THE EERIE CALM
The valley is quiet, too quiet. Smoke still curls lazily from smoldering vineyards and charred rooftops. Ash drifts in the pale morning light, settling on broken fences, shattered carts, and abandoned tools. The streets are littered with debris—wine barrels cracked open, scattered grain sacks, and the remnants of battles that seemed to have ended abruptly, leaving the town frozen in a suspended moment of ruin.
Elena walks through the ruins of her farm, the soles of her boots crunching on broken glass and charred wood. She doesn't speak. She can't. The silence is suffocating, pressing down on her like a physical weight. The fires have died to embers, but the smell of smoke and blood lingers, sharp and acrid, reminding her that the chaos is merely paused, not over.
Luca follows closely, his arm still weak around her shoulders. His eyes sweep the empty streets, taking in the scorched walls and the still-burning ruins. "IT'S TOO QUIET…" he murmurs, voice hoarse. "TOO DAMN QUIET…"
Elena nods slowly, gripping his hand. "IT'S THE CALM… BEFORE THE STORM. I CAN FEEL IT."
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POV: TOWNSFOLK
The villagers move cautiously, whispering among themselves. Faces are pale, eyes wide with unspent terror. Mothers clutch children, fathers check weapons, and neighbors who once fought together now avoid each other's gaze. Every shadow could hide an enemy. Every alley might conceal betrayal.
"I DON'T LIKE THIS," one man whispers, voice trembling. "IT FELT LIKE WE WON… BUT NOW… NOTHING. NOTHING MOVES. NOTHING SPEAKS. AND YET… SOMETHING IS WATCHING."
A young girl peers around a corner at the abandoned piazza, clutching her doll. She shivers as the smoke twists into shapes that seem alive, the silhouettes of destroyed buildings like silent witnesses.
Even the animals sense the tension. Horses paw anxiously, dogs growl at unseen threats, and crows circle overhead, their cries echoing over the scorched earth.
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MARCO AND ISABELLA
On the hill overlooking the valley, Marco leans against a broken fence, gin glass in hand. The eerie calm unnerves him slightly—a pause in chaos is rare, even for him.
"They're hiding," he mutters. "ELENA… LUCA… THE VILLAGERS… THEY'RE HESITATING. THEY'RE BREATHING. I CAN HEAR IT."
Isabella watches from beside him, the wind tugging at her black dress. "IT'S TOO SILENT. THEY KNOW SOMETHING'S COMING, MARCO. THIS CALM… IT'S NOT GOOD."
Marco smirks, though uneasily. "EVERY STORM NEEDS A PAUSE. THIS IS OUR CHANCE. WE WATCH. WE WAIT. WE STRIKE WHEN THEY LEAST EXPECT IT."
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POV: ELENA
Elena sits on the steps of her partially destroyed farmhouse, Luca at her side. The smoke drifts like ghosts around them. No one speaks. The emptiness presses in from all sides. Her mind races with possibilities.
Is Marco plotting something worse? she thinks. Is Isabella moving in shadows?
A sudden sound—a creak from a ruined balcony—makes her heart jump. She leaps to her feet, clutching a broken wooden beam. "WHO'S THERE? SHOW YOURSELF!"
Silence. Only the wind responds, whistling through the broken windows.
"SEE?" Luca whispers. "IT'S TOO QUIET. SOMETHING IS COMING. I CAN FEEL IT…"
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TOWNSFOLK & RUMORS
Whispers ripple through the town. Word travels faster than action now.
"She's alive. Elena survived the fire!"
"No! Marco's men are waiting to finish her!"
"The Council… they've left, but the shadowed soldiers… they're still out there."
"Watch your doors. Watch your neighbors. Everyone's a traitor until proven otherwise."
Every ear listens, every shadow hides a threat, every glance carries suspicion. The calm is a trap in itself. Fear festers in silence.
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POV: LUCA
He paces the broken courtyard, keeping an eye on every movement. The scorched land is silent, except for the occasional crack of a dying ember. His anger simmers under the quiet, a slow-burning fire.
Marco… Isabella… you think we're broken, but we're only biding our time, he thinks, gripping his fists. Let the valley breathe a moment… the storm is coming. And when it hits… it'll hit harder than ever.
---
Smoke drifts in thin tendrils, curling over the ruins like fingers. Shadows stretch long, twisting unnaturally. A lone crow perches on the destroyed vineyard fence, watching, waiting. The wind carries whispers—half voices, half echoes of screams. The sun rises slowly, casting the valley in a pale orange glow, highlighting devastation but masking movement, danger lurking in every corner.
Even the river, usually calm, churns with debris, reflecting the ruined vineyards and broken buildings. The smell of ash and wet soil hangs heavy. Every element is frozen in time, waiting for the inevitable escalation.
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POV: MARCO & ISABELLA
Marco tilts his head, scanning the valley below. "THEY THINK THEY CAN RECOVER. THEY THINK THEY HAVE A MOMENT TO BREATHE."
Isabella leans close. "AND WE LET THEM THINK IT. THIS CALM… IT'S OUR WEAPON. THEIR GUARD WILL DROP, AND THEN… THE CHAOS RETURNS."
Marco smiles darkly, raising his gin. "WHEN THEY LEAST EXPECT IT… THE STORM WILL RETURN. AND THIS TIME, NOTHING WILL SURVIVE."
---
Elena and Luca stand on the farmhouse steps, overlooking the valley. Silence presses in from every direction. The wind shifts, carrying a strange scent—smoke, blood, and something else, metallic, sharp.
Elena whispers, almost to herself: "IT'S TOO QUIET…"
A shadow passes over the broken rooftops, long and dark. Birds take flight, screaming. A low horn blows from somewhere unseen, deep and resonant.
Luca grips her arm, teeth clenched. "IT'S HERE…"
And from the horizon, a column of dark figures moves toward the town, silent, deadly, and unstoppable. Tuscany holds its breath. The calm is over. The storm is coming.
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