Months had passed since the last great threat. The witch was no more, and peace had settled over Karmine. While fiends and rogue beasts still roamed the outskirts, they were easily dispatched by guards or roving adventurers. Trade continued to flourish, people breathed easier.

  Until that morning.

  The sun had barely crested the distant hills when three merchant caravans rolled along the southern trade road toward Karmine. The road was quiet—too quiet. A thin mist clung to the grass flanking the path, swallowing the sound of hooves and wooden wheels.

  Five mercenaries, hired from the adventurer’s guild to protect the convoy, rode alongside the three wagons —well equipped, eyes sharp. Each wagon was loaded with crates of goods: spices, furs, cloth, and rare ores—valuable cargo from beyond the southern hills.

  The lead caravan driver, a wiry man named Derren, squinted ahead. Something about the stillness made his skin crawl. The birds weren’t singing. Even the wind held its breath.

  Then a sudden gust came.

  A massive shadow blotted out the sun. Wings, impossibly wide and black as night, swept over the caravan. The air turned cold. The horses shrieked in terror. Something dropped from the sky.

  The mercenaries shouted and drew their weapons, forming a defensive line. But they never stood a chance.

  The creature struck like a thunderclap, landing in a blur of motion. It crashed into the lead escort, crumpling his armor with a single blow. A winged figure cloaked in writhing black mist rose from the crater, its molten gold eyes burning like twin coins in the dark. It moved with otherworldly grace and brutality, tearing through steel and flesh with claws that shimmered like obsidian.

  Panic erupted. Horses screamed. The second wagon overturned in the chaos.

  Derren screamed as one mercenary was flung into the side of his cart, crumpling to the ground. Blood seeped from beneath his armor—he didn’t move. The third wagon burst into flames, a single swipe from the creature igniting the crates within, incinerating the people onboard. One escort was ripped apart by the creature’s bladed, clawed foot; another was dragged into the air, flailed about like a toy, then dropped—his body hitting the earth with a sickening thud.

  Derren scrambled to the back of the overturned wagon, crawling beneath torn tarps and splintered wood. His leg was crushed, arms badly wounded. Blood pooled beneath him. He couldn’t move. He could only watch, breath shallow, as the creature stood amidst the carnage. Its wings unfurled wide—then it vanished into the sky, leaving behind nothing but silence and flame.

  The first wagon—Derren’s—had somehow broken free in the chaos. The horses sped northward, its tarp torn, cargo still intact.

  Just south of Karmine, the road wardens spotted the wagon and the horses speeding down the trade route—no driver, no escort, no passengers.

  Startled, the wardens pursued it until the horses stopped just outside the gates.

  When they climbed aboard, they found only scattered crates, bloodstains... and silence.

  The guards raised the alert. Word was sent to the captain. Nearby merchants, drawn by the commotion, began to gather around the halted wagon, eyes narrowing as they took in the bloodied crates and the driverless seat.

  One older merchant leaned on his cane, brow furrowed. "What happened to that wagon?"

  "Ran in without a soul on it," muttered another, a younger man with a trader's vest stained from the morning’s travel. "No driver. No guards. No one."

  A third merchant crouched near the edge of the cart, eyeing the dark stains on the wood. "That's blood. Fresh."

  "Bandits?" someone asked behind them.

  "No," said the older one, shaking his head. "Bandits don’t leave the goods behind. And they sure as hell don’t vanish without a trace."

  A woman with silver rings on her fingers crossed her arms. “I heard the southern road’s been quiet. Too quiet. Like something’s scaring off the wildlife.”

  “Could be fiends,” another merchant offered.

  “Fiends don’t do this,” the older one replied. “Not in daylight. And not without a fight.”

  The younger trader looked around, voice low. “They say one of the road wardens spotted the wagon coming in at full gallop. No driver. Just blood and broken crates.”

  Someone scoffed. “Maybe the driver fell off. Or ran.”

  “If that were true, we’d have found the body by now,” the older man said grimly. “No one’s found anything.”

  A hush fell over the group. One by one, heads turned southward—toward the horizon, where the road disappeared into the mist.

  By noon, the whispers had spread beyond the gates. In markets and bakeries, forges and stables, people spoke in hushed tones, casting wary glances at the southern sky.

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  Something had returned to the roads. Something unseen. And it was coming.

  Meanwhile, far to the west, Linda moved through the port town with quiet ease.

  The clamor of merchants, creaking of carts, and cries of gulls overhead blended into a familiar hum. She had been overseeing the delivery of goods all morning—crates of fabrics, sealed barrels, and woven baskets bound for merchant stalls. It was a routine she knew well. Everything was going smoothly, just as it always had.

  And despite the shifting winds to the south, here, everything still felt… normal.

  This had been her life before Sivil returned. Before Luna.

  And now, even with the girl in her care and shadows stirring in the south, she held tightly to these simple rhythms. For now, this corner of the world was calm.

  By midday, Karmine’s quaint yet refined inn, The Ember Crown, buzzed with warm chatter and the clatter of cutlery. Inside, Luna sat with Tara, Emily, and Chester at a polished wooden table near the center of the room. They had just finished a hearty lunch, their bellies full and their spirits light.

  “So then he grabs the blade with his bare hands—straight from the forge!” Chester laughed, shaking his head. “Ran around the shop yelling while the master just sits there sipping soup straight from the bowl like nothing happened, didn’t even flinch!”

  Luna smiled, resting her chin on her hand. But her gaze had drifted, her fingers unconsciously tightened around her wand, as a ripple of memory stirred within her.

  Tara noticed first. "Luna?"

  Luna blinked, then looked around as if just waking from a dream. "Sorry. Just… a feeling."

  Then, the inn’s door burst open.

  A gust of cool air swept in with a frantic townsman. Outside, voices rose—worried, urgent. From the square, the unmistakable sound of marching boots echoed against cobblestone. Elite guards passed in formation, summoned by the captain of the guard. Something had happened.

  Luna and her friends moved to the doorway to watch. Whispers spread like wildfire through the growing crowd:

  “Another attack…”

  “Merchants from the south—they never made it.”

  “A road warden said a caravan reached the gates… but no one was onboard.”

  As Luna and the others went out and made their way back toward the loom house, their conversation picked up again.

  Tara frowned. “What were they talking about? Was there an attack outside town?”

  “From the looks of it, yeah,” Chester said, “Guards are assembling at the square,” he added.

  Emily bit her lip. “I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

  Luna remained quiet, lost in thought amid the commotion. Her thoughts drifted to the south—toward Elise’s home.

  What’s happening? What kind of threat could this be? Is she safe?

  They continued walking, passing townsfolk who whispered nervously about the morning’s events.

  When they reached the square, the mood had shifted. A line of guards stood at attention, their armor gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. At the center of the gathering, the captain of the guard spoke in low, urgent tones with two knights. One of them was hard to miss—Garret Warrick, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding.

  Around the edges of the square, a handful of mercenaries and adventurers had gathered—grizzled veterans and younger thrill-seekers alike. Some leaned against pillars or crates, arms crossed, others stood with hands on hilts, watching intently. They weren’t part of the guard, but news like this reached everyone. And they knew trouble when they heard it.

  Among them, Gustav stood with Nico and a few of their friends, all of them shifting restlessly.

  “Father,” Gustav called, stepping closer. “Good thing you’re here—remember that guy at the blacksm—”

  “Not now, Gustav,” Garret cut in sharply.

  Gustav fell silent, not daring another word.

  “If you don’t have anything better to do,” Garret added with a stern glance, ““then stand there and listen.”

  The other boys backed away, falling silent. Even Nico averted his gaze.

  He turned to the captain. “What do we know?”

  The captain gave a grim nod and began recounting what little they had learned: the caravan, found abandoned outside the gate, bloodied but intact. No survivors. No signs of who—or what—was responsible.

  “We’ve doubled the wardens along the southern roads,” the captain said.

  Garret exchanged glances with the other knight, then gave a firm nod. They left immediately to report to the Knight-Commander.

  Before the hour was out, word had spread. The town’s officials were called to an emergency council meeting.

  Something was stirring in the south. And for the first time in many moons, the air around Karmine carried the scent of fear.

  Later that afternoon, within the fortified hall of Karmine's central keep, the council convened.

  The chamber was dim but dignified, lit by flickering lanterns and filtered sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows. Hues of crimson, blue, and gold spilled across the polished stone floor, casting soft patterns that did little to ease the heavy tension in the room.

  Count Dane Almore, Lord of Karmine, sat at the head of the round table, his fingers steepled, expression unreadable. Around him gathered the town’s highest-ranking officials.

  To his right sat Knight-Commander Halric Dorne, a man of few words and many battles, his steel-blue gaze fixed ahead.

  Next to him was Master Ronan Voss, head of the town guard—gruff, dependable, and ever pragmatic.

  Across from them, Lady Farra Mira, Councilwoman of Trade, tapped her fingers restlessly on the polished oak table. Her robes were fine, but her expression was drawn, her voice tense when she finally broke the silence.

  “We’ve lost three caravans now. Five elite escorts dead. And last night, the road wardens stationed in the east failed to report back. This isn’t a coincidence—it’s a message.”

  “We can't afford to keep losing merchants,” she snapped, slamming her palm down. “The guilds are already on edge. If southern trade collapses, it won’t just be our coffers—our reputation will fall with it.”

  “Worse,” added Helter Merrow, the silver-haired, sharp-tongued head of the Adventurer’s Guild, “if word spreads that Karmine can’t protect its own roads, we’ll lose every out-of-town contract. Nobody risks death to sell us silk and ore.”

  Voss frowned. “We still don’t know what we’re dealing with. Fiends, maybe. Bandits wouldn’t have left the goods behind.”

  Helter gave a humorless laugh. “Unless they weren’t there for the cargo.”

  “Then what?” Farra asked.

  “Fear,” Halric said. His voice was low, but it carried. “Chaos. Control. The kind of attack meant to shake foundations—not take supplies.”

  Voss leaned forward. “There was one wagon that made it to the gates. No people. Cargo untouched.”

  “Then maybe it slipped free,” Helter muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

  Count Dane’s gaze swept across them. “Speculation will only get us so far. We need answers.”

  Halric stood. “I’ll send three knights and six guards to the southern road to retrace the caravan’s path. I’ll also deploy two knights and four guards to investigate the eastern warden station. If the road wardens are alive, they’ll find them. If not… we’ll learn what left them behind.”

  Count Dane nodded. “Do it. Quietly. We can’t afford a panic.”

  The room fell into heavy silence, each council member weighed by the gravity of the moment.

  Beyond the keep’s thick walls, the sun had begun to dip. Shadows crept longer through the city’s alleys and towers.

  And far to the south, something stirred beneath the clouds, unseen and waiting.

  The storm had returned to Terra.

  And it had only just begun.