The wind changed before anything else.
No trumpet. No scream. A slight but unnatural change. The kind that silenced birds in mid-flight and caused leaves to twist on their stems. No dogs let out a bark. There were no insects humming. The town was suspended in an unseen breath after coming to life with walls and training exercises.
People became aware of it. The earth followed suit.
With his fingers resting on the wood, which was still partially covered in fresh bark, Ethan stood at the eastern rampart's edge. The wall was not yet complete; the patches lacked support and height. However, it was something.
Three weeks of labor. Fear and grit led to a miracle. It awaited its test now.
Slowly but steadily, Garren ascended alongside him. The ancient blacksmith looked out over the horizon. The woods beyond, the fields, and the mist all appeared to be the same. However, no.
"Do you smelled that?" "Garren said."
Ethan inhaled deeply. "Nothing,"
He answered. "Exactly."
No dung from the pens. No smoke from the hearths. No scent of damp soil or morning dew. Just clean, cold nothingness. Like the land had been scrubbed too hard.
The townsfolk kept moving, but with an edge in their steps. Conversations were hushed. Eyes darted toward the woods more often. Children who used to run barefoot through the market now lingered behind their mothers.
The foragers who returned said the forest felt wrong. Empty. One woman wept when her snares caught nothing for five days. A boy said he found a tree cracked in half, not cut, but crushed, from above.
And yet... no attack came.
No roar.
No charge.
The sky was clear. The fog resisted. The torches themselves burned more straight than normal.
It was a sense of triumph. Or a reprieve, anyway.
One man ventured to remark, "We might have scared them off."
Ethan wanted to think it was true. wished to inform others that they had secured a future for themselves.
However, Lina's caution, "The tide always pulls back before the wave", haunted him.
The Final Silence
The town was practically in a festive mood that evening.
Safe circles of small fires burned. Flickers of laughter returned. A thin, hopeful flute played a tune. They were not stopped by Ethan. He was unable to. Even if it was a lie, people needed peace.
He nodded at the posted lookouts as he strolled around the perimeter. Leaning on their bows, archers whispered to one another. They had doubled the barricades. Ladders were stacked next to Spears. Garren had started using scrap to make iron-tipped pikes.
It appeared prepared.
However, Ethan's heart beat too quickly for a composed man.
He turned his gaze once more to the east.
And the fog shifted.
At first, it was tiny.
A rustle in the absence of wind.
Then a watchman's cry. "There's something in the grain!"
Ethan whirled and bolted.
The grain store had been strengthened with heavy wooden doors and stone walls. Four individuals were already present with their weapons drawn when he got there.
The door stood open.
Shredded sacks inside. claw marks. Blood. Not human. A thick black fur trail.
Then there was a shout from the northern post.
Then another from the gate on the south.
Panic broke out.
The torches were lit. Horns blew. The music died.
And then, like a storm crawling on its belly, a low, vibrating moan rolled across the ground from the treeline.
Not a cry from an animal. Not even that of a beast.
A call.
Ethan brought his sword up.
"They're here."