Jaegar reappeared in a dimly lit grove, the chill of the night brushing against his skin. He took a moment to orient himself, his eyes scanning the surrounding farmland. Angelina's farmhouse was nestled further ahead, its silhouette faint against the pale light of the moon.
His footsteps were swift yet silent as he approached the building. The air carried an unnatural stillness, the usual nocturnal sounds conspicuously absent.
Something was wrong—he could feel it in his bones.
Jaegar pushed open the door to the farmhouse, the hinges creaking softly.
Inside, the room was dark, save for the faint glow of a single lamp on the table. Eradarin stood there, his face tense and shadowed, his tall frame exuding an air of urgency. His robes were slightly dishevelled, and his eyes darted toward Jaegar the moment he entered.
"You're here," Eradarin said, his voice steady but grave.
"Where's Master?" Jaegar demanded, his tone clipped.
