The village remained silent.
Not peaceful.
Silent.
The Traveler stood in the middle of the narrow road, looking at the rows of wooden houses.
Every door was shut.
Every window was covered.
No children played outside.
No voices drifted through the walls.
Even the dogs were gone.
He slowly turned toward the nearest house.
A curtain moved.
Someone was watching him.
The Traveler took one step forward.
The curtain immediately disappeared.
He stopped.
"Why is everyone hiding?"
No answer.
He walked toward the door.
His boots touched the old wooden steps.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The sound traveled through the village.
Nothing.
Then—
a voice came from inside.
"Go away."
The Traveler frowned.
"I just want to ask something."
Silence.
The door remained locked.
The elder sister hurried toward him.
"Don't."
He looked back.
"Why?"
Her face had gone pale.
"Because you're outside."
The Traveler glanced around.
"It's almost morning."
"That doesn't matter."
She grabbed his arm.
"Come with me."
He didn't move.
Instead, he looked at the sealed houses.
"Why are they afraid of me?"
The woman hesitated.
Then she lowered her voice.
"They aren't afraid of you."
A pause.
"They're afraid of what might follow you."
The Traveler's expression hardened.
"What followed me?"
She said nothing.
Because she remembered black eyes.
Black smoke.
A voice that did not belong to the man standing in front of her.
And the warning.
Do not tell him what you saw.
She pulled him away from the houses.
"Just come."
This time, he followed.
Her home was small.
Too small for three people.
Yet three sleeping spaces remained.
One bed.
One small mattress.
And a blanket folded neatly in the corner.
The Traveler noticed the third place immediately.
He looked at her.
"You live alone?"
The woman stopped.
"Yes."
"What happened to the others?"
She stared at the floor.
"My brother."
Her voice cracked.
"My younger sister."
The Traveler said nothing.
"They're dead."
The words seemed to drain the warmth from the room.
He looked toward the empty mattress.
There were still belongings there.
A wooden toy.
A small piece of cloth.
A cup.
Things nobody had bothered to remove.
The Traveler's eyes remained calm.
"I see."
The woman looked at him.
"You don't remember?"
"Remember what?"
"The mountain."
His expression changed slightly.
"I remember the mountain."
"The dead?"
"Yes."
"The monster?"
"Yes."
She swallowed.
"And after that?"
The Traveler looked down at his hands.
Nothing.
"I don't remember."
She turned away.
Good.
She had kept her promise.
For now.
Then the Traveler noticed something hanging beside the door.
A wooden board.
Old.
Cracked.
Covered in writing.
He stepped closer.
The woman immediately said:
"Don't."
He stopped.
"What is it?"
"The laws."
"The laws?"
She nodded.
"Every person in this village follows them."
The Traveler read the first line.
THE LAWS OF THE VILLAGE
Below it were several rules.
I. No man shall remain outside after sunset.
II. No woman shall open the door after the third knock.
III. During the Blood Moon, men and women must remain separated after midnight.
IV. When the moon turns red, every window must be covered.
V. Never answer a voice calling from outside.
VI. Never invite a returning person inside during the Blood Moon.
The Traveler's eyes narrowed.
"Returning person?"
The woman didn't answer.
He continued reading.
At the bottom was one final sentence.
The letters were deeper than the others.
As though someone had carved them into the wood with a knife.
ANYONE WHO BREAKS THE LAWS SHALL BE PUT TO DEATH.
The Traveler stared at it.
"By whom?"
"The village."
He turned toward her.
"You kill your own people?"
"If they break the laws."
"Why?"
She looked toward the covered window.
"Because everyone who ignored them died."
The Traveler remained silent.
Then—
three knocks came from the front door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The woman's face instantly lost its color.
The Traveler slowly turned.
Someone was standing outside.
A voice followed.
"Please…"
The woman stepped backward.
The Traveler looked at her.
"Who is that?"
She shook her head.
The voice came again.
"Please open the door."
The Traveler approached it.
"Don't."
Her voice was barely audible.
The Traveler stopped.
Then the voice outside whispered:
"I'm cold."
The woman covered her mouth.
Her eyes filled with terror.
Because she knew that voice.
The Traveler looked at her.
"You know them."
She said nothing.
The voice came again.
This time—
it sounded exactly like her dead younger sister.
"Please…"
The Traveler's hand moved toward the door.
The woman grabbed his wrist.
"No."
The Traveler looked at her hand.
Then at the door.
And for the first time since entering the village—
he sensed something.
Not behind the door.
Not in the room.
Something farther away.
Something watching the house.
Something that had been waiting.
The Abyssal Mark beneath his collarbone pulsed once.
Neither of them noticed.
Outside, the voice stopped.
Silence returned.
Then came a whisper from beyond the door.
Not the girl's voice anymore.
Something deeper.
Something almost amused.
"You brought him back."
The Traveler's eyes narrowed.
The woman froze.
And somewhere beyond the village—
something moved between the trees.
The village had survived the Blood Moon.
But perhaps it had never survived what came after it.