As they stepped into Thatchrun Village, an unnatural silence greeted them.

  No children's laughter.

  No barking dogs.

  No bystander chatting.

  Only the wind.

  As the party moved toward the center of the village, doors shifted open by inches. Pale faces peered through cracks. Curtains trembled. Fear hung in the air like smoke after a fire.

  A haggard man stepped forward from the shadow of a worn-out house.

  His beard was long and unkempt, heavily streaked with gray. His clothes were dirty, and his skin was dry from lack of nourishment. Red-rimmed eyes spoke of sleepless nights, unease and grief.

  He bowed deeply to the four people in front of him.

  Yet his gaze lingered—subtle and cautious—on the collar resting against the young man's throat. Not in reverence. Not quite in distrust. Something in between.

  I am Rowan Wood, he said, voice rough as dry timber. Village chief of Thatchrun. He stated.

  You must be the adventurers sent by the guild.

  Rain nodded but did not speak.

  Thank the heavens you've come, Rowan continued, his voice trembling now. We've been plagued by these creatures for weeks. They've stolen our harvest, slaughtered livestock... and attacked our people.

  Behind him, a woman clutched a bundled infant tighter to her chest. A young boy stood nearby gripping a wooden pitchfork far too large for him.

  Rowan's jaw tightened.

  Please, he said, lowering himself into another bow. Help us.

  Seraphine stepped forward first. Compassion softened her features as her emotions quietly flared, instinctively reading the man's condition. Exhaustion. Malnourishment. Lingering despair.

  We will, she said gently.

  Luna's sharp eyes instinctively scanned the rooftops, the alleyways, and the trees beyond the farms. Tactical positioning. Entry points. Ambush routes.

  Is there somewhere private where we can discuss the situation in detail? Luna asked calmly, addressing the village chief.

  Rowan nodded quickly. Yes. Of course. Please—this way.

  The town hall was modest—aged timber beams, a place long gone cold. A long wooden table dominated the center of the room. Chairs scraped softly as the adventurers took their sits.

  Rowan shut the door behind them and leaned against it for a moment, gathering himself.

  I'll tell you everything.

  Seraphine removed her hood slowly. Her eyes were calm, sharp, calculating.

  How did it begin? she asked, voice steady and serious.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Rowan lowered himself into a chair. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his beard.

  Almost a month ago, he began. Small things at first. Chickens disappearing. Tools missing from sheds. We thought it was children... or perhaps petty thieves passing through.

  He stared outside the window.

  We were wrong.

  The fire in the hearth crackled faintly.

  Two weeks ago, he continued, the attacks turned violent. Small monsters—goblins, we think. They came at night.

  His voice broke.

  A young couple had gone out for a night's walk. They never made it home.

  Seraphine gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

  That's horrible...

  Tria's fist struck the table with a dull thud. Where were your village guards?

  Rowan snapped. They fought back to protect us! Our guards drove them off the first few nights—we thought it would be enough.

  He lowered his head, and sorrowful tears spilled from his eyes.

  But they kept coming.

  Luna leaned forward. Numbers increasing?

  Yes. Rowan's eyes lifted, haunted. And their tactics changed.

  Rain's gaze sharpened.

  In what way?

  They stopped charging blindly. They began setting distractions. One group would draw the guards to the east fields. Another would strike the granary.

  He swallowed.

  Last week, they ambushed our hunting party. Waited in the treeline. Surrounded them.

  Silence filled the room.

  We lost five, Rowan whispered. The rest barely escaped. Some are still bedridden.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Rowan hesitated, then opened it.

  An elderly woman stepped in, her back bent with age. Rowan, she said softly. The children are frightened again. They heard something near the north barns.

  Luna rose instantly.

  How many guards are stationed there?

  Two, Rowan replied.

  Tria rolled her shoulders. That's not enough.

  Luna stood.

  We'll check it.

  Outside, dusk was falling. Long shadows stretched between farmhouses. The south barns loomed at the edge of the fields, doors swaying slightly in the breeze.

  A young man holding a rusted spear approached them nervously. You're the adventurers? he asked.

  Yes, Seraphine replied gently. Have you seen anything?

  Tracks, he whispered. Small ones. Near the fence line.

  Luna crouched low, fingers brushing the soil.

  Goblin footprints. Fresh.

  They're scouting, she murmured.

  Rain's eyes narrowed. Or testing response time.

  A shrill cry suddenly cut through the air—from the direction of the grain storage.

  Tria was already moving.

  The party sprinted toward the sound. Villagers scattered. A lantern shattered on the ground, oil spilling.

  A teenage girl stumbled out from behind the granary, shaking. I—I saw something in the shadows!

  Rain stepped forward, scanning the darkness.

  Two yellow eyes blinked from the treeline.

  Then vanished.

  No attack.

  Just observation.

  Rain stood slowly.

  Are they studying this town's defenses? he said quietly.

  Back inside the town hall, tension thickened the air.

  It's like they're adapting, Luna muttered.

  Rowan nodded weakly. Every encounter... they get smarter.

  Rain crossed her arms, hands covering his mouth, revealing only her cold, focused eyes.

  Have you noticed a leader? he asked. One that might be directing them?

  Rowan hesitated.

  There is one larger than the others. Scar across its face. It never engages directly. It watches.

  Tria smirked faintly. A commander.

  Or something worse, Luna corrected.

  Rowan leaned forward, desperation breaking through his composure.

  We gathered every remaining coin. Every heirloom. Everything of value. It's not much... but it's all we have.

  His voice cracked.

  We cannot abandon this village. Our ancestors built these homes. Our children were born here.

  A small knock interrupted them again.

  The young boy with the oversized pitchfork stood in the doorway.

  Mister Rowan, he said, voice trembling, are the monsters coming tonight?

  Rowan's face crumpled for just a moment.

  Rain stepped forward instead.

  No, he said firmly. Not while we're here.

  The boy's eyes widened with fragile hope.

  When the door closed again, Luna exhaled slowly.

  This quest is more serious than we imagined.

  Seraphine nodded. If they're evolving tactically, a simple extermination won't be enough.

  Tria cracked her knuckles. Then we hunt the head.

  Luna's voice was calm—but conviction lay beneath it.

  We do not rush.

  She looked at each of them.

  If they're studying us, then tonight... we let them watch.

  A faint smile curved her lips.

  And tomorrow, we make them regret it.