Morning brought no relief. Light spilled through the window with a clean, almost insulting clarity, as if the world insisted on pretending normality after what had happened during the night, as if nothing we had seen or felt had the right to remain with us beyond the dark. And yet, a single glance between us was enough. None of us had truly rested. And the exhaustion had nothing to do with the body. It was something deeper. Something that had begun to settle inside each of us. Eldran was the first to rise. He did so without a word, avoiding every gaze. He put on his coat with mechanical movements and left before anyone could stop him, or even question him. Aldric followed him with his eyes but said nothing. His expression hardened, just slightly, before he turned his face away, as if he had already made a decision he wasn't willing to share. Serah remained seated on her bed, arms crossed, back straight. Her silence wasn't passive, it was contained, as if she were trying to arrange thoughts that refused to fit together. Maelor and I rose more slowly. We exchanged a brief look. It was enough. We had to move forward. But something between us was no longer what it had been.
When we came downstairs, Garron Bale stood behind the bar exactly as we had left him, the same mug in his hands, the same patient expression. I approached without hesitation.
—The old woman with the pies —I said—. We saw her last night.
The innkeeper didn't answer immediately. He finished drying the mug with care, set it down on the wood, and only then looked up at us, studying us with a level of attention he hadn't shown before.
—Then you already know she's not just an old woman —he said at last.
No one spoke, but the tension settled among us like another presence.
—She comes from the mill —he continued—. Just outside the town, along the eastern road. You won't miss it… if you're looking to find it.
Maelor placed a hand on the bar, leaning slightly forward.
—Does she live alone?
Garron shook his head slowly, as if that question no longer allowed a simple answer.
—Some say she does —he replied—. Others prefer to believe she doesn't. They speak of sisters… more than one voice in the mornings. More than one shadow at night.
The silence that followed was brief, but dense enough that no one dared to break it lightly. The word shadow pulled my thoughts back to Eldran's account of his encounter with Aldric.
—People go to her —the innkeeper added, his tone lowering slightly—. They ask for favors. Small things at first —things that sound harmless when spoken aloud—. Luck, health, coin… the usual.
—And she grants them? —I asked, not breaking eye contact.
Garron held my gaze longer than necessary.
—Always. The word fell like a hammer.
—And after? —Maelor pressed.
—After… she comes to collect —he said, looking away—. But that… you'll have to find out for yourselves.
We asked no more.
—The church —I said.
Garron nodded, returning to his previous tone.
—It's close. Follow the main road to the fountain, then turn north. You'll see it soon enough. Though I doubt you'll find much there. And be careful… people here don't like outsiders.
We stepped outside. And that was when I felt it again. Not something I could point to. Not a clear difference in the streets or the shape of the houses. But the town was not the same. Distances felt wrong. Spaces slightly distorted. As if Valebrun were breathing in our faces… reshaping itself to its own rhythm, beyond anything we could understand. I stopped for a moment.
—Captain? —Maelor asked.
—Nothing —I said—. Let's move.
We walked on. But no longer as one. Aldric walked beside Serah, speaking in low tones without looking at us. Eldran had moved ahead, alone, his gaze fixed on something none of us could see. Maelor and I followed behind. Apart. Meanwhile, the town began to watch. Half-open doors. Shifted curtains. Figures standing in corners. Some staring openly. Others spitting at the ground as we passed.Our presence was something to be rejected… even without being understood. And what unsettled me most wasn't the hostility. It was the absence of order. No guards. No patrols. No soldiers. In the entire valley, as far as we had seen, there was no visible authority.
—That's not normal —I muttered.
—No —Maelor replied—. It isn't.
We hadn't gone much farther before the tension took form. Two men stepped into our path, claiming the center of the street with quiet certainty. They carried no visible weapons, but they didn't need them.
—You're not from here —one said, spitting aside. No one answered. —And you don't look like you plan on leaving.
Aldric stepped forward, that familiar balance between control and challenge.
—We're not looking for trouble.
The other man let out a dry, humorless laugh.
—Then you've already started wrong.
The tension tightened. Aldric shifted. Eldran turned slightly. Serah adjusted her stance. But Maelor stepped forward with a calm that unraveled the moment before it could break.
—We're not here to stay —he said—. And we're not here to take anything from you.
The men studied him.
—Then don't walk like you own the place.
Maelor held his ground.
—We don't.
A few more seconds passed. Enough for everything to fall apart. Or not. At last, one of them relented. He spat again and stepped back.
—Then learn fast —he said—. Or you won't last long. They left, though not without looking back.
We moved on. The church appeared soon after. Smaller than I expected. Built of pale stone, with a low tower and a wooden door left slightly ajar, as if waiting. We entered. The interior was empty. Too clean., too ordered. The silence felt abandoned. We searched. Nothing: no priest, no trace of anyone. And then I felt it again. That same pull. Toward something unseen.
—This way —I said.
We moved past the altar and found a door leading outside. The graveyard stretched behind the church. Wind stirred the grass between the graves, carrying a low murmur across the ground, as if the earth itself whispered something we could not understand. We walked without speaking. Old graves. Some swallowed by wild growth. Others broken, split in half. Many so worn that no inscription remained. And then, we saw them. Four graves. Set apart from the rest. Close together. More recent. I stepped closer. Read the names. And there we were. Carved clean. Without error. Aldric. Serah. Maelor. Eldran. The air grew heavy. Almost unbreathable. No one spoke. No one needed to. I took another step. There was a fifth grave. Set slightly apart. The earth was freshly turned. The headstone… was blank. I stared at it in silence. For a long moment. Feeling something inside me fall into place, into a truth I did not want to accept. And I knew… without needing anyone to say it… that it was mine.