Winds of Change

The morning air felt crisp against my skin as I emerged from my tent, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The camp was already stirring, a gentle hum of activity and the smell of breakfast wafting through the air. There was something different today, an undercurrent of anticipation I couldn't quite place. I adjusted my cloak, feeling the weight of the previous day's mission still lingering in my muscles.

As I walked through the camp, I noticed small groups of guild members gathered, their conversations hushed and eyes darting toward the main gate. Curiosity gnawed at me, and I quickened my pace, making my way to the central square where a small crowd had formed. There, standing at the gate flanked by guards, was a figure cloaked in a dark, travel-worn cape, hood pulled low over his face. The air was thick with tension and whispered speculation.