The air in Windermere hung heavy, the mist curling tighter as if to suffocate the courage from those who dared to defy it. The villagers gathered in the square, their faces pale, their eyes darting nervously. Whispers flitted from one to another like frightened birds, each voice carrying the weight of their collective dread.
Rosé stood at the center, her expression carved from stone, though within her chest, her heart beat with a furious rhythm. Helene lingered at her side, her body a broken shadow of its former self, yet her single hand rested firmly upon the hilt of her sword, its edge dull with disuse but her grip still firm.
The silence shattered with the chime of a bell—a singular, haunting note that echoed across the square. The mist parted, and from its depths stepped a figure cloaked in shadow. Joker had returned.