As Sgard left the hall, his footsteps echoed in the quiet chamber, a reflection of the heavy burden he carried in his heart. His face was shadowed with pain, a mixture of guilt and anger boiling within him.
His father, Jarl Daus, watched him go, the realisation dawning that he had underestimated the toll these events had taken on his son. Even if he was weak-hearted and not strong like his brothers and sisters, he was still his son, his child.
Daus's shoulders sagged, and he turned back to face Belan and Jolthar, his expression weary but resolute.
"I won't pretend this is easy for me to ask," Daus began, his voice low but firm, "but I need your help. The tribe can't face this terror alone. You both are outsiders—strong, resourceful—and perhaps you'll see what we cannot."
Belan, her face still pale from her encounter with the shadowy figure, exchanged a glance with Jolthar. There was an unspoken understanding between them; this wasn't just a mission—it was a chance to protect the innocent and uncover the truth behind the valley's haunting.
"We'll help," Belan said firmly, her voice steady despite the lingering fear. "But we'll need full access to the tribe's resources and any information you have."
Belan was a woman with a tender heart. She couldn't see the pain Lysandra was going through when Sgard spoke, and she wanted to help her son.
Jolthar nodded after exchanging a glance with Eran. Well, it was the reason they came for. Thɪs chapter is updated by noveⅼfire.net
Relief washed over Daus's features. "Thank you. Truly."
He turned to Eran, who had remained silent, observing the exchange. "I'll explain the situation in full to you as well. This isn't just about the missing women—last night was not the first time we've been attacked. It's been happening for weeks."
Eran's brow furrowed. "Weeks? And no one thought to reach out for help sooner?"
Daus sighed, the weight of his decisions evident. "At first, we thought we could handle it. Our hunters are skilled, our defences strong, but... whatever this is, it's unlike anything we've faced. It comes and goes without a trace, and it's taken... too many already."
The room fell silent, the gravity of the situation sinking in.
Finally, Daus gestured for a servant to show the group to their rooms.
"You'll need to rest," he said. "Tonight, we'll meet again to plan our next steps. The thing only comes at night, so you'll have time to prepare."
The group followed the servant down a dimly lit corridor that smelt faintly of stone and damp wood. Each room was modest but comfortable, with thick fur blankets and candles burning softly on bedside tables.
Jolthar entered his assigned room and immediately began to shed his travel gear, his thoughts racing.
The events of the day replayed in his mind—the eerie silence of the valley, people's faces were full of despair. And that man he met, was devastated by his daughter's disappearance.
He thought if he could solve the issue, then it would be added to his achievements.
And of course, helping the tribe would come first.
Whatever was plaguing the valley was no ordinary thing, and he couldn't shake the feeling that they were dealing with something far darker than they had been led to believe.
Across the hall, Belan stood by the window of her room, staring out at the quiet valley below. The oppressive stillness was unnerving, and her instincts told her that tonight would bring more than just answers—it would bring danger.
As the evening crept closer, the group rested and prepared themselves.
The air in the castle seemed to grow colder, heavier, as though the valley itself was aware of what was to come. Nightfall would bring with it new horrors, and the group would need all their strength—and wits—to face the darkness.
The air in the Jowaryan Valley was unnervingly still, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant howl of wind through the cliffs.
Jolthar stood atop a small rocky outcrop near the edge of the pyramid-like castle, his drake, Maelruth, beside him. The beast let out soft, guttural rumbles, its sharp eyes scanning the dark expanse below. Jolthar ran a hand along Maelruth's scaled neck, more to reassure himself than the creature, and his other hand on the Knashii.
The valley stretched out before him, bathed in the pale silver of the moonlight. Houses dotted the terrain, their windows tightly shuttered, the faint glow of candles flickering from within. The inhabitants were locked away, cowering in fear of whatever had been snatching women in the dead of night.
From his elevated position, Jolthar could see the positions of the others.
Eran and his group of knights moved through the streets, their figures ghostlike in the shadows. The knights had split into small groups, quietly patrolling key areas of the village. Their armour was padded to reduce noise, and each carried a torch, its flickering flame casting ominous shapes on the walls.
Within the Daryen Valley encampment, an anticipatory silence hung—thick as blood, sharp as a drawn blade.
Further down, Belan and Lysandra were stationed near the southern part of the village, where the most recent abduction had occurred. Belan leaned against a wall, her demeanour calm but her senses heightened.
Lysandra was beside her, crouched low and peering into the shadows of a narrow alleyway.
Jolthar tightened the straps on his light armour and adjusted the sword at his hip. His hand lingered on the hilt, the weight of the weapon both a comfort and a reminder of the task ahead.
He had chosen this vantage point strategically—it offered a clear view of the valley's entrances and exits, as well as the wide-open streets below.
From his position, he could see Belan whispering something to Lysandra, gesturing toward the darker edges of the village where the forest crept close. Lysandra nodded, gripping her sword tightly. They were prepared for a confrontation.
Jolthar's thoughts wandered briefly as he surveyed the scene.
Whatever was out there had evaded the tribe for weeks, moving with a speed and stealth that seemed unnatural.