The beginning of the end

Not many people from Demonia noticed it the first evening. A few did. Mostly children. Those, like Charlotte, who waited in anticipation every afternoon were disappointed and confused. But adults seldom listen to children, and if they do, their stories are easily dismissed.

The dragon’s spirit failed to rise that night, and the next, and the next. Eventually the adults began to pay attention. Children can be persistent like that. Those city dwellers who thought the spirit was caused by ocean spray blamed the tides, or the currents, or the weather patterns. The superstitious ones blamed the cycles of the moon, or the alignment of the stars, or saw it as a warning from the gods. Some even linked it to the missing wolf skins and the Wolf-ghost carved in their place.

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Of course, everyone was wrong. No one thought to ask the trees, or the keepers of the trees. No one thought to investigate. Certainly, no one thought to blame themselves, and why should they? They had done nothing. Ironically, this was the fundamental reason for the unfolding disaster.

One thing they decided, though, was it had never happened before in living memory. This, at least, everyone could agree on. And they were right.