The Great Fall

The streets of Wyfellon in Wyfn-Garde buzzed like a hive of restless bees. From the stone-paved alleys winding past the bustling markets to the grand avenues lined with towering statues of past kings, there was one thing on every tongue—

The Demon Prince's wife is missing.

Gossip spilled like wine from cracked cups.

At the marketplace, fishmongers paused mid-bargain to murmur behind their hands. Vendors leaned over carts brimming with fresh fruit and wilted herbs, whispering about the witch who had ensnared Prince Alaric's heart—and now vanished without a trace.

"She's gone," a butcher muttered, wiping bloodied hands on his apron. "Poof! Like smoke."

"They say it was a spell gone wrong," an old woman croaked, holding a basket of half-rotten apples. "Witches always meddle with things better left untouched."