The remainder of the day passed in a tense blend of feigned research and wary observation. Adrian, Carl, and Elarala spent hours in the village archives under Bram's watchful eye, maintaining their scholarly pretense while surreptitiously searching for information about the repository's defenses and the history of Forest Star Village's protective wards.

As dusk approached, they made their way back to the inn, careful to maintain a casual pace despite the growing urgency they all felt. The shadows had deepened with the setting sun, and Adrian couldn't shake the sensation of being observed by unseen watchers. The Evermark continued its dull, persistent ache in response to the corrupted spell-web permeating the village.

"We need to meet Lina at the watchtower after sunset prayers," Carl reminded them in a low voice as they entered the inn. "But we should stagger our departures, avoid drawing attention."

The common room was unusually crowded that evening, filled with villagers seeking refuge in shared company and strong drink. Conversations remained hushed, but the atmosphere was charged with nervous energy. Adrian noticed several people clutching protective talismans, while others performed small warding gestures whenever shadows flickered at the room's edges.

They took a table in the corner, ordering a simple meal that none of them had much appetite for. Adrian was just pushing his half-eaten stew aside when the inn's door burst open, admitting a breathless young man with wide, frightened eyes.

"They're coming!" he shouted, his voice cracking with terror. "From the eastern woods! The mist-walkers!"

The common room erupted into chaos. Some patrons rushed for the door, eager to reach their homes and families, while others huddled deeper into corners, paralyzed by fear. The innkeeper, showing remarkable composure, vaulted over the counter with a heavy club in hand.

"Barricade the doors and windows!" she commanded. "Move! Anyone who can fight, grab what weapons you can!"

Adrian exchanged quick glances with his companions. "What are mist-walkers?" he asked the nearest villager, a gray-bearded man frantically pushing tables against the windows.

"Death," the man replied grimly. "They come from the shadows, take your life with just a touch. Started appearing the same night the shadows came." He gave Adrian a suspicious look. "Strange that they attack now, with outsiders in the village."

Before Adrian could respond, a piercing scream sounded from outside, followed by the clash of metal and shouts of alarm. The village militia was engaging whatever threat approached.

"We need to help," Adrian decided, drawing his sword. The familiar weight in his hand was reassuring, though he wondered how effective ordinary steel would be against creatures of shadow and mist.

"Cautiously," Elarala warned. "We don't know what we're facing."

Carl had already loaded his crossbow. "If these creatures are connected to the corrupted spell-web, they may react strongly to Adrian's Evermark."

Adrian nodded, understanding the implication. Using his fire abilities would reveal his nature to the village, potentially making their mission more complicated—but lives were at stake. Some risks couldn't be avoided.

They pushed through the crowd toward the door, where the innkeeper was directing the barricade efforts. She shot them a look of surprise mingled with suspicion.

"You're going out there? When the attack coincides with your arrival?"

"We can help," Adrian stated firmly. "We've faced similar threats before."

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. "Go then. But know that I'm watching you."

They slipped out through a side door, emerging into the village square now awash in chaotic activity. Militiamen with torches and spears had formed a ragged line at the eastern entrance to the square, where several buildings were already ablaze. Panicked villagers fled toward the town hall, carrying children and hastily gathered possessions.

Then Adrian saw them—the "mist-walkers." Humanoid shapes composed of swirling gray mist with vaguely defined limbs and featureless heads. They moved with unnatural grace, flowing between buildings and around obstacles. Where they touched a militiaman, frost instantly formed on his skin and clothing, his movements slowing as life energy visibly drained from his body, manifesting as wispy tendrils of light that the creatures absorbed.

"Void thralls," Elarala identified them, her blind eyes somehow tracking their movements. "Lesser manifestations created from human souls corrupted by void energy."

"How do we fight them?" Adrian asked, watching a militiaman's spear pass harmlessly through one of the creatures.

"Physical weapons are largely ineffective," Carl confirmed. "Fire, light, and pure magical energy can harm them—all things that oppose the void's empty nature."

Adrian understood what he had to do. The risk of revealing his abilities was unavoidable now. "Cover me," he told his companions, then sprinted toward the failing defensive line.

He reached the militiamen just as their formation broke, the survivors falling back in disarray as more mist-walkers poured into the square. A young guard stumbled and fell directly in the path of one of the creatures, raising his arm in a futile attempt to ward off its approach.

Adrian leapt between them, sword raised. Instead of striking directly, he closed his eyes for a split second, connecting to the Evermark's power. The containment training he had practiced with Elarala no longer applied—now he needed the opposite, to channel as much energy as possible into his blade.

The sword's edge ignited with brilliant crimson flame that cast back the mist-walker's reaching hands. The creature emitted a sound like wind rushing through a narrow canyon—a scream, Adrian realized—and recoiled from the fire.

"Get back!" Adrian shouted to the fallen guard, who scrambled away with an expression of equal parts gratitude and terror at Adrian's flaming sword.

More mist-walkers converged on Adrian, drawn to the bright energy of the Evermark now flowing freely through him. He welcomed their attention, preferring they focus on someone who could fight them rather than helpless villagers.

Adrian moved with the fluid grace of a trained swordsman, his flaming blade cutting arcs through the night air. Where it passed through the mist-walkers, their substance sizzled and dispersed, the corrupted energy that animated them briefly igniting before dissipating. He found himself falling into a rhythm of slash, pivot, thrust—his military training combining with the Evermark's power in deadly efficiency.

Carl had taken position atop an overturned cart, his crossbow now loaded with arrows whose tips he had hurriedly wrapped in oil-soaked cloth and ignited. Each flaming bolt found its mark in a mist-walker, causing the creature to dissolve into wisps of rapidly fading smoke.

Elarala stood at the center of the square, her hands raised toward the sky. Silver light gathered between her palms, growing in intensity until it rivaled the fires consuming the nearby buildings. With a word of power that seemed to momentarily silence all other sounds, she cast the light outward in a expanding dome that washed over friend and foe alike.

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Where the silver illumination touched the villagers, frost melted from their skin and color returned to pallid faces. Where it encountered mist-walkers, the creatures writhed in agony, their misty forms thinning and dispersing like morning fog before the rising sun.

Adrian continued his dance of flame and steel, gradually pushing deeper into the eastern street where the mist-walkers remained most concentrated. Sweat beaded on his forehead, both from exertion and from the heat of the Evermark, which burned with an intensity he had never before experienced. It was as if the mark recognized these void-spawned creatures as its natural enemies, responding with ever-increasing power.

A movement caught his eye—a civilian trapped in a narrow alley, cornered by three mist-walkers. Adrian changed direction mid-strike, sprinting toward the new threat. As he ran, he channeled the Evermark's energy differently, remembering a technique Elarala had taught him during their training. Instead of focusing the fire in his sword, he gathered it in his free hand, compressing it into a tight sphere of concentrated flame.

When he was within range, he hurled the fireball at the alley entrance. It exploded on impact, engulfing the mist-walkers in a brief inferno that reduced them to nothingness. The civilian—a middle-aged woman—stared at Adrian with undisguised shock before fleeing toward the town hall.

The battle continued for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes. Between Adrian's flaming sword, Carl's fire arrows, and Elarala's silver light, they gradually turned the tide. The remaining mist-walkers began to retreat, flowing back toward the eastern woods from which they had emerged.

As the immediate threat receded, Adrian became aware of the watching eyes. Villagers had emerged from their hiding places, staring at him with expressions ranging from awe to terror to suspicion. His sword still burned with crimson flame, and he could feel the Evermark's energy pulsing visibly beneath his shirt, casting a faint red glow through the fabric.

Among the watchers stood Elder Owen, his daughter Lina at his side. The Elder's face was a mask of controlled shock, his eyes fixed on Adrian's flaming sword with an expression that shifted rapidly between fear, recognition, and calculation. Beside him, Lina's face showed no surprise at all—only validation, as if Adrian had merely confirmed what she already knew.

Adrian extinguished the flame on his blade with a thought, though he could do little about the Evermark's glow without reinstating the containment techniques that now seemed pointless. The damage was done. His nature as more than a simple scholar or warrior was now evident to all who had witnessed the battle.

Elder Owen approached slowly, his militia guards flanking him with wary expressions. The mark on his arm—the binding rune Lina had described—pulsed with an unsettling purple light that seemed to intensify as he drew closer to Adrian.

"It seems," Owen said, his voice carefully neutral, "that you neglected to mention certain... skills... during our conversation this morning."

Adrian sheathed his sword. "There wasn't an appropriate moment to discuss my abilities, Elder. We came seeking knowledge, not conflict."

"Yet conflict found you nonetheless," Owen observed. "Curious timing."

"Father," Lina interceded, stepping forward. "These strangers fought to protect our people. Three buildings burned, but not a single life was lost to the mist-walkers tonight. That's unprecedented."

Owen's expression softened marginally at his daughter's words, but his eyes remained hard when they returned to Adrian. "Indeed. We are... grateful for your assistance." The words seemed to pain him slightly, as if pushed through unwilling lips. "Though I wonder what else you haven't told us about yourselves."

Elarala stepped forward, her silver hair still shimmering with residual energy from her casting. "Elder Owen, your village is under siege—not just from these creatures, but from the very shadows that summoned them. We came seeking information about such threats, but it seems we've arrived at a moment of crisis."

"The shadows," Owen repeated, his expression darkening. "You speak of things you cannot understand, outsider."

"Cannot?" Elarala challenged gently. "Or should not? The mark on your arm pulses in time with the shadows. You feel its influence even now, urging you to send us away, to protect secrets that aren't truly yours to keep."

Owen's hand instinctively moved to cover his forearm, his expression briefly transforming to one of confusion and pain. For a moment, it seemed he might break free of whatever influence gripped him, but then his features hardened once more.

"You will remain at the inn tonight, under guard," he declared. "Tomorrow, the Council will decide what to do with fire-wielders and those who consort with them." He gestured to his militia. "Escort them back. Ensure they remain there."

"Father!" Lina protested, but Owen silenced her with a sharp gesture.

"Enough, daughter. Return to the hall. We have wounded to tend to, damages to assess."

As the guards moved to surround them, Adrian caught Lina's eye. She gave him a barely perceptible nod, mouthing what looked like "midnight" before turning reluctantly to follow her father.

The three companions allowed themselves to be escorted back to the inn, where four guards took up positions outside. The common room had emptied of most patrons, though the innkeeper remained, eyeing them with a complicated mixture of fear and gratitude as they climbed the stairs to their rooms.

Once alone, they spoke in hushed tones, mindful of potential eavesdroppers.

"The attack changed our timetable," Carl observed, checking his crossbow for damage. "Owen's suspicion will make movement through the village more difficult."

"But not impossible," Adrian countered. "Lina clearly still intends to help us. I think she mouthed 'midnight' before they took us away."

"Most likely she still plans to guide us to Thorn's apprentice," Elarala agreed. "Though we may need to be more creative about leaving the inn undetected."

Adrian moved to the window, carefully surveying the placement of the guards below. "Two at the front door, two patrolling the perimeter. But they're watchmen, not soldiers—their patterns are predictable."

"And they don't account for less conventional exits," Carl added with a ghost of a smile, gesturing toward the roof. "Old buildings like this often have multiple ways in and out."

"What of the mist-walkers?" Adrian asked, turning back to face his companions. "Will they return?"

"Almost certainly," Elarala replied. "They're manifestations of the corrupted spell-web, drawn to life energy. Now that they've found a hunting ground, they'll return—especially since the Evermark's energy signal is like a beacon to void entities."

Adrian's hand moved unconsciously to his chest. "I couldn't hide it during the fight. Now the whole village knows what I can do."

"It was unavoidable," Carl assured him. "And perhaps beneficial in the long run. Our pretense was thin at best, and now we can operate more openly, at least in terms of our abilities."

"Owen's reaction was telling," Elarala observed. "The binding rune on his arm responded to your Evermark. There's a connection there, an opposition. Your mark represents the original protective purpose of the spell-web, while his rune serves its corrupted form."

"Lina said the fire-marked one—me—was the key to breaking the spell-web," Adrian remembered. "Perhaps that's why the binding runes react so strongly to my presence."

"The original ward and the Evermark were created in the same era, possibly by the same individuals," Elarala nodded. "There would be resonance between them, patterns that recognize each other."

Carl began checking their supplies, organizing what they might need for a nighttime excursion. "Whatever the connection, we need to reach Thorn's apprentice. If he knows a way into the repository, we can discover what the Obsidian Circle was seeking—and perhaps what they left behind."

Adrian returned to the window, watching as villagers worked to extinguish the remaining fires from the attack. The eastern horizon had grown darker, unnaturally so, as if the night itself was gathering more densely in the forest from which the mist-walkers had emerged.

The Evermark's glow had subsided somewhat, but it still pulsed with a steady rhythm that Adrian could feel throughout his body. Using its power so extensively against the mist-walkers had changed something—deepened the connection, made the mark's energy more accessible. He could feel it flowing just beneath his skin, ready to be called forth again at a moment's notice.

He was still coming to terms with what that meant. The power was exhilarating, but it came with heightened visibility to his enemies and increased suspicion from potential allies. And each use seemed to awaken more memories, more connections to a past life he still only glimpsed in fragments.

"We should rest while we can," Elarala suggested, interrupting his thoughts. "Midnight will come soon enough, and whatever awaits us at the watchtower will require our full strength."

Adrian nodded, though he doubted sleep would come easily with the Evermark still humming with energy and his mind racing with questions about the mist-walkers, the corrupted spell-web, and Elder Owen's strange reaction to his abilities.

As he lay down on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling beams, one thought continued to circle in his mind: the mist-walkers had appeared on the same night as the shadows, after the "scholar" had burned binding runes into the arms of the village elders. The Obsidian Circle had left more than just shadows behind in Forest Star Village.

They had left a trap—one that was now closing around anyone who might interfere with their plans.