The Noxmare Forest stretched wide across the fog-covered northern plains, nestled between two modest mountain ranges, Mount Velmire to the west and the Serah Hills to the east. From afar, it looked like a mess of shadows that light never dared touch. Even in daylight, the forest stayed dark, its towering trees clustered tight, their leaves thick as spiderwebs.
Though silent, the woods held a natural path used by old folk and wild creatures, Arakil Trail, a narrow dirt route looping in from the south. Locals called it 'The life-or-death road,' 'cause anyone without magic who strayed off it was never seen again.
But that night? Something was off. The stillness vanished. Screams of children rang out, colliding with the wails of their mothers. The men, already taken down, some lying dead with blowdarts lodged in their necks and scattered across their bodies.
