Three days passed uneventfully in the village. Damon had taken back his old house, kicking his father's relatives out without hesitation.
Oddly enough, they didn't even grumble. After reclaiming it, he should have been able to relax—should have felt some satisfaction—but he didn't. Something sat on his chest like a weight, a lingering unease.
The feeling refused to fade….
He hated these feelings. For him, they were usually a sign that something terrible was about to happen.
His shadow had remained completely natural, showing no strange distortions, not even its regular playful movements, even when his two pets—the raven Croft and the squirrel—tried to provoke it. It behaved like any ordinary shadow.
This was unusual. Damon wondered if it had anything to do with what was on the distant horizon.
Trouble had to be waiting…
The last three days, he had spent in his old home, surrounded by familiar walls, revisiting old memories.
This would be his last moments of peace.
