Dawn broke with a silence heavier than night.
Elira stood outside the temple, the cool morning air brushing against her skin. The village was eerily still, as though the whispers of the night before had drained its people of sound. Even the birds that usually greeted the morning remained absent, their voices lost to the same unseen force that held the world in suspense.
Behind her, the temple doors creaked open, and Elder Saelin stepped out. His face was weary, deepened by lines of worry. "We have little time," he said. "A council must be called."
Elira nodded. "And what of the villagers?"
"They are afraid." He exhaled slowly. "And fear breeds recklessness."
As if summoned by his words, a sudden commotion rose from the village square. Raised voices, hurried footsteps. Elira and Saelin exchanged a glance before making their way down the stone path, Tavin trailing behind them.
A crowd had gathered. At its center stood a man Elira did not recognize—tall, clad in a travel-worn cloak, his face shadowed beneath the hood. His presence commanded attention, though he remained silent, waiting for the murmur of the villagers to die down.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low but firm. "The Watcher stirs."
Gasps rippled through the gathered villagers. Elira's heart pounded.
"Who are you?" Saelin asked, stepping forward.
The stranger lifted his gaze, and for the first time, Elira saw his eyes—pale as moonlight, filled with an ancient knowing.
"I am here to guide you," he said. "Before it is too late."