Our journey began with tasks that seemed straightforward enough, though the peculiarities quickly piled up. The first few villages we visited greeted us with a mix of fear and relief, their gratitude evident but tinged with unease. The animals that plagued them were ordinary creatures—rodents, wild dogs, and even rabbits—but their behavior was far from normal. They attacked with a ferocity I’ve rarely seen, almost as if they were driven by something unseen.
One of the earlier villages had been dealing with a wolf pack. Wolves are naturally cautious animals, more likely to avoid humans than to confront them, yet these had stormed into the village in broad daylight, tearing into livestock and injuring a farmer who had tried to fend them off. Another village spoke of a bear that had lumbered into their midst, smashing fences and killing several sheep before attacking a group of villagers who had tried to drive it off. Three people didn’t survive the encounter. I’d never seen fear etched so deeply into a person’s face as I did in the village elder who recounted the event to me.
The more we traveled, the stranger it all became. At one settlement, wild boars had charged through the fields, trampling crops and goring anyone who got too close. Another had been overrun by a flock of crows that swooped down on the townsfolk like a dark cloud, pecking at exposed skin and eyes. The sight of a young boy clutching his bandaged face, his small body trembling, will stay with me for a long time.
It wasn’t just the attacks that were troubling; it was the aftermath. In the village attacked by wolves, a hunter pulled me aside after we’d taken care of the remaining pack. His voice was hushed, his words heavy with unease.
“There’s been no game today,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone—or something—to be listening. “Not a single kill. This time of year, the woods should be full of venison and elk. It’s mating season, for gods’ sake. But it’s like they’ve vanished.”
I didn’t have an answer for him. None of it made sense. These attacks were not only destroying lives but also livelihoods. Fields lay flattened, livestock slaughtered, and entire families were left wondering if they’d survive the coming winter. The unease in these villages was palpable, and with every new encounter, the questions in my mind multiplied.
That first day was relentless. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, we had helped twelve villages. Each one was scarred in its own way, the people worn thin by fear and desperation. I lay awake that night, staring up at the stars, wondering what could possibly be driving the animals to act like this.
The second day brought a shift—an unsettling one. The morning started much the same, but as the hours passed, the animal attacks seemed to dwindle. Villages reported fewer incidents, and by afternoon, there was little for us to do. The absence of attacks should have been a relief, yet it wasn’t. The villagers we encountered that day were different.
Their eyes were colder, their words clipped. They watched us with suspicion, not gratitude, and I noticed the same wary glances exchanged between them. Mistrust hung heavy in the air, like a fog that refused to lift. By the end of the day, we had only been able to assist in four of the thirteen villages marked on our map. The others turned us away with tight lips and guarded expressions, as if they feared us more than the animals that had plagued them just a day before.
The third day brought no animals to slay at all. Instead, the requests were strange. A village elder asked us to inspect their well, claiming the water had turned sour overnight. Sure enough, the liquid we pulled up reeked of rot, the smell enough to make Talia gag. Another village brought us to their fields, where crops that had been healthy just days before were now yellowed and withering, the leaves curling in on themselves as if scorched by an invisible fire.
Livestock, too, were dying. Cows gave milk that curdled as soon as it was poured, and chickens laid eggs that reeked of sulfur when cracked. In one village, we arrived to find the townsfolk gathered around a massive pyre at the edge of their settlement. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh. Dead livestock had been piled high, their bodies blackened and twisted by the flames.
“Why burn them?” I asked one of the men standing nearby. His face was drawn, eyes bloodshot from either exhaustion or grief—or both.
“We had to,” he said, his voice hoarse. “They were rotting before they even died. Flies were swarming before we could even bury them. Something’s not right.”
Something, indeed. Each step of this journey has felt like peeling back layers of a mystery, only to find more darkness lurking beneath. The map we carry shows fewer red dots now, but the weight of what we’ve seen grows heavier with each passing day. There is a sickness here, spreading faster than we can move, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s only the beginning.
The fourth day marked a shift from unsettling to outright bizarre. We arrived at a village just after sunrise, expecting the usual requests for help with animals or odd maladies. Instead, the elder who greeted us—a woman with deep lines of age etched into her face and a demeanor that should have been welcoming—made a request that chilled me to the core.
“They are to blame,” she said firmly, her voice sharp like a blade. Her gnarled finger pointed toward the hills in the distance, where the outline of a neighboring village could just be made out through the morning haze. “Their village has cursed us. They poisoned our well and drove the animals mad. You must wipe them out.”
I blinked, sure I had misheard. “Excuse me?” I said carefully, trying to keep my tone even. “You’re asking us to... wipe them out?”
The elder’s expression didn’t change. Her pale, clouded eyes held no warmth, only a cold, simmering hatred. Around her, the villagers nodded in agreement, their faces twisted with the same expression of animosity. No one smiled or chuckled, no one hinted at a jest. They were deadly serious.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice unwavering. “Those traitorous dogs deserve to be burned from the earth.”
The venom in her words was unsettling, and Talia must have felt the same. She stepped forward, her tone laced with incredulity. “Surely, there must be a misunderstanding. Maybe—”
“There is no misunderstanding,” the elder snapped, cutting her off. Her voice rose, filled with righteous fury. “They are to blame for all of this! They have brought ruin upon us, and we will not suffer their wickedness any longer.”
The intensity in the air was suffocating, and I raised a hand gently to signal Talia to stand down. “We’ll take a look,” I said diplomatically, forcing calm into my voice. “But violence isn’t the answer. Let us investigate first.”
The elder narrowed her eyes at me but said nothing further. Her silence felt like an accusation in itself. We mounted the speeder and headed for the neighboring village.
The reception we received there was no better. These villagers, too, were brimming with hostility, though theirs seemed more desperate, tinged with fear. A group of men stood in the center of the square, sharpening crude weapons—farm tools turned to implements of war. Their leader, a wiry man with a scar running across his cheek, stepped forward.
“They’re planning to attack us, aren’t they?” he demanded before I could even dismount. “Those bastards over the hill—what did they say?”
“They claim you’re to blame for their misfortunes,” I replied cautiously. “But I’ve come to suggest another way. Fighting will only bring more destruction.”
His lip curled into a sneer. “Easy for you to say. You don’t live here. You haven’t seen what we’ve endured. They poisoned our fields and our livestock. They’ve killed us in spirit already. We won’t wait for them to finish the job.”
I took a step forward, drawing on the Force subtly, cloaking my words in a suggestion that would sound natural even to my companions. “You don’t need to attack. If you and your neighbors worked together, you might find the answers you’re looking for.”
For a moment, his glare softened, the hard lines of his face easing into something resembling thoughtfulness. He exchanged glances with the others, and slowly, grudgingly, they nodded.
With a heavy sigh of relief, we left the two villages, hoping the tension would ease. But that relief was short-lived. As we approached the next village, black smoke billowed into the sky, visible long before we arrived.
“That’s no small fire,” Talia muttered, her hand instinctively tightening on her bow.
We parked the speeder at the edge of the village, and I told Nikko and Apollo to stay back while Talia and I investigated. Nikko looked up at me with wide eyes, her tail twitching nervously.
“Papa, is it another big fire for the animals?” she asked softly, clutching my sleeve.
“No,” I said, gently placing a hand on her head. “It’s something else. Stay with Apollo, okay?”
Apollo stepped forward, his metal frame gleaming in the smoky light. “I’ll keep her safe,” he said, his tone calm but firm. Nikko nodded reluctantly, wrapping her arms around his leg for comfort as we moved on.
The sight that greeted us in the village square was one of horror. Entire houses had been burned to the ground, their charred skeletons still smoldering. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, some bloodied, others blackened by fire. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and death.
Talia covered her mouth with her hand, her voice trembling. “This wasn’t an accident.”
“No,” I agreed grimly, kneeling beside a body. A crude weapon was still clutched in the man’s hand. “This was a fight—villagers against villagers.”
The realization sank in like a stone in my chest. This was what could have happened at the previous villages had we not intervened. But why were these people turning against one another? Why were their crops dying, their livestock falling ill, and the animals attacking? My mind raced with questions, and an unsettling thought wormed its way into my head.
The Nightsisters.
I’d read about them—witches from Dathomir with the power to awaken the dead and bend the living to their will. Could one of them be behind this? Could someone else like me have landed in this world, bringing their darkness with them? I couldn’t ignore the possibility, but there was no time to dwell on it. We had another village to help.
This next village was mercifully intact, but it was eerily quiet. Nikko clung to my hand as we walked down the empty streets, her ears flicking nervously at every small sound. Apollo followed close behind, scanning the area with precision.
“I don’t like it here,” Nikko whispered, her tail curling tightly against her leg. “It feels... bad.”
“I know,” I replied softly. “Stay close.”
“This doesn’t feel right,” Talia muttered, her voice low but tense. Her hand rested on the bow slung across her back, her eyes scanning every shadow.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Nikko clung to my arm, her tail tucked tightly against her leg, her ears flat against her head. “Papa, where is everyone?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” I replied softly, squeezing her hand for reassurance. “But we’ll find out.”
We approached the first house, a modest wooden structure with peeling paint and a sagging roof. I knocked firmly on the door, the sound echoing in the stillness. There was no answer. I waited a moment, then knocked again.
“Hello?” I called out. “We’re here to help. Your village requested aid.”
Nothing. No movement, no sound from within. I exchanged a glance with Talia, who frowned but nodded toward the next house.
We moved on, knocking on door after door. Each time, the result was the same. Silence, as if the homes were abandoned—or worse. At one house, I thought I saw a curtain twitch, but when I knocked again, there was no response.
“This is getting us nowhere,” Talia muttered, frustration creeping into her tone.
Apollo, standing vigilantly nearby, spoke up. “The behavior is consistent with paranoia or fear. They may be unwilling to engage with outsiders.”
I nodded, though the lack of any communication gnawed at me. “Let’s keep trying. Someone here has to be willing to talk.”
At the next house, Talia rapped on the door with her knuckles. “We’re here to help,” she said, her voice as steady and reassuring as she could manage. “Whatever is wrong, we can help fix it. Please, just talk to us.”
From inside came a muffled response—a single word, barked with irritation. “Go away!”
Talia’s jaw tightened, but she tried again. “Please, we just want to understand what’s happening here. We’ve been helping villages like yours for days now.”
“Leave us alone!” the voice snapped back, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps retreating further into the house.
Nikko tugged on my sleeve, her wide eyes brimming with worry. “Why don’t they want our help, Papa? Did we do something wrong?”
I shook my head, kneeling to meet her gaze. “No, sweetheart. Sometimes people are afraid, and fear can make them act in ways that don’t make sense. It’s not about us.”
Finally, at the last house on the row, I knocked again, more out of determination than hope. This time, after a long pause, the door creaked open just enough for a pale, gaunt face to peek through. A woman stood there, her eyes sunken and ringed with dark circles, her hand trembling as she gripped the edge of the door.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice thin and shaky.
I held up the mission pamphlet, keeping my tone as gentle as possible. “We’re here to help. Your village requested aid. We’ve come to see what we can do.”
Her eyes flicked to the pamphlet, then back to me. She shook her head, her grip on the door tightening. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Just... leave.”
Talia stepped forward, concern etched into her features. “Ma’am, we’ve been traveling for days to help villages just like yours. If there’s something wrong, we can—”
“Leave!” the woman snapped, her voice breaking as her face twisted with a mixture of fear and anger. Her hand darted to the door, slamming it shut before we could say another word.
The sound echoed in the silence, leaving us standing there, unsure of what to do next.
Apollo’s calm voice broke the tension. “Their behavior suggests they’re under significant duress. It may not be safe to remain here.”
I sighed heavily, my shoulders sagging under the weight of the day. “Let’s head back to the speeder.”
As we walked away, Nikko’s small voice broke through the oppressive silence. “Papa, why are they so scared? What’s wrong with them?”
I glanced down at her, wishing I had an answer that would ease her worry. “I don’t know, Nikko,” I admitted. “But we’ll figure it out. I promise.”
As we near the edge of the village, a faint creak draws my attention. To our right, a door slowly opens, and a young girl—no older than thirteen or fourteen—peeks out. Her pale face and wide, wary eyes stand out against the gloom of the doorway.
“You’re adventurers, right?” she whispers, her voice trembling but carrying a sliver of hope.
I nod, and so do Talia and Nikko. The girl glances over her shoulder nervously, then quickly gestures for us to come in.
“Please, hurry,” she says, urgency lacing her words. She steps back, holding the door ajar, her eyes darting to the street as if expecting someone—or something—to be watching.
We step inside, and she shuts the door swiftly behind us, bolting it with shaky hands. The sound of the lock sliding into place echoes in the small hall.
A strange smell lingers in the air, faint but unpleasant, like something slightly rotten left too long. I glance around, taking in the details of the entryway. It’s modest and cramped, with a row of muddy boots lined against one wall, though a few pairs have been carelessly tipped over. A wooden shepherd’s staff leans against the corner, next to a bow with a quiver of arrows hanging neatly on a peg. Stairs lead to the upper floor, and another door opens further into the house. The faint scent of decay seems stronger from that direction.
“This way,” the girl says quietly, beckoning us with a wave of her hand. She moves with hurried, almost frantic steps, her bare feet padding softly on the worn wooden floor.
The next room is a kitchen and dining area, dimly lit by a single lantern on the table. The space feels both lived-in and neglected. Plates and utensils are scattered across the table, alongside a half-eaten loaf of bread. The counters are cluttered with jars and tools, and a basin of stagnant water sits in the sink.
Seated at the table is a man who I assume to be her father. His broad shoulders slump forward, and his hands are clasped tightly together on the tabletop. His unshaven face is set in a grim expression, but his tired eyes widen in alarm the moment he sees us.
He stands abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair as he grabs the girl and pulls her behind him.
“Who are you?” he demands, his voice sharp, laced with suspicion. His calloused hand darts to a small knife lying on the counter by the stove. He snatches it up, holding it out in front of him with a trembling grip.
I raise my hands slowly, palms out to show I mean no harm. “We mean you no harm,” I say calmly. “We’re the adventurers who answered your call for help.” I pull the mission pamphlet from my satchel and hold it up for him to see.
His eyes flick to the pamphlet, but his grip on the knife remains tight. “Stay back,” he warns, his voice cracking with tension.
From behind me, Nikko peeks out cautiously, her ears twitching. The man’s gaze shifts to her, and for a moment, his expression softens in shock.
“Father, please,” the girl says, stepping out from behind him. Her hands grip his arm as she looks up at him with pleading eyes. “They’re here to help.”
The man’s breath hitches as he looks at his daughter, then back at Nikko. Slowly, his shoulders slump, and he lowers the knife, letting out a weary sigh.
“There’s no helping us,” he mutters, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the room.
Talia steps forward carefully. “What’s happening here?” she asks gently. “We thought this village was being attacked by wolves.”
The man gestures to the table, his movements sluggish and resigned. “Sit,” he says. “I’ll explain.”
We take seats around the table, though Nikko stays close to my side, her small hand clutching my sleeve. The girl stands behind her father, her eyes darting nervously between us.
The man exhales deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were attacked,” he begins, his voice hollow. “A pack of wolves came three nights ago. Killed a few of our sheep, but... we chased them off. Sent a hunting party out after them, but they came back empty-handed. No wolves. No game. Nothing.”
He pauses, his voice faltering. “But that’s not what’s been plaguing us.”
“What has?” Talia asks, her tone steady but tinged with concern.
The man’s hands tighten into fists on the table. “Nightmares,” he says hoarsely. “For the past three days, every night, we’ve been plagued by... terrible dreams. Horrible, horrible things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
His daughter nods, her face pale. “Everyone has them,” she whispers. “Every night.”
The man continues, his voice growing heavier. “But the worst of it... is the mistrust.”
“Mistrust?” I echo, leaning forward slightly.
He nods, his eyes downcast. “I don’t know why, but those I was closest to... I can’t stand the sight of them anymore. It’s like some... poison in my mind, turning me against them. Friends glare at each other like enemies. Children fight over nothing. Neighbors accuse each other of theft, of sabotage. It’s madness.”
His voice cracks as he continues. “No one dares to leave the village anymore. Not because of the wolves, but because... because we’d tear each other apart if we tried.”
The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of his words pressing down on all of us.
I glance at Talia, who meets my gaze with a troubled expression. “What about your crops and livestock?” I ask. “Are they dying, like in the other villages?”
The man shakes his head. “No. Our crops are fine. Our livestock are fine. It’s just... us.”
“What about your water?” I press. “Does it taste off?”
Again, he shakes his head. “The well’s clean. Everything should be fine, but it isn’t.”
His voice drops to a whisper. “It’s like something’s inside us, crawling into our minds and twisting us.”
I nod slowly, trying to piece together the puzzle. There’s no pattern, no consistency, just chaos.
The man looks up at me, his eyes heavy with despair. “I appreciate you coming,” he says finally, his tone soft but firm. “But there’s nothing you can do here. Please... leave us.”
The girl looks at her father, her lips trembling as if she wants to protest, but she doesn’t say a word.
I glance at my companions and stand, nodding to the man. “If you ever change your mind, send word. We’ll come back.”
He doesn’t respond, just stares at the table as we make our way to the door. As we step outside, the oppressive silence of the village greets us once more. Nikko clings to my arm, and Talia keeps her bow close at hand.
“What’s happening here?” Talia asks quietly as we head back to the speeder.
I don’t answer right away, my thoughts swirling with questions. Something dark is spreading through these villages, something we don’t yet understand.
⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔
We set up camp in a quiet meadow under a blanket of stars. The villagers' coldness forced us to find shelter outdoors, and the air is thick with tension. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on our faces as we sit in a circle. Nikko listens intently as we discuss the strange occurrences we've been witnessing.
"I've never seen people act so strangely," Talia says, her brows furrowed. "It's like they're not themselves anymore."
Apollo, standing vigilantly by the fire, nods. "Their behavior is inconsistent with typical human responses to distress. It's as if something or someone is manipulating them."
"I can't help but think about the Shadowfell we encountered," I say, glancing around the group. "Its presence... it felt malevolent. Could it be spreading its influence?"
"Do you think it's behind all this?" Talia asks, her voice steady but laced with worry.
"I think it's very likely," I reply. "Once we finish these remaining missions, we need to head to the capital and request an audience with the king. He needs to know what's happening."
The fire dims as we settle into our tents for the night. I drift into a restless sleep, only to find myself enveloped in darkness. A sinister voice begins whispering to me, its tone dripping with malice.
"They doubt you, Ryu. They will betray you, just as Eldrin and his companions have. It is only a matter of time."
"No," I argue, trying to push the voice away. "They trust me."
The voice chuckles darkly. "Trust? They see you as a threat. You are not worthy of their trust or love. You failed before; you will fail again."
Images of Lyra's death flash before me, and I feel a wave of guilt crash over me. "I won't let it happen again," I whisper, my resolve wavering.
"Oh, but it will Ryu. You cannot run from your destined fate."
I jolt awake, my heart pounding. I find myself over Talia, my vibro blade pressed against her neck. She is still asleep, unaware of the danger. Nikko lies beside her, deep in sleep. Horrified, I drop the blade and stumble out of the tent, my breathing frantic.
"What's happening to me?" I mutter, tears streaming down my face. I collapse to my knees, my body shaking.
Talia stirs and wakes up, hearing my distress. She rushes out of the tent and kneels beside me. "Ryu, what's wrong? What happened?"
"I... I almost... I almost killed you," I choke out, my voice trembling. "I need to leave. You and Nikko aren't safe with me."
Talia places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "It wasn't you, Ryu. Something was influencing you."
I shake off her touch, the fear gripping my heart. "That's exactly why I need to go. I can't control it."
Nikko wakes up, her eyes wide with fear. "Papa, you promised you'd never leave me. Why do you want to go?"
Suddenly, the dark voice returns, louder and more insistent. "Kill them. Kill them all!"
"No!" I yell, trying to fight off the voice. "Get out of my head!"
⚔⚔⚔⚔⚔
Talia watches as he clutches his head, yelling at the unseen force. She steps forward cautiously. "Ryu, it's me, Talia. Please, calm down."
Ryu suddenly looks up, his motion unnatural. He ignites his lightsaber and raises his hand, using an invisible force to lift Talia off the ground. She gasps, struggling to breathe as the force chokes her.
Nikko screams, "Papa, stop! Please!"
Talia feels herself being pulled toward Ryu, the air growing thinner. Just as she starts to lose consciousness, a blue circle of energy hits Ryu from the side, breaking his concentration. He collapses to the ground, the lightsaber deactivating.
Talia falls to the ground, gasping for air. She looks up to see Apollo retracting its blaster back into its wrist. "Thank you, Apollo," she manages to say, her voice weak.
The droid nods as it steps forward and kneels before Ryu, checking on him.
"Is... is he-" Talia stutters but the droid shakes its head.
"I merely stunned him. He will be unconscious for several hours but otherwise he is unharmed."
Nikko rushes to Talia's side, tears streaming down her face. "What's wrong with Papa?"
Talia hugs her tightly, her mind racing. "I don't know, Nikko, but we'll figure it out. It has to be connected to the Shadowfell."
Talia nods, trying to think of a solution. "What can we do for him, Apollo?"
Apollo considers for a moment. "There is a mage in the Elven village of Lindórinan who has helped with nightmares before. Perhaps he can help Ryu again."
"Then that's where we'll go," Talia says, determination in her voice. She looks down at Nikko, who is still clinging to her. "We'll get help for him, I promise."
Nikko nods, still crying but holding on to hope. They quickly pack up the camp, with Apollo driving the speeder and Ryu lying unconscious in the wagon. Talia holds one of Ryu's hands, and Nikko holds the other, their minds filled with worry and determination.