Chapter Forty Four: More Problems.

The town, nestled between the wooded slopes and a stream that murmured softly through moss-slicked stones, had a charm that belonged to a gentler world—one where people lived slow lives and watched the skies for rain instead of danger.

The kind of place with crooked chimneys and cobbled streets worn smooth by years of footsteps, with oil lamps swinging gently on rusted hooks, casting amber halos that danced like will-o'-the-wisps in the evening breeze.

They followed the road inward, passing by merchant stalls being packed away for the night, the occasional bark of a stray dog, and children calling to one another from windowsill to street. There was life here, ordinary and unburdened. It felt like a dream.

At the center of the village stood a grand, ivy-wrapped structure—its stone facade lit by golden lanterns, its tall doors carved with noble crests and symbols of passage.