Chapter 4: Whispers in the dark
Elvenford, bathed in the soft glow of the full moon, seemed idyllic. Smoke curled from chimneys, painting the night sky with wispy streaks. Laughter spilled from a tavern, a welcome sound after the unsettling quiet of the forest. Yet, beneath the veneer of normalcy, a coldness lingered in Elias's gut. The old woman's words echoed in his mind – a ward protected the village, keeping the darkness at bay. But for how long?
He found himself drawn to the tavern, the promise of company and a warm meal too strong to resist. Inside, a boisterous crowd huddled around wooden tables, mugs of ale raised in merriment. Elias found a seat in a corner, the cacophony washing over him. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, a figure near the fireplace caught his attention.
An old man, his face obscured by shadows, sat hunched over, muttering to himself. Elias felt a strange pull towards him, a prickling unease that urged him closer. Ignoring the internal warning, he rose and approached the man.
"Excuse me," Elias said hesitantly.
The old man's head snapped up, revealing milky white eyes that seemed to bore into Elias's soul. A ragged smile stretched across his face, revealing rows of black, uneven teeth.
"You can see me, can't you, boy?" his voice rasped, a dry whisper that sent shivers down Elias's spine.
Terror locked his voice for a moment before he stammered, "Who… who are you?"
The old man's smile widened, an unnatural glint in his eyes. "A friend, perhaps. Or maybe… a warning."
Before Elias could question him further, the old man's laughter echoed through the tavern, a chilling sound that scraped against Elias's nerves. The laughter abruptly stopped, replaced by a look of pure malice.
"The veil weakens, child," the old man hissed, his voice barely audible above the din. "They are coming. And Elvenford's ward… it won't hold forever."
A wave of dizziness washed over Elias. The vibrant scene around him blurred, replaced by a horrifying vision. Grotesque creatures with razor-sharp claws and glowing red eyes swarmed the village, their guttural roars shaking the very foundations of the buildings. Villagers screamed, fleeing in terror as the creatures tore through the ward, leaving behind a trail of carnage.
The vision subsided as abruptly as it began. Elias gasped, heart pounding in his chest. The tavern lights seemed to pulse, the laughter and chatter morphing into a distorted cacophony. He looked back at the corner, but the old man was gone.
Panic clawed at his throat. The vision, so vivid, so real, felt like a glimpse into a horrifying future. He had to warn someone, but of what? How could he explain what he'd seen, what he could perceive that others couldn't?
Desperation gnawed at him. He stumbled out of the tavern, the cool night air a slap against his feverish skin. He needed to find answers, and fast. The Order of the Dawn, Elara had mentioned. They were his only hope to understand his purpose, the Mark of Xulthor, and how to stop the encroaching darkness he'd glimpsed in the horrifying vision. But where would he find them?
As he wandered through the darkened streets, a sense of dread coiled around him. The shadows seemed to writhe and twist, and unseen eyes watched from every corner. The idyllic facade of Elvenford had shattered, replaced by the chilling reality of the world he now inhabited. He was no longer just a stranger in a strange land – he was a marked man, thrust into a battle against an unseen enemy. And the fight had only just begun.