The wind had changed overnight.It wasn't the kind of change a farmer might notice — not a shift in temperature or a sign of an early storm — but something subtler, more unsettling. It carried no scent of rain, only the faint taste of iron on the tongue, as if the air itself had been scraped raw.
Kaelstood at the threshold of the healer's hut, the faint glow of the fire inside painting him in amber and shadow. The streets outside were quiet. Too quiet. Even at this hour, someone should have been about — a fisherman readying his nets, an old woman feeding chickens, a cart creaking over the dirt road. But this morning, there was only the slow, uncertain shuffle of people avoiding each other's eyes.
The news of last night's events had spread faster than Kael anticipated.
The rumors had grown in the telling — whispers of dark shapes seen in the trees, of voices in the wind that called people by name, of strange lights drifting over the fields like will-o'-the-wisps. And every whispered story seemed to bend toward one unspoken truth: something was watching.
Inside the hut, Elara sat propped up on a cot, pale but awake. Her eyes followed Kael with the kind of suspicion that came from both fear and the faintest thread of trust. She had seen something — he was certain of it — but every time he tried to coax it out of her, her words faltered, and her gaze would drift toward the shuttered window as though afraid the darkness might overhear.
"You didn't sleep," Kael said quietly.
"I tried." Her voice was hoarse, the sound of someone who had screamed more than they wanted to admit. "It doesn't… stop, you know. The sound."
He stepped closer. "The sound?"
She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the blanket. "Like strings. Being pulled. Not on a harp, not music. Just… tension. Always there. I hear it in my bones."
Kael said nothing for a moment. The memory of the man in the alley — his slack face, the way his limbs jerked like a marionette before going limp — replayed in Kael's mind. That was no natural thing. And now Elarawas speaking as if she could feel it even when awake.
"You're not leaving the hut," Kael decided. "Not today."
She gave him a thin smile. "And if it's already inside?"
That silenced him.
Outside, the faint creak of wood drew his attention. Across the road, an old cart leaned against a post, but its wheels turned slowly, though no one touched it. A trick of the wind? Maybe. But the air was still.
Kael's hand went to the hilt of his dagger.
The door to the healer's hut creaked open behind him. "Kael," came a voice.
It was Ryn,the blacksmith's son, broad-shouldered and anxious, his eyes darting around the empty street. "You need to see this."
Kael followed him without a word, leaving Elarain the care of the healer. They moved through the village until they reached the edge of the fields. There, half-hidden in the tall grass, lay another body.
A man Kaelrecognized — Marren, a quiet farmer with no enemies and no reason to be here at this hour. His eyes were wide, fixed on some distant horror, and his jaw hung slack.
"What happened to him?"Ryn asked.
Kaelcrouched, scanning the ground. No blood. No wounds. Only the faint marks of dragging — as if something had pulled Marren here, placed him in the grass, and left.
And then Kael saw it.
A single black thread, impossibly thin, trailing from Marren'swrist into the soil. When Kael reached for it, it dissolved into nothing, like smoke fleeing from light.
His stomach turned.
This was no accident.
"We need to warn the others," Rynsaid.
Kaelshook his head. "Not yet. If panic spreads, we'll have more than one body on our hands."
But even as he spoke, he felt the truth pressing in on him — whatever had happened last night was still happening now. And the threads, whatever they were, weren't finished weaving.