The air grew heavier with tension as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the small village of Govean. Commander Valerie's orders had been clear and precise—every patrol was to be doubled, their routes extended, and their eyes sharper than ever. Luke watched from beneath the canvas of his tent as knights bustled about, their armour clanking softly with each hurried step. Torches were lit, flames flickering defiantly against the creeping darkness, and campfires dotted the landscape like scattered stars.
"Seems like everyone's on edge," Ilyrana remarked as she sat beside him, eyes scanning the perimeter.
Luke nodded, rubbing his hands together to chase away the evening chill.
"Can't really blame them. What happened back there... it wasn't normal," he replied, his voice low. His mind flashed back to the twisted corpse, the gnarled flesh and splintered bones, and he shivered despite himself.
