The village was restless. Dark clouds loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the fields and forests surrounding Eldermoor. Tomas could feel the weight of the coming storm—not just the one in the sky, but the one stirring within the old legends and whispered fears of the townsfolk.
He stood at the edge of the village, staring into the thick woods beyond. Tonight, the seventh son's blood called to something ancient and unforgiving. His heart pounded with a mix of dread and determination. This was the moment he had been preparing for his whole life.
In the distance, flickering lights appeared—torches, moving fast through the trees. The village elders, the hunters, and others who shared Tomas' bloodline were gathering. They knew the truth now: a darkness had awakened, and only they could stand against it.
As the figures approached, Tomas felt a chill. The air was thick with anticipation and fear. He gripped the talisman around his neck, its cold metal pressing into his skin—a reminder of his legacy and the sacrifices that awaited.
The seventh son must face the night alone, but tonight, the sons would stand together.
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