The moment the door closed behind them, the silence in Ton's house seemed oddly heavy—a silence filled with all the words that had just been spoken and the ones Ton and Ronova still feared to say. For a short while after the meeting, the weight of the village's future pressed heavily on each heartbeat.
But there was no time to rest or second-guess. Ton stood, brushing his hands over the blue sash at his waist—his symbol of leadership—and nodded once to Ronova. Without another word, the two left the room, stepped out into the main road, and headed for the guards' main area. It was the only path left: prepare or perish.
The afternoon sun glanced weakly through the clouds, casting long, uncertain shadows across Huina's worn streets. Women gathered water at the well, a group of children played quietly in front of the treatment hall, and all across the small village, people moved with the restless haste of those who felt disaster pressing at their backs.
Ton and Ronova passed quickly, their faces set and focused. The closer they got to the guardhouse by the south gate, the more tension filled the air, until the two men almost ran the last few steps. There, four guards stood facing each other, tense and silent; the weight of Arnan's disaster hung about them like bad weather.
Ronova reached first. He did not waste a single breath. In one swift motion, he reached out and struck the iron bell that hung just above the gate. The sharp clang! cut the quiet air, ringing down the main road and stopping everyone nearby in their tracks. Within a few moments, all heads turned toward the gate, from the apothecary to the food hall—even the children's play stopped, like a story's hero caught mid-leap.
The clang of the bell had a specific meaning in Huina: it was used only to gather the guards for urgent news, or to signal grave threat. The guards moved fast, gathering at the watchtower's base.
Ton did not hesitate. He raised his voice, steady and deep, so even those on the farthest edge of the crowd could not mistake his meaning. "Guards! Herman, Ronova, two people from Arnan's, and I have just finished discussing everything that happened last night in Arnan. You all heard pieces, but now you need to hear everything, and what we're going to do next."
The guards leaned in, even the usually relaxed Cluivert and the ever-watchful Tedy. Tedy, perched high on the wooden watchtower, pressed his ear to the simple silk-communicator—the tightly woven, enchanted line that ran like a lifeline from the watch post to the guardhouse below. It was a recent invention, but already as familiar as breathing.
Ronova nodded for Ton to begin, and Ton spoke exactly as he did in private: clear, honest, and with no room for misunderstanding.
"We've heard everything, directly from those who fled Arnan," Ton started. "Their story is real. Villagers, animals, monsters—once wounded, something took them over. It started small, but soon, the dead who should not move began attacking the living, and nothing could stop them."
No one interrupted. The bell's echo seemed to linger in their ears.
He continued, "Arnan failed because the threat was faster and stranger than anyone had seen. We cannot count on wooden gates, swords, or even mana stones alone to save us if that comes here." He paused, ensuring all eyes were on him. "So we need a clear plan. Listen closely. If we survive the first hour, it will be because we act now."
He lifted one finger, his voice grave. "First, any villager who is too afraid to stay in the village—pack your most necessary belongings only, and be ready to leave for the lake inside Crevtowood. You all know Tribian Lake from the fishing festival. Gather at the north hall when called. The evacuation is not a shame! It is survival."
A few of the younger guards nodded, relief flickering through their eyes. The lake was close, and everyone knew the rocky island in its center was big enough to hold all of Huina—at least for a few nights. The hardest part would be moving the old, the young, and the wounded through the woods, but there was no other safe zone nearby.
"Second," Ton said, holding up another finger, "if you choose to stay and fight, prepare for the worst. You must go to old man Trinada—he will give you a weapon, or you can take tools from the storage room if needed. Use the strongest materials we have. Wooden rods are better than empty hands. Even fishing spears or wooden bars."
Murmurs met this, but no argument. Everyone had heard by now about Arnan's last stand, and the fate of those who hesitated.
"Third and most important—if after one week you hear nothing from the guards or leaders, assume the worst has happened. Save yourselves. Take food, water, find safety—even if it means going alone. We'd rather have scattered survivors than no survivors at all."
The guards looked at each other. None pretended courage. Ronova let out a long, trembling breath. Behind him, Cluivert clenched his jaw and nodded.
Ronova stepped forward now, voice firm but kind. "We will not force anyone to stay. Each decision is your own. This is not the time for pride. The lake gives us a chance. The frost stone in the food storage means we can prepare rations for everyone for at least a week. I want two of you," he gestured to the nearest, "to fetch the frozen food and bring it to the north gate. Ask Alice and Rutina if medicine is needed. Go now."
The two saluted before running back toward the north side. The urgency was clear. In times like this, even a small delay could cost lives.
Ronova turned to the rest. "The rest of you, spread the word to all houses. Calmly, but quickly. The bell signals threat, but don't let the villagers panic. This is about preparation, not chaos." Again, they nodded and hurried off, leaving only Tedy above and Cluivert beside the gate.
For a heartbeat, quiet returned—broken only by the dull thudding of distant feet as people rushed to obey orders.
But as Ton was about to tell Ronova to move toward the next step, a sharp, frightened shout echoed down from the watchtower above. Tedy's voice, high with alarm, rattled along the silk-thread line.
"Chief! Ronova! Something's wrong in the forest—on the road, too! By the south path!"
Ronova ran to the base of the tower, calling up, "What do you see?"
Tedy's answer came, breathless and shaking: "Shapes… moving. I see people, but—no, not only people. Some move like animals. Some seem to have a grave wound yet still moving—just like what Rudy described!"
Ton and Ronova exchanged a grim look. Ronova rushed up the wooden rungs two at a time, with Ton quickly behind. From the top, the view was clear. The evening's gold fading along the tree line, and in the distance, figures stumbled into sight along the road and between the trunks.
It was a grotesque parade—at first, a lone shape, limping badly, seemed to drag its foot almost out of joint. Its head lolled, and it made no sign of seeing the watchtower or the road ahead. But as it moved, more figures appeared behind, two, then four, then a crawling mess that might once have been a wolfy, but now moved only on its front legs, mouth open in a silent snarl.
Ton's chest clenched. "That's a match with the one that Herman and Rudy told us. The one that attacked Arnan."
A heartbeat later, the wind shifted, and a heavy, sickly-sweet smell rolled up from the woods. The rot—the odor of bodies fallen, not buried, that Rudy had described to them in Ton's house only hours ago.
Below, Cluivert stood wide-eyed at the base of the tower, hands tightening on his spear. "Ton—should I ring the bell again? Double—no, triple the signal?"
Ton nodded. "Hit it three times. Everyone in Huina needs to know. And tell Rutina—her healing spell might be the difference for those bitten or scratched."
Cluivert grabbed a heavy stick and slammed it against the deep bronze bell.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The ringing thundered out, even louder than before. All across the village, people froze in their tracks—some halfway inside their doors, others by the well, a few just now returning from the fields. Fear descended like a net over the whole of Huina.
The groaning shapes on the road below—some two-legged, some four—turned as if drawn by the sound. Their heads rolled upright, glowing eyes hollow and seeing nothing, yet somehow focused on the village. The limp first figure, which until now had shuffled in uncertain circles, suddenly straightened. It moved with an inhuman burst of speed—arms windmilling, mouth gaping as it ran straight for the gate.
Behind it, from the shadowy treeline, more shapes followed. A deery, joint twisted in impossible ways, galloped stiff-legged along the path, its eyes dancing with blue fire. The crawling wolfy let out a low, bubbling growl. And past them all came what might once have been a woman and her child, now fused together in a frozen grasp, faces stained and blank.
Tedy, above, nearly dropped the simple, silk-twined phone in horror. "Th-they're running now! They heard the bell! They're coming—faster!"
From below, Ronova barked out, "Cluivert! Get everything you can in front of the gate! Bar it with anything—ladders, carts, stones!"
Huina's south gate was made of thick logs, iron-braced, but the crowd of figures grew too large, too fast. Soon, shadows moved everywhere among the trees—some human-sized, some as big as the oxen from the fields. Ton and Ronova could see only broad hints of the army coming toward them, but the stench that followed those shapes was proof enough.
People began to scream behind them in the village. Ton forced his voice to stay steady as he called down, "Every able hand to the south gate! If you can carry wood or stone, bring it now!"
Ronova grabbed Tedy's shoulder. "Don't come down. Keep shouting warnings. Watch the forest—let us know if anything gets through behind. Use the silk line if you see anything new."
Cluivert, sweat pouring down his face, threw loose stones, barrels, and even an old wooden cart in front of the gate, helped by a few villagers who'd arrived with wide, scared eyes. Children and the elderly, shepherded by the first wave of guards to reach the hall, stared in silent terror as the thudding of many feet began to echo up the road.
The attackers arrived. The limp, running figure smashed into the heavy wood with a fleshy thud—thump!—scraping and clawing, its fingers bloodless and torn. The next, a hunched, four-limbed beast, crashed after, slamming its skull against the logs. Behind, the rest pressed forward, mouths open in noiseless screams. The gate shuddered, the rotten stench surged. For a short moment, only the sound of the bell and the breath of the villagers could be heard.
"Is it them? Is it what wiped out Arnan?" one of the younger guards asked, his voice no more than a cracked whisper.
Ton nodded grimly. "It's exactly what Rudy warned us about."
With the next wave came animals—wolvies, deery, some half-human, their bodies bent and broken—hurling themselves at the walls as if pain and death meant nothing. The smell of rot was so strong now that even the hardiest old men gagged. Women pressed handkerchiefs over children's mouths.
***
Inside the north hall, the refugees and those preparing to evacuate crowded together. The two guards who had fled to gather food returned, arms loaded down with salted, frost-stone-chilled fish and cured beef. Alice and Rutina hurried from wounded bed to wounded bed, preparing medicines they had never hoped to need.
The scream of a villager—shrill, wild—rose above the chaos as the attackers outside battered the gate again and again. Each time the logs held, but each time the noise grew louder. The sound, the smell, and the sight of the growing horde—monster, human, beast—became a waking nightmare, pressing in on every side.
In the gathering dusk, the sky itself seemed to darken, as if the world wanted to hide Huina—from monsters, or from itself, no one knew. But under that fading gold and the trembling sound of the bell, one truth was clear, the monsters had arrived. The horror that wiped out Arnan had come to Huina, and now… in the frightened breaths of its people, the fight for survival truly began.