The first light of dawn struggled through the mist.
A weak sun hung low over Ravenwood, bleeding pale gold across rooftops sagging under frost. The streets were quiet, almost reverent, as if the town itself feared to breathe after the long night.
Kael and his team walked in silence. Their boots pressed wet prints into the thawing slush, steam rising faintly from their coats. No one spoke; their blades were still sheathed but stained in places the light couldn't quite reach.
They had left the forest behind them, but its chill had followed.
The town was different in daylight—worse, somehow. The houses leaned inward like tired men; shutters nailed shut from the inside. Smoke no longer curled from the chimneys. Stray dogs picked at scraps frozen to the cobblestones. Here and there, people watched from cracked windows, hollow-eyed and unmoving.
Rin broke the silence first, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Feels like a graveyard."
Lira's gaze flicked from one corner to the next, analytical as ever.
"Population density dropped by at least a third since the last census. Signs of malnutrition, unsanitary water. The Wendigo influence isn't just physical—it's economic decay."
Kael glanced at her, half-smiling despite himself.
"You always talk like you're writing a report."
"That's because someone has to," she replied dryly, adjusting her glasses. "You'd just write 'bad vibes—mission complete.'"
Taro stifled a laugh. The sound felt too alive for the street they were walking through, but it eased something heavy in Kael's chest.
They turned a corner and passed a market square. Stalls stood abandoned, tarps flapping in the wind. The smell of rot mixed with the faint sweetness of spoiled fruit. An old woman crouched near one of the stalls, breaking apart frozen bread with trembling hands.
Taro hesitated, then stepped forward. He reached into his pack, pulling out a ration bar and offering it wordlessly. The woman looked at him, startled, eyes darting from the uniform to his face. She took it slowly, muttering thanks in a voice cracked by cold.
When they walked on, Kael noticed the way Taro's shoulders had tightened.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Taro said softly. "She looked scared of me. Like she's used to people taking, not giving."
Kael didn't answer. He didn't need to. They all knew fear lived deeper than hunger in places like this.
A few streets down, they came to a wooden board covered in curled papers. Notices flapped in the wind—missing persons, ration updates, curfews. One sheet caught Kael's eye, printed clearer than the rest:
MISSING – WARDEN ELRIC VAUGHAN.
Last seen two weeks ago. Responsible for the northern perimeter patrol.
A small photograph was pinned beside the words—a stern-faced man in uniform, eyes pale and sharp.
Kael's breath caught. The cold in his spine wasn't from the morning air this time.
He reached out, brushing frost from the picture's edge.
The face beneath it was unmistakable—the same as the creature they'd slain beneath the forest floor.
"Kael?" Lira's voice broke through the quiet.
He stepped back, jaw tightening.
"We killed him. Last night."
Rin frowned. "You sure?"
"Same eyes. Same scar by the temple. It's him."
No one spoke for a long while. The wind picked up, scattering loose papers down the street.
Lira folded her arms, eyes narrowing.
"If he was turned recently, it means the infection reached the inner guard. That's… bold, even for Wendigos."
"Or someone helped them," Kael said, voice low.
The idea hung in the air like smoke.
They continued down the street, slower now. The town seemed to close in around them—alleys like ribs, buildings like broken teeth. Somewhere, a bell chimed weakly from the old chapel at the hill's base.
They turned toward the sound. The path wound past a patch of open ground where children were playing—if it could be called that. A half dozen of them, barefoot and ragged, chasing a makeshift ball made from tied rags. Their laughter was thin but stubborn.
Rin stopped first. He watched them quietly, expression softening. When one of the kids stumbled near his boots, Rin crouched and helped him up, brushing dirt from his sleeve.
"You play like you've got lead in your feet," he said, grinning.
The boy stared wide-eyed at the black-clad hunter, then smiled—a real, small smile. Rin reached out and ruffled his hair.
"Stay out of the woods, yeah? Monsters don't play fair."
The boy nodded, clutching his ball, before running back to the others.
Kael caught Rin's eye.
"Didn't think you were good with kids."
"I'm not," Rin said, straightening. "They just remind me there's still something worth keeping alive."
Kael's smile faded.
"Yeah… they do."
They reached the base of the chapel as the bell finished ringing. The doors were locked, but Kael noticed wax drippings near the threshold—fresh, not from the morning service. Strange symbols were carved faintly into the wood beneath the handle, half-burned away as if someone tried to hide them.
Lira knelt, tracing one with a gloved finger.
"This isn't Wendigo script. It's… human. Some kind of ritual marking."
Rin scowled. "You saying someone's playing priest for monsters now?"
Lira's expression darkened. "Not playing. Worshipping."
Kael stood silent for a moment, studying the chapel's cracked windows. Inside, faint shapes moved—candles flickering where no morning service should be.
He turned away, voice low.
"So the infection spreads both ways."
"Meaning?" Taro asked.
"Some humans stop fearing monsters. They start envying them."
They walked on, leaving the chapel behind. The street wound uphill toward the northern gate, where fog swallowed the town's edge. The air grew colder, quieter.
At the top, Kael stopped and looked back. The bell tower rose through the mist, its cross silhouetted against the dull light. Smoke curled faintly from the chimneys again, as if the town were pretending at life.
Lira came to stand beside him.
"You think there's more beneath this place?"
"There always is," Kael said. "And it's never just monsters."
He adjusted the strap of his blade, turning toward the forest path that would take them back to base. Behind them, the bell tolled once more—low, hollow, like something buried calling out from the dark.
Kael didn't look back again.
"Let's go. Ravenwood's not done with us yet."