The days that followed were calm and full of progress.
It had been a little more than five months since the last royal inspection, and Greyrest looked nothing like the ruined place Ethan had first seen.
Children ran along neat cobblestone paths, their laughter echoing between rows of rebuilt homes. Merchants cleaned their stalls early every morning, placing goods in tidy rows instead of the disorderly heaps of before. The fountain flowed clearly, its water no longer a source of sickness but a reason for pride. The air often smelled of herbs drying on racks or of roasted grains from the market. Even Garren, the blacksmith who rarely smiled, had been heard humming while striking his hammer.
Life had changed. The people had changed.
No one spoke of walls anymore. Instead, they spoke of gardens, of shared meals, of a festival they were already planning for the next season. Families lived in stronger homes, with frames set straight and roofs sealed against rain. A sense of dignity had returned.
Ethan saw this with cautious optimism. Perhaps, he thought, they were finally starting over.
Then the silence came.
At first, it seemed harmless. A woman told Lina she hadn't seen sparrows nesting near her roof that morning. A boy asked his father why the frogs by the river had stopped croaking. A shepherd reported his flock had grown uneasy for no clear reason.
No one paid much attention at first. Such things happened now and then.
But the silence deepened.
By the middle of the week, Ethan himself noticed it. The forest no longer carried the constant rhythm of life. No bird calls, no rustling leaves, not even the buzzing of insects. The trees stood still as though frozen.
One morning, as Ethan stood near the fountain, the silence pressed against him. The bubbling water seemed unnaturally loud. It was like standing in a sealed room.
That night, when he and Lina checked the new houses at the edge of town, he said quietly, "The world feels like it's holding its breath."
Lina only nodded, her expression grim. She did not disagree.
By evening, whispers had spread through the tavern. Farmers claimed their cattle refused to graze near the woods. Some swore they heard wolves howling in daylight. Others said birds had flown south far too early.
The elders soon gathered at the central hall. Garren was among them, his arms crossed and his face dark.
"It's the Shattering Silence," he said in a low voice.
Ethan frowned. "What is that?"
"An old story," said Mave, the herb-woman. "It was spoken of long before your people came here. When the forest goes quiet and the sky dims, it means something is waking. Something buried deep."
Another elder leaned forward. "It happened once before. Long ago. Before the beasts overran the east. Before the old barons tried to build walls too late."
Ethan scowled. "I have heard of that riddle before, are you sure this isn't just a migration? Or weather?"
"Rabbits don't run to hearths because of weather," Garren snapped. "This is fear. The land knows."
"This isn't raiders," Ethan muttered.
Garren's voice was grim. "Worse than raiders. Men with swords can be fought. This… the land itself is warning us. If the town isn't ready, we'll lose more than our homes."
The room grew heavy. No one spoke. Even the firewood gave no sound.
That night, Ethan climbed to the roof of the town hall. From there, he watched the forest line. A cold wind blew across his face, carrying with it the faint scent of ash. Far away, clouds hung low, glowing faint red beneath the dark sky.
He did not sleep. By dawn, his decision was made.
At first light, Ethan gave the order. The town bell rang, its deep tone echoing across Greyrest. One by one, families stepped from their homes, murmuring in confusion. Merchants abandoned their half-prepared stalls, and children clung to their mothers.
They gathered in the square before the fountain. Some looked annoyed, others worried, but most only seemed uncertain. Ethan stood on the old stone steps, the same place he had spoken from months before. This time his voice carried sharper weight.
"We don't know what's coming," he began, "but something is. The land itself is changing. You've all felt it, the silence in the woods, the unease in your homes. We cannot ignore it."
"We've cleaned our water. We've built our homes. We've stood together," Ethan continued. "Now we must defend it. If we do nothing, we'll lose everything we've worked for."
A man raised his voice. "You want to raise the wall now?"
Ethan shook his head firmly. "Not the wall. Us. The wall might stand, but only if we stand first."
He turned to Garren. "Get the forges burning. We'll need iron, tools, blades, nails, anything you can make."
Garren gave a short nod. He didn't argue this time.
Still, no applause followed Ethan's speech. Only grim nods. A quiet, heavy agreement.
That quiet was broken by something else.
A faint vibration pulsed beneath their feet. Subtle, like a hum running through the ground. Some thought it was their imagination. Others froze in fear.
Ethan clenched his jaw. Whatever was coming, it was already near.
The town moved quickly after that. Orders spread from the square like ripples in water.
The smithy roared with fire by midday. Garren and his apprentices hammered day and night, producing crude spears, iron hooks, and reinforced tools that could double as weapons.
The masons shifted from home repairs to reinforcing structures. Door frames were strengthened, shutters repaired, and heavy beams were prepared for barricades.
Farmers dug trenches near the fields, not for water this time, but as pits that could be filled with spikes. Hunters and woodsmen gathered bows and arrows, their hands steady even as their eyes betrayed unease.
Lina organized supply storage. Barrels of dried grain and herbs were gathered in the town hall. Clay jars were filled with clean water from the fountain and sealed tight. She also gathered the healers and instructed them to prepare salves, bandages, and poultices.
Ethan did not stand aside. He carried beams, hauled stones, and joined the men digging trenches. He wanted no one to think of him as a baron watching from above. He would be among them when the time came.
The silence of the forest pressed even closer now. The stillness was so complete that every strike of a hammer, every snap of a log in the fire sounded like a drum.
It was during this night watch that Ethan climbed once more to the roof of the town hall. He scanned the horizon. The faint red glow in the clouds had grown stronger, as if a fire burned beyond the woods.
Lina joined him, carrying a lantern. "They're afraid," she said softly. "Not just the children. Everyone."
"They should be," Ethan replied. His hand gripped the hilt of a crude iron blade Garren had given him earlier that day, though he doesn't know how to use it. "Fear makes people act. If they weren't afraid, they wouldn't be preparing."
Ethan looked at her for a long moment, then turned his gaze to the forest. "Do you think it's the same creatures the Boylen family guards against?"
Lina's eyes narrowed. "If it is, then Greyrest is about to face what it was abandoned for in the first place."
Neither spoke after that. The night wind blew cold, carrying no sound but its own hollow whisper.
The silence had grown into something heavier, something waiting.
The following days tested Greyrest like never before. The silence outside the walls never lifted. If anything, it deepened.
Ethan didn't allow panic to spread. Every morning he stood before the fountain and gave out clear tasks. Trenches to be finished, stores to be counted, watches to be assigned. Keeping people busy kept them steady.
At the smithy, Garren worked without rest. Sparks lit the night as he hammered blades out of scrap. The clanging of iron was the one sound that never stopped. "If the silence hates noise," the blacksmith muttered once, "then I'll hammer until it bursts."
Children were trained to carry water, deliver messages, and stay close to the safe houses. Women sharpened stakes, prepared bandages, and kept the fires strong. The town hall became both a storehouse and a fortress.
By the fifth day of silence, tension had become routine. Everyone moved as though waiting for something to break.
That night, Ethan gathered his closest allies in the council chamber: Lina, Marn, Garren, Mave the herb-woman, two hunters, and three masons. The room smelled of smoke and damp stone.
Mave spoke first, her voice low. "This isn't the first time the silence has come. The stories say it comes in seasons, but not by weather. Something wakes when the ground grows quiet."
One of the hunters leaned forward. "What kind of something?"
Mave shook her head. "No one who saw it lived to name it. The east fell because of it. The old barons tried walls, but the walls weren't enough."
Garren crossed his thick arms. "Then we'll do better than the old barons. We've prepared. If it's flesh, we'll cut it. If it's shadow, we'll burn it."
Ethan stood. His shadow stretched across the stone wall in the flickering torchlight. "We can't abandon Greyrest. We rebuilt it once. If we leave now, we'll never stop running. Whatever comes, we hold here."
There were no cheers, only grim nods. The decision was made.
The patrols doubled. Watchfires were built higher. The townsfolk carried weapons even when drawing water or tending animals.
On the seventh night, a sound finally broke the stillness.
Ethan stood at the gate with Garren at his side. The blacksmith muttered a curse. "That's no beast I've ever known."
The sound faded, but the silence that followed was worse.
Ethan gave orders quickly. "No one leaves the town after nightfall. Keep the fires burning until dawn. Rotate the watch every two hours. If it's testing us, we'll be ready."
That night, no one slept.
By dawn, tension stretched thin as wire. People moved with red eyes and short tempers. But Greyrest held firm.
Ethan stood once again on the roof of the town hall. The red glow in the clouds had grown larger, like embers smoldering at the horizon.
Lina joined him. "It's coming closer."
Ethan didn't answer at first. He watched the treeline, dark and unmoving. Then he said quietly, "When it comes, they'll look to me. If I falter, they'll falter. So I won't."
Lina placed a hand on his arm. "Then neither will I."
Below them, Greyrest braced itself. Fires burned. Spears gleamed. Doors were barred.
The silence had broken with a howl. But the true storm had yet to arrive.