Chapter thirty: Shadows in the Dark

Bird cries filled the air as a flock passed over the landscape. These were no ordinary birds.
They were called Kuriet—majestic in flight, yet their jet-black feathers made the people below murmur uneasily.
They were rumored to be messengers of death. Though many dismissed it as superstition, others whispered with dread. For today, the number of Kuriet streaking across the sky was in the hundreds.

Beneath this omen lay the kingdom of Asram, once ruled by the famed hero king Gilad. His bloodline had long since vanished, but the throne was now held by Richard, a man who had known Gilad personally.
Founded after the great Draconic War some five centuries ago, Asram had flourished into a peaceful realm—diverse in culture, its people thriving across the vast savanna plains and scattered mountains. It was not unusual to see strangers of all kinds here.

The Kuriet wheeled eastward, their flight settling near a small town at the base of the Tomarian mountain range.
But that day, something far stranger arrived.

A man in crimson robes walked into town, trailed by eight knights clad in black armor. His silken robes gleamed richly, adorned with gold, marking him as a man of wealth. Yet the uncanny presence of the knights made the townsfolk uneasy.
Some swore they saw eyes glinting within the shadows of the armored figures. Others claimed a sudden weakness overcame them if they drew too near.

Whispers spread quickly. Soon, the town guards approached, demanding identification. The travelers complied.
The man in red robes was pale, with pointed ears, jet-black hair, and skin that seemed to have once borne scales. After a cursory search, the guards reluctantly let them pass.
One guard lingered, glancing at a knight's shadow—he froze. Pairs of eyes were staring back at him. He blinked. Gone. Weariness pulled at his body, and he shook his head, dismissing it as a trick of the mind.

The group entered a tavern, taking two tables for themselves. The crimson-robed man paid for food and drink, though not one of them spoke. Their silence was as unsettling as their presence.

By nightfall, new rumors swept through the town. In the nearby woods, animals were found dead—drained, dried up like mummified husks. Fear began to take hold.
The guards sent a report to the capital through a magic stone, though the reply would take a day.

When the tavern emptied, the red-robed man secured three rooms, and the group ascended the stairs. The adventurers who remained whispered uneasily. None of the strangers had uttered a word, only eating and drinking in silence. Concerned, they reported the matter to the guild. Watchers were stationed outside as the last light faded.

Night fell. Two moons rose, casting their pale glow upon a strangely hushed town.

Down a quiet alley, a little girl walked alone. The silence was oppressive—so complete that even the crickets did not sing. She stopped, heart skipping, as a pair of glowing eyes shimmered in the darkness ahead.
Her heartbeat thundered like war drums as she stepped back—only to collide with someone behind her. Trembling, she held her breath, praying it was a townsman.

Slowly, she turned. Her eyes widened. The glowing gaze was now behind her. The figure was formless, a shape of shadow, standing still as though only watching.
Dread crushed her. She screamed, but the sound faltered—her body withered in an instant, collapsing into a dried husk. The glowing eyes vanished with her breath.

The guards rushed at the sound, finding only her corpse. But then another scream echoed through the streets. Then another. And another. Until the entire town rang with terror.

Torches flared as panic spread. People ran frantically, seeking safety or answers. Yet one by one they fell, their bodies desiccated, their final expressions frozen in horror. All accounts spoke of the same thing: glowing eyes in the dark.

Hours later, the surviving townsfolk gathered in desperation at the adventurers' guild. Already a third of the population had perished.
One man, shaking, gave his account: "A figure... like dark fog with glowing eyes."

Before he could say more, another pointed in horror. Across the street, pairs of eyes blinked into existence wherever shadows pooled.
The guards charged forward—only for screams to erupt from behind as more townsfolk collapsed, lifeless and dried.

Half an hour later, silence fell.

Only the echo of metal boots remained as the black-armored knights and the man in crimson robes walked calmly through the deserted streets. They passed beyond the town gates, leaving nothing behind but silence.

After the capital received the report, no reply came for the next two days. At last, a nearby unit of guards was dispatched, and they returned a day later with their account.

The entire kingdom was placed under strict surveillance. Soon, word spread across Asram. Messengers and scouts were sent to the town, only to find the chilling aftermath of the disaster.

For days, they searched every corner. Even the secluded Kitsune lent their aid in combing the area. Yet no trace of the culprits could be found—only a trail of corpses, dried and lifeless, stretching all the way to the Tomarian plains, where the famous constellation burned faintly above the night sky.

The news reached Hilary's ears. Her family, too, sent people to investigate the outskirts of Loran. But still, nothing was uncovered.

And as the kingdom reeled from fear and unanswered questions, darkness crept silently toward another unsuspecting town.

Author's Note

So I decided to keep this chapter short. A lot of things will be happening in this arc, and honestly, I don't know how long it'll end up being. But I'll make a bet—you'll be hooked all the way through.
If you're finding the story interesting so far, feel free to leave a review.
See you in the next one!