The village of Norhollow came into view at dusk—a cluster of timber-and-thatch houses nestled in a shallow valley, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. From a distance, it looked peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Even before they reached the gates, Ethan noticed the absence of certain sounds—no laughter of children, no merchants haggling in the square, no hounds barking from doorsteps. Just the steady crunch of wagon wheels over frost and the faint creak of shutters in the wind.
The village gates stood open. Two guards in patched mail leaned on their spears, their eyes shadowed with fatigue.
Marcus raised a hand in greeting. "We're escorting goods for Garrick."
One of the guards nodded slowly. "You'll want to unload quickly. Folk here… aren't in the mood for trading."
"Why's that?" Selene asked, her tone neutral.
The guards exchanged a glance. "Best talk to Elder Wren. He's in the square."
The square itself was nearly empty, save for a few villagers moving about with their heads down. At its center stood a wooden post bearing a carved raven—the sign of Norhollow's local hall. The elder, a thin man with sharp cheekbones and eyes that had seen too much, came to meet them.
"You're the escort?" he asked.
"Yes," Marcus said. "The guards at the gate mentioned trouble."
The elder's gaze flicked toward a row of fresh earth mounds beyond the far fence. "A creature came last night. Not like anything we've seen. Took Farmer Denholt before anyone could react."
Ethan's chest tightened. "What did it look like?"
The elder hesitated, as if afraid the words would summon it again. "Too many eyes. A hide like oil in a lantern's light. Moved wrong. Like it didn't know what its own legs were for."
Selene swore under her breath. "Same as the one on the road."
The elder's head snapped toward her. "You've seen it?"
"Yes," Marcus said. "We killed one this morning."
The man stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "Then you should know—when we tried to bury Denholt… we found nothing left but black stains in the earth. Like the ground itself drank him."
They spent the evening unloading Garrick's goods into the storehouse. Ethan noticed how the villagers gave the wagons a wide berth, casting nervous glances at the strangers.
When the work was done, Lily joined him by the fence line, her breath misting in the cold. "That thing this morning… and the one here… it's not coincidence."
"No," Ethan agreed. "But if they're showing up this far from each other, then something's pushing them."
Later, over a thin stew in the elder's hall, Ethan caught himself scanning the corners of the room. Every shadow seemed deeper than it should be.
The system stayed silent until he was alone in the small guest room they'd been given.
Pattern recognition: creatures match pre-ranking category 'Dark'—prevalence increasing.
Ethan sat on the edge of the bed. "You mean they're spreading."
Affirmative.
"How many?"
Projection: exponential expansion if unchecked.
Ethan rubbed his face. "And I suppose you're not going to tell me what's causing it."
Information locked.
He laughed bitterly. "Figures."