Six cloaked figures moved silently through the decaying land, their presence scarcely more than fleeting shadows within the oppressive darkness. Each step seemed cautious, careful, as though the land itself watched and listened. Among them, a smaller shape slunk low to the ground—a creature whose golden eyes glinted warily beneath the hooded gaze of its companions.

Raelyn's eyes strained against the blackness, catching only glimpses of what was left of a land that had once flourished. There was no light here—no moon, no stars—only endless, swirling clouds heavy with shadow, blotting out any chance of celestial illumination. Beneath the thick veil of darkness, Bromaric revealed itself only in distorted fragments: gnarled and broken shapes looming from the earth, skeletal fingers of dead branches reaching desperately toward the sky.

The trees weren't merely lifeless—they appeared warped, twisted by forces beyond comprehension. Their trunks were split wide open, exposing pale, splintered bark that peeled away like torn flesh, the wood beneath scarred by deep gouges as though something had clawed its way out from within. Raelyn shivered at the image. Her stomach tightened uneasily, and she drew her cloak closer, hiding the faint, comforting glow of her locket beneath layers of fabric.

A silence had settled heavily upon the land, suffocating every echo of life, every stir of movement or breath of wind. The stillness wasn't merely unnatural; it felt wrong, like stepping into the grave of a forgotten world. The air was cold, tinged with a metallic tang that clung to the back of Raelyn's throat. Every breath felt heavy, laden with the scent of damp rot and decay.

Ahead of Raelyn, Hovan moved quietly, his steps purposeful and measured. His eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, his body alert to any hint of danger lurking within the oppressive gloom. Sylvy took up the rear, her hands poised near the hilts of her twin blades, her posture tense and wary. Every so often, Raelyn caught Sylvy glancing over her shoulder, eyes narrowing at shadows that might or might not have moved behind them.

Benji walked close by Raelyn's side, his breath quickening now and then before he forced it back to steadiness. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly enough to turn his knuckles white, but Raelyn pretended not to notice. This land was enough to unsettle even the bravest heart, and Benji had every reason to feel afraid.

Rakz paced alongside Raelyn, his claws clicking softly against the lifeless earth. Occasionally, he paused, his head tilting slightly as he sniffed the air. A low growl reverberated in his throat each time, as if something invisible was brushing too close, lingering just beyond their senses. Raelyn reached down, briefly resting her hand on Rakz's scaled head, hoping to reassure him—and herself—though it did little to quell the unease churning in her gut.

Lira moved quietly behind Benji, her gaze drifting from side to side with a quiet intensity. Her brow furrowed deeply, as though she struggled to piece together what she was sensing. After a few more steps, she quickened her pace, matching Raelyn's stride. Lira's expression was strained, her emerald eyes troubled.

"Something wrong?" Raelyn whispered, barely audible.

Lira hesitated, then gave a faint nod. "The land... it feels suffocated. Like it's been strangled too long to fight back." Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, and her delicate features twisted briefly in distaste. "The magic here is corrupted. It doesn't feel right."

Raelyn pressed her lips together, nodding slowly. She extended her senses cautiously, reaching out toward the magic that lingered in the air. Immediately, she felt it—a thick, oily sensation, like stepping into mud that clung stubbornly to her skin, resistant and heavy. A quiet shudder ran through her, and she lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. "Could it corrupt us, too? Like it corrupted the land?"

Lira shook her head softly. "Not unless we allow it to." Despite her words, her tone was grave, her eyes betraying a lingering uncertainty.

Behind them, Thomrik's heavy steps crunched against the dead earth, his breathing steady but unusually quiet. Raelyn glanced back, noting the set of his jaw, the grim determination etched into the dwarf's usually jovial face. His grip remained firm around his warhammer, ready at a moment's notice.

The oppressive silence enveloped them again, and Raelyn found her thoughts drifting to the friend they had left behind. Danio's absence was palpable, an unspoken ache among the group that lingered in every quiet step they took. She could see it most in Thomrik, in the deep crease between his brows and the rigidness of his posture. His thoughts were elsewhere, though he said nothing of it.

Lost in reflection, Raelyn barely registered Hovan's raised fist signaling a silent halt. She bumped lightly into his back, startled.

"What is it?" she whispered urgently, looking around in the hopes of finding the reason behind their halt.

He raised a finger, cautioning her to silence, his head tilted slightly as he listened intently. The others froze immediately, tense and silent, every eye scanning the darkened trees around them. Sylvy's stance shifted, her hand inching slowly toward the grip of her blade.

Raelyn held her breath, every muscle in her body coiled tight with dread. Her pulse quickened, thrumming loudly in her ears as she strained to listen, but nothing disturbed the stillness—no rustling leaves, no quiet footfalls.

What if Hovan was wrong? What if the demons hadn't all marched to Ardesco or to the siege at Brystwy Forest? What if, right now, in this darkness, they were quietly surrounded, watched by unseen eyes, waiting to strike?

A chill crept down her spine, fear prickling at the edges of her awareness. She glanced toward Hovan. His posture was rigid, poised like a predator sensing danger nearby. Sylvy was equally still, her blades halfway drawn, every inch of her ready for violence. Lira's eyes were wide, her breathing shallow, while Benji stood frozen, visibly tense, as if trying to keep himself from trembling.

Seconds stretched on endlessly, each one thickening the dread pooling in Raelyn's stomach. She began to wonder if Hovan had imagined it. If the darkness had twisted his senses, his fear conjuring threats from nothing?

Then, as if answering her, the quiet was shattered—a sharp, sudden snap echoed from the shadows just ahead.

Instantly, their heads snapped toward the sound. Raelyn peered into the darkness, her eyes narrowing. Had something moved just now—a shadow slipping between the broken trees? Or was the oppressive darkness playing tricks on her senses?

"We're being followed," Hovan murmured quietly, eyes narrowed as he scanned the treeline.

Benji's voice was barely audible, edged with tension. "What do we do?"

Thomrik shifted eagerly, tightening his grip around his warhammer. But Hovan shook his head immediately, caution sharp in his eyes. "Nothing. Not yet."

Benji's eyes flicked nervously back toward the darkness behind them. "Should we try to lose it? If it reports our position—"

Sylvy shook her head sharply. "If it wanted to summon help, it would've done so by now. Whatever it is, it's watching—not attacking."

The uncertainty did nothing to calm Raelyn's racing heart.

Hovan nodded. "Exactly. And chasing or fighting what is out there would only increase the risk of exposure." he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't like it either, but our best course of action is to keep going. Whatever it is doesn't want to harm us. At least not yet." 

Rakz sniffed the air tentatively, his frills rising slightly, but he neither growled nor hissed. Raelyn noted that reaction carefully. Whatever watched them from the darkness, Rakz did not perceive it as an immediate threat—yet the unsettling feeling remained, curling around her stomach.

Hovan motioned them forward with a curt gesture. "Keep your eyes open."

The group slowly resumed their pace, crunching softly through the corrupted soil. Thomrik let out a barely audible grunt of disappointment as they moved on without confrontation, clearly eager to unleash his frustrations on something tangible.

Raelyn glanced back once more, eyes narrowing in search of whatever hid among the shadows. She thought, just briefly, that she saw movement—a quick shifting shape sliding from one tree to another—but the darkness closed around it instantly, leaving her unsure if it had ever truly been there at all.

She forced herself to look forward, chest tight with uncertainty. Ahead stretched the desolation of Bromaric, waiting to reveal whatever horrors lay hidden beneath its shadowed veil.

Benji stopped suddenly, his posture rigid. "There's... something ahead."

Instantly, the group halted, hands instinctively twitching toward weapons.

"What is it?" Hovan demanded quietly, voice tight with tension.

Benji hesitated, squinting through the gloom. "I'm not sure. I think—I think it's a village."

Raelyn's heart steadied, her initial rush of panic subsiding slightly. They moved forward cautiously, stepping lightly until the darkness thinned just enough for shapes to resolve from the shadows. She paused, a sinking dread twisting in her stomach.

It was a village, or at least what remained of one. Small, crude buildings stood clustered together, their roofs sagging as if burdened by invisible weight. The thatch was rotten and peeling away in places, and the wooden walls were warped, darkened by decay. A few scattered torches burned faintly along the village perimeter, their flames sputtering weakly, like candles on the verge of drowning.

Yet, despite the presence of fire, there was no movement, no noise—no signs of life at all. Raelyn felt the heaviness of the silence, the unnatural stillness pressing on her chest. No market stalls, no bustling villagers, no livestock in pens, or carts laden with goods. Only emptiness. It felt more like a graveyard than a place anyone could call home.

"Gods," Benji whispered, his voice thick with emotion. 

Raelyn's gaze drifted over the small homes. Only one chimney released a thin curl of smoke—fragile, pale, as if the fire inside were struggling merely to exist. A solitary sign that this hollow place still sheltered life, though barely.

Her stomach twisted painfully, guilt and sorrow knotting together. She imagined the villagers within, hiding behind those walls, too afraid or too broken to step outside, resigned to a life stripped of hope or joy. How long had they lived like this? How long could they survive knowing their land belonged to Baragor and his corruption?

"How can they endure this?" Raelyn murmured, her voice barely audible, eyes fixed on the solitary chimney. "What kind of lives do they have, knowing every dawn belongs to darkness?"

Lira's expression softened beside her, eyes brimming with quiet sorrow. "They've forgotten hope. They're surviving, but not living."

Raelyn felt a pang of helplessness. They couldn't stop, couldn't offer comfort or aid. Not now. She knew that, logically, but it didn't ease the heavy weight pressing on her heart. If they failed, would these people ever see the sun again? Would they ever know a life not shadowed by Baragor's cruelty?

Sylvy shifted impatiently at the group's rear, her voice low but firm. "Sun's going to rise soon. We need shelter. We can't afford to linger."

Hovan turned, his sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon. Raelyn followed his gaze, squinting through the predawn gloom until her eyes settled on a dark silhouette looming at the edge of a nearby field—a farmhouse, half-hidden beneath the shadows of warped and twisted trees.

"There," Hovan said finally, pointing toward the building. "Looks like an old farm."

Raelyn took a cautious step forward, her stomach tightening in apprehension. Even from a distance, the farmhouse looked abandoned. Its roof sagged beneath a layer of tangled vines, blackened and shriveled. One wall had collapsed partially inward, leaving a jagged opening like a gaping wound. The fields surrounding it lay barren, the earth scarred and cracked. 

Thomrik grunted softly, stepping up beside Hovan. "Think it's safe?"

"Could be people living there," Benji murmured uncertainly. "What if they—"

"What if they turn us over to Baragor?" Thomrik finished for him, his voice edged with quiet suspicion.

Silence settled heavily over the group, broken only by the faint rustle of dead grass in the breeze. Sylvy crossed her arms, her expression stern but contemplative. Lira, however, stepped forward, emerald eyes focused sharply on the neglected farm.

"No," she said quietly, shaking her head. "Look at the fields." Her fingers gestured lightly toward the cracked and lifeless earth. "This ground hasn't been tended in a long time. Nothing grows here, nothing at all."

Raelyn frowned, studying the fields closer. She could feel the truth in Lira's words; even from this distance, the emptiness of the farm was undeniable. There were no animals, no fresh tracks in the dirt—just silence, emptiness, and ruin.

"She's right," Raelyn finally said, her voice low but certain. "No one lives there."

Benji exhaled, relief briefly flickering over his features before giving way to renewed concern. "Is it safe, though?"

Thomrik gave a low grunt, eyes narrowing as he studied the abandoned farm. "Might not have people, but doesn't mean something else hasn't moved in."

Rakz lifted his head, sniffing at the air curiously. His tail twitched anxiously as he looked back toward Raelyn with a quiet chirp. It was as if he, too, could feel the unsettling aura of the place, but he made no indication of immediate danger.

Hovan shifted, squaring his shoulders as he came to a decision. "It's our best option. We'll move quietly, check it out. If it's clear, we hide there until nightfall."

Without another word, he began walking, his steps cautious, measured. The others followed suit, falling into formation behind him, every sense heightened, every muscle taut with anticipation.

As they neared the farm, its desolation became clearer, more pronounced. Raelyn's stomach knotted tighter with every step, dread clinging to her like the stale, stagnant air around them.

The farmhouse itself loomed large against the dim sky, its splintered wooden walls warped from rot and neglect. The roof, partially caved in, allowed tendrils of ivy to snake inward, reclaiming what humanity had left behind. Rusted hinges held doors loosely in place, creaking softly in the gentle breeze. Broken windows stared outward like hollow eyes, dark and unseeing.

To the side, a barn stood—somehow more intact, though no less eerie. Its heavy wooden doors hung askew on rusted hinges, and though the barn walls still stood, they leaned precariously as if one harsh wind could topple them. Its faded paint peeled off in patches, and a musty, decayed scent lingered around it, carried faintly on the breeze.

Thomrik nodded toward the barn. "That might offer us enough cover."

Sylvy stepped beside him. "Agreed. We'll be less exposed in there."

Hovan hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Alright. But move slowly. Stay alert."

They approached carefully, footsteps muted as they crossed the dead earth. Hovan reached the barn doors first, pushing one aside just enough to peer within. A faint, creaking groan filled the silence as the door opened wider, echoing inside the barn.

Raelyn held her breath.

Inside, shafts of gray, dim light leaked through gaps in the roof, illuminating a dusty interior. Abandoned stalls lined one wall, their wooden frames cracked, moldering straw scattered in clumps along the floor. Rusted metal tools hung askew, their shapes warped and twisted by neglect, and piles of decayed hay and moldy sacks filled the corners. The air was thick and stale, heavy with the scent of damp wood, decay, and something faintly metallic, almost coppery—like blood or rust. The floor was littered with debris—broken planks, rusted nails, remnants of a life long forgotten. 

Hovan stepped cautiously through the barn's center, his eyes scanning each darkened corner before finally turning back to Raelyn. "Clear," he murmured softly, though his brow furrowed with lingering uncertainty. After another moment, he turned fully to face her, his gaze intent and serious. "Raelyn, can you cleanse the place? Just in case there are shadow demons lurking nearby?"

Raelyn nodded silently, stepping forward. She reached beneath her cloak, fingers closing around the familiar, reassuring coolness of the locket. Carefully, she withdrew it, its surface immediately responding to her touch. A soft glow emanated from it, casting pale beams of white light that chased away the shadows, illuminating their surroundings with gentle clarity.

She took a slow, steadying breath, holding the locket aloft. Its glow intensified briefly, flaring brightly enough that she squinted against the sudden brilliance, then dimmed, flickered, and brightened again. The pulsing was erratic, unsteady, as though the locket itself was uncertain of the darkness it sought to purge.

Sylvy took a wary step back as she eyed the flickering light. Benji moved closer, instinctively positioning himself near Raelyn, brows furrowed in concern.

Lira moved beside Raelyn, her gaze fixed on the locket, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and unease. "Is it supposed to do that?"

Raelyn hesitated, glancing at the swirling glow within the locket's heart. The selenite stone inside pulsed unevenly, brightness swelling and receding like a hesitant heartbeat. "I don't know," she admitted softly. "It reacts to darkness, to shadow demons, but I've never seen it behave like this before."

"Could it mean they're here? Watching us right now?" Sylvy asked, her voice quiet but sharp.

Raelyn swallowed, fingers tightening around the locket. She focused, reaching out gently with her senses, trying to feel the air around her. But the dark magic that saturated Bromaric made everything feel dense, cloying, like wading through mud. Her breath caught, uncertainty flickering through her.

"I can't tell," she finally admitted. "The darkness here—it's different. Denser. I think the darkness recovers as fast as the locket can cleanse it."

Hovan's jaw tightened as he exchanged a tense look with Sylvy. He shook his head slowly. "We don't have the luxury of second-guessing now. Demons or no, this barn is our best option. We're running out of time."

The others moved inside cautiously, eyes still scanning for threats. Thomrik grunted softly, stepping over a shattered wheelbarrow as he surveyed their temporary shelter. Sylvy, however, paused in the doorway, her expression skeptical as she glanced at the rickety beams above.

"Looks sturdy enough to last till morning," she said dryly. "Maybe."

Lira wrinkled her nose, gaze lingering on the thick layer of dust covering everything in sight. "I suppose it could be worse."

Benji shot her a doubtful look. "How?"

She offered him a faint, fleeting smile. "It could've had demons."

Benji hesitated, then exhaled, giving her a grudging nod. "Fair point."

Raelyn stepped further into the barn, the shadows wrapping around her like a shroud. Rakz trailed close at her heels, claws clicking softly against the dusty floor. His eyes glinted warily, but the tension in his body slowly eased, reassured by the relative safety of their new refuge.

Hovan stepped closer to Sylvy, exchanging a brief glance with her before turning back to Raelyn and the others.

"We'll sweep the area once more," he announced quietly, his tone brooking no argument. "Make sure nothing is lurking nearby."

Sylvy nodded in agreement, unsheathing one of her curved blades, her gaze steady and determined. "We'll be quick. Don't do anything stupid until we get back."

With that, the pair disappeared into the night, their shadows swiftly absorbed by the darkness.

Raelyn watched them go, anxiety knotting in her stomach, though she knew Hovan and Sylvy were more than capable. Still, every moment they were apart felt like an eternity in the eerie silence of Bromaric.

She exhaled slowly, looking around the barn once more, her companions gathering silently around her.