers eyed the strangers with undisguised suspicion, maintaining a careful distance.

"Strangers to the back," a gruff voice announced as a village guard emerged from the hall. He wore a leather jerkin with the emblem of Forest Star Village—an eight-pointed star surrounded by a circular border of oak leaves—and carried a spear with practiced ease.

Carl nodded politely, guiding Adrian and Elarala to the rear of the small crowd. As they waited, he subtly adjusted his appearance, straightening his posture and adopting the slightly distracted air of a scholar wrapped up in his thoughts. Adrian marveled at the transformation—even without changing clothes, Carl suddenly looked every inch the academic he claimed to be.

One by one, the villagers were admitted to the hall. Their business seemed routine for the most part—disputes over property boundaries, requests for assistance with failing crops, complaints about noisy neighbors. Each audience was brief, with Elder Owen's responses audible but indistinct through the open door.

Finally, it was their turn. The guard gave them a final suspicious glance before gesturing them inside.

The hall's interior was simple but impressive. Wooden beams carved with intricate designs supported a high ceiling, while tapestries depicting the village's history adorned the walls. At the far end, a raised platform held a large oak table where Elder Owen sat.

The village leader was a tall man in his fifties, with a full beard streaked with gray and deep-set eyes that missed nothing. He wore a dark blue tunic embroidered with the village emblem, and a silver chain of office around his neck. Standing slightly behind his chair was a young woman—perhaps twenty years of age—with chestnut hair and unusually bright green eyes.

"Approach and state your business," the guard announced formally.

Carl stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Elder Owen, thank you for granting us an audience. I am Carl Denton, a scholar from the Eastern Provinces. These are my associates, Adrian and Elarala. We're researching the founding of settlements that preserve ancient knowledge, and Forest Star Village is a significant site in our studies."

Elder Owen studied them carefully, his expression revealing nothing. "Scholars, you say? What precisely is the nature of your research?"

"The migration patterns following the Great Magic War," Carl replied smoothly. "How centers of learning were established in remote locations, and how they've preserved their traditions through generations of change."

"An academic interest only?" Owen asked, his tone deceptively light.

"Knowledge for its own sake is always worthwhile," Carl answered with the faint smile of a dedicated scholar. "But understanding our past helps us navigate our present challenges."

Owen nodded slowly, apparently satisfied with the response. "Forest Star Village welcomes genuine scholars, though you arrive at a troubled time. The temple repository is temporarily closed for... renovation."

"So we've heard," Carl said, managing to sound disappointed but not overly concerned. "But the village itself holds much history. Buildings, oral traditions, family records—all valuable to our research."

As Carl and Elder Owen continued their exchange, Adrian found his attention drawn to the young woman standing behind the Elder's chair. Her bright green eyes moved between the three visitors with undisguised curiosity, lingering longest on Adrian himself. Unlike the other villagers they had encountered, she showed no fear—only intense interest.

The Elder's daughter, Adrian presumed. The one supposedly "affected" by the shadows, according to the innkeeper's cryptic warning. She certainly didn't appear harmed or frightened. In fact, there was something almost unnervingly calm about her steady gaze.

A sudden sharp pulse from the Evermark disrupted his observations, forcing Adrian to suppress a wince. As he instinctively pressed his hand against his chest, the young woman's eyes widened fractionally, a flash of recognition crossing her features.

Adrian quickly dropped his hand, but the damage was done. The girl had noticed something significant about his gesture, though he couldn't fathom what she might know about the Evermark.

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His attention returned to the conversation as Elder Owen's tone shifted to something warmer, if still careful.

"You're welcome to consult our village records," the Elder was saying. "They're maintained in the administrative offices adjacent to this hall. My secretary, Bram, can assist you." He gestured to a thin man seated at a smaller desk to one side, who nodded acknowledgment.

"That's most generous," Carl replied. "We won't take up much of your valuable time."

As Carl spoke, Adrian took the opportunity to observe Elder Owen more carefully. The man carried himself with the confidence of long authority, but there was tension in his shoulders and shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of recent strain. When he gestured, his sleeve pulled back slightly, revealing a mark on his forearm that immediately caught Adrian's attention.

It wasn't a casual scar or birthmark. The pattern was too regular, too deliberate—a series of interlocking curves that reminded Adrian of the runes they had seen on the mage hunter traps in the forest, though not identical. The marks were reddish-purple against Owen's skin, like a recent burn still healing.

The Elder noticed Adrian's gaze and quickly adjusted his sleeve to cover the mark. His expression hardened momentarily before he smoothed it back to polite interest.

"My daughter, Lina, has a particular interest in history," Owen said, changing the subject. "Perhaps she could be of assistance in your research."

The young woman stepped forward at the mention of her name, a slight smile playing at her lips. "I'd be honored to help," she said, her voice melodic and assured. "I know all the village stories—even those not written in the official records."

There was something pointed about her offer, a subtle emphasis that Adrian didn't miss. Nor, apparently, did her father, who shot her a warning glance.

"Lina serves as my personal assistant," Owen explained, reclaiming control of the conversation. "She has access to family histories that might not be included in the general archives."

"That's most kind," Elarala spoke for the first time, her blind eyes turning toward Lina with uncanny accuracy. "Personal accounts often contain details overlooked by formal histories."

Lina's attention shifted to Elarala, her expression growing more intense. "You understand," she said softly. "Some truths are preserved in unexpected places."

The exchange felt laden with unspoken meaning, and Adrian sensed Carl tensing slightly beside him. They were venturing into dangerous territory, with currents of hidden knowledge swirling beneath the seemingly innocent conversation.

Elder Owen cleared his throat. "Lina, why don't you show our visitors to the archives? Bram has duties to attend to this morning."

"Of course, Father," she replied, that same curious half-smile returning to her lips.

"We're grateful for your hospitality," Carl said with another slight bow. "And we'll be careful not to disturb the village's routine during our stay."

"See that you don't," Owen replied, his tone suddenly cooler. "Forest Star has... traditions about how we deal with those who bring disruption."

The warning was unmistakable, though cloaked in formality. Adrian maintained a neutral expression, but inwardly he was reassessing the Elder. Owen knew more than he was saying—about the shadows, about their purpose in the village, perhaps even about the Evermark itself.

"I'll show you to the archives," Lina said, moving gracefully down from the platform. "We have records dating back to the village's founding, three centuries ago."

As they followed her toward the side door, Adrian felt Elder Owen's gaze burning into his back. The moment they were out of the hall, Lina's demeanor changed subtly. She led them not toward the administrative offices as expected, but down a narrow side passage that connected the town hall to a smaller building.

"Not the archives?" Carl asked quietly.

"The archives are watched," Lina replied without turning around. "By more than just people."

Adrian exchanged glances with his companions. Elarala gave a nearly imperceptible nod, indicating they should follow the young woman.

Lina led them to a small reading room lined with bookshelves. After checking that the corridor outside was empty, she closed the door firmly and turned to face them.

"You're not historians," she stated flatly. "At least, that's not why you're here. You've come because of the shadows."

The directness of her assertion left no room for continued pretense. Carl sighed, his scholarly affect falling away. "And you know about the shadows."

"I see them," Lina said simply. "Most people don't—they just feel uneasy, afraid. But I see them moving, watching. And I know they're connected to what happened to Archivist Thorn."

"Your father has a mark on his arm," Adrian said, deciding to be equally direct. "A pattern. What is it?"

Lina's gaze snapped to him, those bright green eyes narrowing slightly. "A binding rune. He believes it protects him, but it's actually a tether." She stepped closer to Adrian, studying him intently. "You have a mark too, but different. Older. More powerful."

Adrian felt the Evermark pulse in response to her scrutiny, a flare of warmth rather than pain this time. "How do you know that?"

"I see energies," she explained. "Since the shadows came. It started as glimpses, but now... it's like a second sight layered over the normal world. Your mark glows like fire beneath your skin."

"And what does your father's mark look like to you?" Elarala asked gently.

"Like a leash," Lina replied, her voice hardening. "Connected to the shadows. He doesn't know—he thinks the village elders all took protective sigils from a wandering mage who offered protection. But I saw what really happened."

"Tell us," Carl encouraged.

Lina glanced nervously at the door before continuing in a lower voice. "A month ago, a group of travelers came to the village. Scholars, they said, interested in the repository. Father welcomed them—he's proud of our heritage as keepers of knowledge." Her expression darkened. "They spent three days in the repository with Archivist Thorn. On the fourth morning, Thorn was found mindless, and the scholars were gone."

"And the shadows appeared," Adrian prompted.

"Yes, but not immediately," Lina corrected. "First, one of the scholars returned. He met privately with the Elder Council—five members including my father. He performed a ritual, saying it would protect them from whatever had harmed Thorn." She swallowed hard. "I watched through a crack in the council chamber door. The 'protection' burned those marks into their arms, and that night, the shadows came."

"The council members became anchors for the spell-web," Elarala said, confirming what she had sensed during her meditation. "Unwitting conduits for the corrupted ward."

Lina nodded. "The scholar left again, but the shadows remained. They're everywhere now, watching, influencing. People are afraid, but they don't understand what's happening. And anyone who asks too many questions about the repository or Archivist Thorn..."

"Disappears?" Carl guessed grimly.

"Or has terrible accidents," Lina confirmed. "Three people already. The village grows more fearful, more suspicious, especially of strangers." She fixed her gaze on Adrian again. "But you're different. Your mark—it fights against the shadows somehow. I felt it the moment you entered the hall."

Adrian considered how much to reveal. "We came seeking knowledge from the repository," he said carefully. "Knowledge about marks like mine, and about the forces behind the shadows."

"The repository is sealed," Lina told them. "Not just closed—magically sealed. No one can enter, not even the remaining archivists. Whatever the scholars took, they left something behind that they don't want disturbed."

"Or something they want to mature in isolation," Elarala suggested. "Corruption often grows strongest in darkness."

Lina shivered slightly. "I've tried to tell my father what I see, but he doesn't believe me. The mark influences him, clouds his thoughts. All the elders are the same now—they enforce the closure of the repository, discourage questions, and pretend nothing is wrong beyond a mysterious illness that struck Thorn."

"Why are you helping us?" Carl asked, the practical question that needed addressing. "You're taking a significant risk."

Lina's expression became determined. "Because I've been dreaming of your arrival. For weeks now—dreams of fire against shadow, of ancient marks awakening." Her gaze returned to Adrian. "And in the dreams, the fire-marked one is the key to breaking the spell-web."

Adrian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the shadows. Dreams that predicted future events fit too neatly with everything they had learned about the Evermark and its connection to patterns beyond normal understanding.

"Can you help us access the repository?" he asked.

"Not directly," Lina admitted. "But I know someone who might—Thorn's apprentice, Elwin. He's been in hiding since his master was attacked, convinced he'll be next. He knows more about the repository's defenses than anyone still... whole."

"Where can we find him?" Carl asked.

"He's living in an abandoned watchtower at the edge of the village, near the river," Lina replied. "I bring him food when I can slip away." She hesitated. "But we should be careful. The shadows are thickest at night, but they're always watching. And my father will be suspicious if I spend too much time with you."

"We'll approach the watchtower discreetly," Elarala assured her. "Can you arrange to meet us there this evening?"

Lina nodded. "After sunset prayers. I'm expected to attend with my father, but I can slip away afterward." She moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing—whatever you do, don't let the shadows touch you directly. Those who feel their touch... change."

With that ominous warning, she opened the door and resumed her role as their official guide, leading them to the actual archives with a perfectly composed expression that betrayed nothing of their secret conversation.

As they began the pretense of historical research under Bram's watchful eye, Adrian couldn't help but reflect on how quickly their situation had evolved. They had come seeking knowledge about the Evermark and the Obsidian Circle, only to find themselves entangled in what appeared to be an active void working—one that had already claimed several victims and transformed an entire village into a prison of fear.

And now they had an unexpected ally in the Elder's daughter, a young woman with mysterious perceptive abilities and prophetic dreams of Adrian's arrival. It seemed the patterns within patterns that Elarala often spoke of were drawing tighter, connections revealing themselves with increasing clarity.

The Evermark pulsed gently against his chest, neither painful nor comforting—simply present, a reminder of his central role in whatever was unfolding in this shadow-shrouded village.