The Gathering Storm

The people of Windfell were safe. But the village was barely standing. The battle had left scars—not just on the wooden walls and scorched fields, but in the eyes of those who had suffered.

Tharion stood at the edge of the village, staring out into the darkened forest. He could still feel the golden energy deep inside him, waiting.

Waiting for something.

A Warning from the Elders

Edran sat near the central fire, his wounds bandaged. His old eyes studied Tharion with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.

"You have the look of a man haunted," Edran said.

Tharion sighed. "I need answers."

Edran leaned forward. "Then you must leave Windfell."

Ceyla, who had been listening, stiffened. "You're sending him away? After everything?"

Edran shook his head. "I am warning him. There is an old seer beyond the western mountains. If anyone can tell you who you are, it is her."

Tharion absorbed the words. He had been prepared to fight, to protect—but now, he needed to understand.

A Shadow Lurking

That night, as the village slept, Tharion stood watch.

And in the distant treeline, something watched back.

Two glowing red eyes blinked once. Then, they disappeared.

The hunt had begun.