The forest was softer in the daylight.
Birdsong threaded between the trees, and the damp smell of moss rose with the morning warmth. Ethan walked near the middle of the group, his pack digging into his shoulders with each step.
They'd buried the Dark creature far off the trail before dawn, Selene burning a set of runes over the shallow grave. "So it doesn't call friends," she'd said.
Now, Marcus led the way with his usual long strides, Ryan trailing slightly behind, scanning the road ahead as though expecting trouble. Clara walked beside Ethan, her armor clinking quietly, while Lily and Selene brought up the rear, deep in some conversation about herbs and supplies.
"How far is Westvale?" Ethan asked after an hour.
Clara tilted her head toward the road. "We'll see the first watchtower by midday. After that, another two hours to the south gate."
"Any chance of trouble on the road?"
Marcus glanced back, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Always."
Westvale wasn't just a city—it was the city for humans in the region. Ethan had heard the name in passing during his first day in this world, but he'd never been given the chance to imagine it.
"Is it true elves trade there?" he asked.
Ryan gave a short nod. "A handful. They keep to themselves. You'll know them by the way they look at you—like they're deciding if you're worth the air you breathe."
"Dragons?"
Clara shook her head. "Too lazy. Too proud. If a dragon shows up, it's either to make a deal that'll benefit them for centuries… or to nap in the market square because the sun's warm."
Ethan chuckled. "And the fourth race? Demihumans?"
Selene, overhearing from behind, answered. "They come for work. Mercenaries, mostly. Sometimes traders. But the guild has been… picky lately. More humans hired than anyone else."
The way she said it made Ethan glance over his shoulder. "Picky?"
"You'll see," she murmured.
The watchtower appeared on the horizon like a crooked finger, stone gray against the blue sky. As they drew closer, the path widened, the packed dirt scarred by wagon wheels.
Two guards waited at the base, their armor mismatched and sun-faded. One leaned on a spear, the other flicked a bored glance at the group as they approached.
"Business in Westvale?" the spear-holder asked.
Marcus stepped forward. "Adventurer's Guild."
The man grunted and waved them through, though his gaze lingered on Ethan longer than necessary, as if weighing something unspoken.
By the time they reached the city walls, the sun was past its peak. Westvale's gates loomed high, the wood reinforced with iron bands. Lines of merchants, travelers, and patrols moved steadily in and out.
Inside, the air was thick with noise—shouts of traders, the creak of carts, the smell of roasting meat mingling with horse sweat and the faint tang of forge smoke.
Ethan kept his eyes wide, drinking it in. There were humans everywhere, but here and there he spotted others: a fox-eared demi with a cart of spices, an elf in a pale-green cloak, eyes like polished glass. He noticed how space seemed to part slightly around them, not rudely, but with a careful distance.
Clara noticed his look. "Don't stare too long. Folks here aren't subtle about their opinions."
The Adventurer's Guild was a sturdy stone hall near the central square, its sign marked by crossed blades over a stylized sun. Inside, the air was cooler, the noise replaced by the low murmur of business.
Behind a counter sat a woman with silver-streaked hair, her expression somewhere between polite and disinterested.
"Marcus. Clara. Ryan. Selene. Lily," she greeted without looking up from her ledger. Her gaze flicked to Ethan. "New recruit?"
Marcus nodded. "Picked him up on the road. Figured the guild could use another set of hands."
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly. "Human?"
Ethan opened his mouth, but Clara answered first. "Yes."
The woman made a small mark in her ledger. "Work's thin right now. Most contracts are patrols. But…" She reached under the counter and pulled a parchment. "A farmstead east of the city's been losing livestock. Witness said something came in the night, left nothing but blood."
"Dark spawn?" Ryan asked.
The woman shrugged. "Could be. Could be wolves. The guild's not paying extra for speculation. You want it?"
Marcus looked to the group. "We'll take it."
As they left the hall, Ethan fell into step beside Clara. "You didn't have to answer for me back there."
She gave him a sidelong look. "Trust me. It's better that way."
"Why?"
Her gaze drifted toward a passing elf, who didn't so much as glance their way. "Because here, the less they know about you, the fewer reasons they have to hate you."
Ethan didn't reply, but the words stayed with him as they made their way toward the eastern road.
That night, they camped just beyond the city walls, the sky wide and star-scattered above them. The farmstead was half a day's journey, and the air felt heavier now that they had work—real work—before them.
As Ethan lay awake, he thought of the Dark creature in the forest, the way it had moved, the sound it made when it died. If more of those things were out here, slipping through the trees at night…
He wasn't sure whether the farmstead would be the beginning of something small—or the first step into something far worse.