The sun begins to fall behind the hills, casting a warm orange glow over the village. The
village square buzzes with activity. Men gather near the central well, forming a loose circle
on wooden stools and stacked crates. Brann Harken, Darrek Ashford, Erek Valen, Kael, and a
few elders sit discussing plans while others lean in to listen.
"We'll start the cleaning from the temple steps tomorrow" says Erek, adjusting his cap and
brushing sawdust off his sleeves. "The front panels are worn. I'll replace those before the
festival."
Darrek nods. "Good. We'll need those lantern poles fixed too. Can you do that?"
Old man Garrik leans in, his voice raspy. "We'll need extra oil for the lamps this year. Last
Shivratri, half the square was dark."
Rowan says "We've doubled the harvest, We'll contribute enough grain. Maybe trade some
for the oil."
Kael raises a hand. "Weapons will need blessing too. It's a sacred night. I'll help prepare
the offerings for the forge."
Brann "Good. This festival isn't just food and song, It's our faith. Let's keep it that way."
Darrek says, turning to Garron, the messenger. "We'll need music, Tell Lutha's boy to fetch
the dholaks from the storage house."
Garron nods. "Consider it done."
Dareek "We'll need flowers, and turmeric, and rangoli powder" Thomas, walking up with a
few scrolls. "I've listed everything. I'll check with the women make sure nothing is missed."
Brann smiles. "You've got a good head for this, Thomas."
Kael leans forward. "And what about the young boys? Aldric and Konrad… they must be
given a role. Let them lead the opening prayer this year." Brann and Darrek exchange a
proud glance.
Darrek says "They're ready, Let the people see the future of Vhalgren."
Laughter echoes through the square. Despite the uneasy morning, the evening returns to a
warm, shared purpose. Plans stretch into twilight, and hope flickers gently like the lanterns
they'll soon hang.
A cold breeze rolls through the village of Vhalgren as dawn breaks over the rooftops. Smoke
rises gently from chimneys, and early risers begin their day. But peace doesn't last. A loud
cry echoes from the southern edge of the village.
"Thieves! By the Gods my house! I've been robbed!" comes a desperate shout from an
elderly man's hut.
It's Old Henric, a wiry, white bearded farmer who lives alone. Villagers rush out of their
homes, some with half eaten bread in hand, some still tying their waistcloths. Brann and
Darrek, already up for their morning rounds, are among the first to arrive.
Darrek asks, gripping the old man's shoulder. "Henric, what happened?"
Henric's hands shake. "My grain sacks are gone. Gold too. I kept it beneath the hearth. The
lock was broken, the chest's wide open! I " he breaks off, clutching his head, breathing
heavily.
Inside the hut, it's chaos. The small chest of coins lies shattered on the floor. Footprints mark
the muddy edge of the doorway. Brann kneels to inspect the lock. His jaw tightens. "This
wasn't random, Whoever did this knew where he hid it."
More villagers gather, whispering nervously. Children peek from behind their mothers.
Erek Valen, still wiping sawdust from his hands, speaks up. "We need to check every home.
If grain is being stolen, it's not just theft it's survival they're after."
Garrik says, arms crossed. "That... or something worse, First Rowan's cows, now this.
Animals don't steal gold." A hush spreads.
Meera arrives with Lina, whispering, "It's the second time in two days, Brann. What if
something's coming?"
Brann stands, voice firm. "We'll post watches. Tonight, nobody sleeps without knowing
someone's guarding the gates. Darrek organize the men."
Darrek nods. "Yeah. No more surprises."
The crowd breaks apart slowly, some whispering, some just staring at the dirt path in silence.
In the corners of the village, fear begins to take root quiet, creeping, and cold.
And somewhere, beyond the woods, someone is watching.