Dusk clung to the rooftops of Sewen as the warband made their way down the final stretch of the hillside road. The hamlet looked peaceful from a distance: a handful of crooked houses, two inns, a smithy that looked half-collapsed, and a chapel that had seen better years. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys, carrying the faint scent of roasted grain and oak ash.

  But peace could be a trick of the light. The warband knew that too well.

  Towns like Sewen rarely had guards or a garrison. If a sheriff existed, he was probably more farmer than fighter, and whatever law held here depended on tired people agreeing not to make trouble. Still, travelers respected weariness. Even bandits liked a warm meal and dry boots before the next road.

  Maruzan’s boots were already caked with dust, and the ache in his shoulders had been gnawing at him since noon. He wasn’t alone. Xonya rubbed the back of her neck with a low groan, muttering something about "sleeping on real wood instead of roots for once." Bram stretched his arms until his joints popped. Nethira walked beside them silently, her eyes flicking between the darkening trees and the faint glow of lanterns ahead. Winnum trailed behind, staff in hand, his posture tired but disciplined.

  When they reached the edge of the main road, a wooden sign greeted them: “Welcome to Sewen - Fair Lodging, Honest Trade.”

  Xonya snorted. “Honest trade, my foot. Half the travelers here are merchants trying to pawn bad bronze.”

  “Half’s still better than none,” Bram said. “Come on, I can smell bread.”

  Ennett motioned toward the larger inn, a squat stone building with a faded green door and smoke curling from its chimney. “That’ll do,” she said. “We’ll rest here and move before dawn.”

  Inside, the common room was quiet. A few locals sat near the fire, their voices hushed and their mugs half-empty. The innkeeper, a heavyset man with thinning hair, greeted them with polite indifference.

  “Rooms?” he asked.

  “One,” Maruzan said. “We’ll take turns.”

  The man nodded, counting coins with the kind of speed that came from habit. “Second floor, last on the left. Keep your boots off the bed.”

  They paid what they could, Xonya covering the difference, and climbed the creaking stairs. The room was small and smelled faintly of hay and soap. A single bed, one narrow window, and a cracked washbasin on a stand.

  Bram dropped his pack with a grunt. “Cozy,” he said.

  “Cramped,” Ennett corrected.

  “It’s both,” Farrin said, setting her crossbow by the door.

  No one argued. They were too tired.

  They decided on a rotation. Two awake, the rest resting in shifts. The bed was claimed by coin toss. Bram won, though he swore it was luck, not cheating. Ennett rolled her eyes but let it go.

  Farrin volunteered for first watch. She took the chair by the small fireplace, where the embers still glowed orange. The others settled in around her, some on the floor, some against the wall. Within minutes, the room quieted.

  The fire’s warmth dulled the edge of the night chill, but Farrin didn’t let it lull her. She wasn’t the sort to let her guard down. Her dwarven eyes adjusted easily to the low light, tracing the outlines of the hearth and the door. Every creak of the boards above and murmur from the common room below drew her attention.

  Her mind wandered as it often did during watch. She thought about Kellen-Tir, her home, and the paths she didn’t take. She thought about her sisters, about how they must be wondering where she’d gone. They had always teased her for being restless. You can’t dig a tunnel in the open world, they used to say. But she’d wanted more than stone walls. She wanted to see what waited beyond them.

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  Now she knew. Sometimes it was beauty. Sometimes it was horror. Most times, it was a mix of both.

  The door downstairs creaked.

  Farrin’s head tilted slightly. Footsteps echoed, soft, cautious. A door opened somewhere below, then closed again. Voices followed, quiet and hurried.

  She didn’t move. Not yet.

  The steps grew louder until they reached the common room. The voices became clearer now, three men, by the sound of it. One of them laughed, low and tired.

  “No one’s here,” a voice said. “The barkeep’s gone to bed.”

  “Maybe he’s sick of us,” another replied. Younger. Sharper. “We’re overdue our pay anyway.”

  “Keep your voice down,” the first hissed.

  Farrin didn’t open her eyes, but her focus sharpened.

  Then came a third voice, low, gravelly. “Enough. No drinking tonight. We’ve work come morning.”

  “Work?” the younger one said. “This isn’t work. It’s madness. You seen what he’s done to the others?”

  “Quiet,” the gravelly one said again, more forceful this time. “He promised gold. Once the relic’s found, we’re out of this filth. Now shut up before someone hears.”

  Relic.

  Farrin’s eyes snapped open.

  The younger man muttered, “You’re the fool if you think he’ll share gold. He’s got shadows crawling in his blood. It ain’t natural.”

  “That’s enough,” came the reply. “Get some rest. We leave before dawn.”

  Chairs scraped. Then silence.

  Farrin waited, counting her breaths. She waited until their murmurs faded and the rhythmic sound of snoring took over.

  Then she moved.

  Quietly, she crossed the room and crouched near the floorboards by the wall. The wood was old and thin, sound carried easily. She could hear them clearly now. There were two downstairs, maybe three. She caught the soft rattle of armor, the clink of glass. They were camped in the corner of the common room.

  “Dark sorcery,” she whispered under her breath. The words felt wrong in her mouth, like a splinter.

  She stayed there a while longer, listening, making sure. Then she stood, brushed off her knees, and turned toward the bed where Maruzan slept.

  He woke before she reached him, eyes opening immediately. He never slept deeply since Elzibar.

  “Something wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

  “There are men downstairs,” she said. “They were talking about a relic. Said something about sorcery.”

  He sat up fully, the lines of exhaustion still on his face. “You’re sure?”

  “I heard it myself.”

  He rubbed his forehead, thinking. “Could be coincidence,” he said finally. “Or maybe not.”

  Farrin crossed her arms. “They said they leave before dawn. If they’re tied to what we’re after, we can’t let them vanish.”

  Maruzan nodded slowly. “Alright. We’ll wait until morning. If they head south, we follow.”

  Farrin hesitated. “You think it’s connected to the girl?”

  “Everything lately seems connected,” he said quietly. “Too neatly to be random.”

  By sunrise, the warband was awake and moving before the rest of the inn stirred. The air smelled faintly of wet straw and bread just starting to bake. Through the cracked shutters, faint gold light spilled across the floor.

  Downstairs, the common room was empty. The table where the men had sat was bare except for a half-burned candle and a few crumbs.

  “They’re gone,” Xonya said.

  “Which direction?” Maruzan asked.

  Farrin pointed to the southern trail beyond the well. “The dirt’s fresh. Boot prints. Five of them.”

  Maruzan nodded. “We follow. Quietly.”

  As they stepped out into the morning, Nethira’s voice stopped him. “Be cautious,” she said. “There’s something wrong in this place. The air feels... heavy. As if something’s watching.”

  He met her eyes. “You think it’s the same presence you felt before?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it’s moving. Like roots under the ground, waiting to break through.”

  Maruzan’s hand rested on the hilt of his blade. “Then we’ll find out soon enough.”

  They followed the faint trail south, the sun just cresting the hills behind them. Birds took flight as they passed, startled by their steps.

  Bram glanced back at the quiet town, then to Maruzan. “Think we’ll be back by nightfall?”

  Maruzan didn’t answer at first. His eyes were fixed on the treeline ahead, where the forest swallowed the path like an open mouth.

  Finally, he said, “Depends on what waits in the shadows.”

  And with that, they disappeared into the woods, six travelers chasing whispers, their path already curling toward something far darker than any of them could yet name.

  The trail ahead was uncertain. But one truth followed them like a shadow. Sewen was not just another quiet town. It was a threshold. And something on the other side was already stirring.