There were countless knights flooding in—way too many for Finn's liking. All of this over the destruction of Moistvile? It felt less like an investigation and more like a parade. People were scattered everywhere, poking through the mud, tending to survivors, and acting busy like ants rebuilding a hill.
The air felt lighter too—strangely free. Birds still circled above where Moistvile had once stood, but they were silent now. The quiet only made the place feel wrong, like something was off. Finn couldn't explain it, but unease gnawed at him. It wasn't just worry about the missing people—no, this felt deeper. Unreal. Like the calm before something awful.
"Is something the matter, Finn?" A calm, polite voice pulled him out of his head.
Finn turned. It was Theron, watching him with a worried, curious expression.
"Uhh, I'm not really sure…" Finn muttered, looking back over the ruined swamp.
Theron followed his gaze. "Are you certain?"
