When Whispers Become Warnings

The noon sun burned away the last of the mist from the village, but it could not clear the haze of worry and curiosity that hung over Huina. After the crowd at the hall had finally left and the hunters' grim testimonies echoed in every conversation, daily life tried to resume in awkward fragments. Some villagers kept close to their usual routines—feed animals, fetch water, knead dough—mumbling about the strange events but acting as if work could push their fear aside. Others huddled in pairs or threes, casting wary glances to the woods and lowering their voices as soon as children neared.

Under the purple leaves of the willow tree at the edge of the central square, Gilian slid down the rough bark and dropped into the grass. Beside him, Arvan paced in a short, restless line, glancing over his shoulder every few moments.

Gilian plucked a blade of grass and stared at nothing, lost in memory. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked quietly.

Arvan shook his head. "Didn't even try. How could I? After what we saw…" His eyes darted to a clump of ferns at the base of the palisade, then back to the main road. "People can talk about bad dreams and stories all they want, but the look in that villager's eyes at Arnan… I don't think I'll ever forget it."

Gilian nodded, his voice low and guarded. "Yeah. I keep seeing the adventurer—how he has changed, and the way he moved. Not just sick, but like he wasn't humania anymore. And no matter where I look now, every shadow seems wrong."

"Forest Beary that was cut in half is still moving. The sounds of Animals vanishing. And that man… head-butting the wall till he was bloody. That isn't just a rumor," Arvan muttered. Because both of them had seen the worst of it already, the nervous energy between them wasn't gossip—it was real dread, the kind that sharpened every sense. Arvan watched the trees, his hands resting near his dagger at all times.

A few children's shouts rang from the far garden, but otherwise, the village was a chorus of forced laughter and new worries. The hum of conversation came in waves—quick, sharp, then suddenly silent when strangers neared or the wind changed.

Gilian and Arvan were talking more with their eyes than words, both listening for any new detail from the villagers but trusting little. Gilian finally broke the silence.

"They can keep saying it's just stories, but we saw it. We know."

"Yeah," Arvan answered, his tone flat and unwilling to embellish. "If people don't start believing soon, it'll be too late."

As they spoke, Herman's steady stride approached over the grass. He didn't look tired so much as heavy, as if each memory added stones to his pack. He paused near the tree, nodding to both boys. "You two look like you've aged a year." He didn't sit, but leaned against the trunk, arms crossed like a shield.

Gilian looked up at him. "Everyone is acting like they can ignore it."

"We shouldn't," Arvan added quickly. "We were just talking about… what happened. And what's happening out there," he gestured vaguely toward the horizon, "past Arnan and beyond."

Herman's face darkened. He knew what they were talking about. "It's a past rumor. It's real. We all saw it. That poor man by the wall, those things in the forest…"

For a while, none of them spoke. Arvan kept glancing at every movement in the grass, Gilian stared at his hands, and Herman's eyes watched the villagers with a distant, protective fear.

Then, a cheerful, slightly nervous voice broke the spell. "Talking about stories again, eh?"

Tedy had wandered up, carrying a loaf of bread tucked under one arm, looking as if he meant to joke things lighter but quickly sobered at the hunters' faces. For a long moment, nobody replied.

Gilian looked straight at him. "Tedy, what you told people last time… It's more than a rumor now. Tell us the rest."

Tedy's smile faded. For once, he didn't lead with a joke. He scanned their faces—the hunter's haunted, the boys' sober, the seriousness of the moment not lost on him. "Alright. But you're not the only ones who've seen strange things lately. And what I heard is worse than anything I ever made up."

Just then, Alice approached, carrying a fresh bundle of herbs in her basket. No longer in her sleepwear, she now wore her green herbalist's coat, her tools of the trade hanging from her belt. Her face was tired, eyes rimmed red, but she wanted to listen.

"I finished with Cren. He's sleeping, now Sister Rutina using her healing magic trying to ease the pain," she said softly, sitting down beside Gilian.

Herman gave her a grateful nod and turned back to Tedy. "Let's hear it."

Tedy took a steady breath and lowered his voice, looking at them all. "The rumors split into two parts. People from far south—those not close to the royal capital—had different news than travelers from near Arnava."

He continued, "From the capital, what I heard from Gustave and the last merchant train is this. Important people in the palace—the king's advisors, some close guards, even a loyal vassal or two—went wild. Started biting, attacking anyone close. The merchant said it spread fast—some say a curse, some bad magic, but nobody really knows."

Herman's jaw tightened as he listened. Gilian could see the memory of the dazed man in Arnan flick across his features. "Just like we saw. That's not just a tale anymore."

Tedy nodded and cleared his throat. "Then there's Arnava, the biggest city near Estevania's main palace. Things there got even stranger. One night, chaos broke out, like a civil war, but the fighting wasn't… normal. Some were people, but others weren't alive the way you or I are. One merchant said he saw a high-rank sage, someone famous, but he didn't look right—like a doll being pulled by strings, eyes empty, magic going off without reason."

Arvan, still hyper-aware of every sound in the village, muttered, "Those aren't rumors. That's what we saw in the forest. Humania looked dead already. They don't move right, don't even cry out when they're hurt."

Alice hugged her knees and shivered.

Tedy took in a shaky breath. "Somehow, chaos blocked the city gates, trapping the nobles and their guards. With no way out, many people tried to hide inside the high-rank dungeon nearby. Merchants who got out said they only made it because one important person—Sir Andreas, the Holy Knight—led people through. After that, there was only the noise of battle, spells in the air, and things no one could describe. The rest who stayed outside… didn't make it."

Herman nodded grimly. "Some of those things are already here. It's not spread by merchants' words. It travels in flesh and blood."

Alice's voice was barely a whisper. "So… there's no way to stop it?"

Tedy shook his head. "No one knows. What we do know is, since all that started, strangeness moves outward. More people are changing, hurt, then gone crazy—animals & monsters too. Some villagers heading to market reported goatys, sheepy, all acting aggressive, even breaking fences and doors. Old man Bart says he saw a hound run for hours after being bitten, and it never tired."

Arvan scratched his arm nervously. "You mean this isn't going to go away, no matter how far we are from the capital?"

Tedy shook his head again. "Some say it started with a spell, others that it's a curse, but it all ends the same. If it spreads here—" he looked around, voice dropping further, "—I don't know if Huina would survive."

A breeze rustled the willow branches, and everyone fell silent, watching sunbeams chase patterns across the grass as if nothing dark could touch them. But the dread didn't fade.

At that moment, Rutina appeared, ponytail swinging, eyes tired but sharp as ever. Her cloak was hastily thrown over her usual blouse and skirt, still showing signs of her work as a healer. "I heard parts of those rumors in Molano too. My teacher said even the mages in the big cities are scared. Some want to leave. They say whatever it is, spells don't always work on it."

Tedy glanced at her, almost relieved not to bear the full burden of bringing bad news. "And your teacher? Did they say what it might be?"

Rutina shook her head. "Only that every healer should be ready for more wounds, not fewer, and that travelers should avoid big roads. That's why I hurried back here… I was worried."

Gilian looked at all of them, meeting each one's gaze in turn. His voice, when it came, was flat, no longer full of hope or wonder. "It's real. Arvan and I—we already saw it ourselves. It isn't just a story for us."

The group weighed his words in heavy silence.

Herman nodded. "We will fight it if it comes. And until then, we prepare and warn others." He looked at Tedy. "You said the merchant described the attackers as 'lifeless,' some as Humania-like. Did he see any become that way from a bite?"

"Smart question," Tedy replied, nodding. "Yes. He said some people—nobles, guards, kids—even—turned after being bitten. They got strong, crazy. Some changed in under half a day, some a whole day, but all lost their minds."

Alice's brows drew tight. "Is that why the animals started acting strangely too?"

Tedy nodded. "That's the rumor. Like the merchant said, animals bitten near Arnava showed crazy strength and speed. Some started biting their own kind. The old folks in the city called them 'The Ones Heaven Rejected,' but no one really dared to ask why."

Rutina hugged her arms close, shivering in the afternoon heat. "If healing magic doesn't always work… What do we do if it reaches us?"

No one answered for a long time.

Herman finally spoke, forcing resolve into his tone. "We'll do the only thing we can. Keep everyone together. Put extra guards at night. No one travels alone. Alice, Rutina, prepare as many medicines and bandages as you can. Arvan, you and Gilian always go in pairs, and never go outside the village alone. If anyone seems sick, hurt, or acts strange—report it at once."

Alice nodded, her expression growing firmer despite her fear. Rutina reached for her hand and squeezed it, trying to pass on what little strength she found.

Tedy looked at the sky with a wry smile. "Used to be, I loved passing on wild rumors. Now, I wish I didn't know any of them."

The group slowly broke apart, each returning to their preparations, their hearts heavy with the shadow of rumor now turned into reality.

As the long afternoon wore on, the village returned to its uneasy rhythm. Some tried to laugh, others tried to pray, but everywhere was the sense of waiting for something to break—a howl on the wind, a shadow crossing the fields, a distant scream from the forest.

Huina was a quiet place by habit. But now, the villagers' souls were loud with questions, heavy with worry, and ready—if only dimly—for the fight they believed must come.

Even the strongest sunlight could not quite scatter the stories Tedy had brought to life, and beneath every friendly word and busy hand was now the certainty that the next change in the wind could bring darkness upon Huina's peaceful morning.