The Old Watchtower

The old watchtower creaked as a wind whipped through it. Varian leaned against one of the rough posts, looking down upon the village below him. The huts clustered together under the forest’s shadow. Mist swirled around the pines and drifted through the muddy streets. Elric moved, and wooden boards squeaked beneath his feet. The firelight showed the lines on his face—signs of many nights spent awake.

“Quiet night,” Elric said, rubbing his hands over the small fire.

“Always is.” Varian grunted.

“Could be worse.” Elric’s voice cut through Varian’s brooding. “Heard they’re battling giant hordes in the Frostgard passes.”

“It’s better than protecting turnip farmers from their own shadows,” Varian said bitterly.

Elric leaned forward. “Who says that’s all we’re guarding against?”

Varian grunted. “Just village gossip and nursery rhymes.” But the words still made him shiver.

Whispers of Darkness

“Then why keep us penned in?” Elric pressed, voice low and urgent. “What’s the commander afraid we’ll find?”

“His own incompetence, most like.” Varian’s deflection felt hollow, even to himself. He’d seen the fear in the commander’s eyes, heard the tremor in his voice when he issued orders to never venture beyond the tree line.

Elric’s voice dropped to a whisper, charged with dark promise. “My uncle served in the Grukmar campaigns. Told me things. Things they don’t want known.”

Varian raised an eyebrow, curiosity warring with the instinct for self-preservation. “Such as?”

A furtive glance over the shoulder, as if the very night might be listening. Elric’s next words tumbled out in a rush. “The Grukmari worship old gods. Use captives for rituals. Gives them unnatural strength.”

“You’re full of shit.” Varian’s denial was automatic, a reflex against truths too terrible to contemplate. But doubt, crept into his mind.

“Ever wonder why the Empire pulled back? Left all this land empty?”

Varian poked at the coals. Sparks flew up. He remembered stories from his childhood. Tales of blood-soaked altars and monsters in the dark. He shook his head, angry at his own foolishness.

“You’ve let this backwater rot your brain,” he growled, anger masking his unease. “Nothing out there but—”

The Scream in the Night

A scream shattered the night, high and terrible. Both men froze, eyes locking. Varian’s heart hammered against his ribs, each beat screaming danger.

“The square!” Elric’s voice cracked, fear stripping away years of practiced stoicism.

They sprang into action, muscle memory overriding terror. Boots pounded rickety steps as they descended. Armor plates clanked, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent village. Varian’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow, every dark corner suddenly pregnant with menace. The village lay still, windows shuttered against the night. Only wisps of chimney smoke betrayed life within.

“There!” Elric’s shout cut through the fog of Varian’s racing thoughts.

A small figure lurched from between two huts. A girl, no more than twelve, her dress a tattered. She stumbled into the open, arms flailing as if fighting off invisible assailants.

Varian’s training took over. He sprinted forward, dropping into a crouch beside her. The smell of fear rolled off her in waves, acrid and primal. “Are you hurt?” The words came out gentler than he expected, surprising himself.

Her face lifted, a mask of terror etched in tear-tracks and grime. Her mouth worked soundlessly, eyes wide and unseeing. Fingers dug into Varian’s arm with desperate strength, nails biting through the fabric of his sleeve. He felt her trembling, saw the raw horror in her eyes.

“You’re safe,” he said, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. “Let’s get you home.”

She clung tighter, refusing to move. Her gaze fixed on the alley mouth, body shaking uncontrollably.

Slowly, they turned toward the shadows crowding between leaning walls.

The girl whimpered, a sound so small and broken it cut deeper than any battle cry. Varian’s grip tightened on his spear, knuckles white beneath his gloves. The night pressed close, heavy with unseen threat. Every sense screamed danger, every instinct honed by years of service shrieking warnings he couldn’t ignore.

Nothing out there but trees and squirrels, Varian told himself. The lie tasted bitter, ash and fear on his tongue.