The winter in Kolon Town weighs heavily like a slab of lead on every corner.
Since the enemy forces swept across Sefren Country like a Heavenly Punishment, and news of the Royal City's fall arrived half a month ago, this inland town has been completely cut off from the outside world.
Panic grows like a plague, but more soul-consuming than panic is hunger!
Old blacksmith Hank's furnace has long grown cold, and the last bit of black bread mixed with sawdust was gone five days ago.
In the tavern, the boisterous chatter of drunkards has been replaced by dead silence; people curl up in corners like phantoms, their eyes hollow.
Hans lays at home, his stomach burning with fire.
His mind repeatedly plays the scene of the destroying silver moon on the coastline and the figure that seemed like a divine demon.
He once rejoiced escaping the grasp of the Evil God, returning to his hometown, only to find himself seemingly trapped in another, even more desperate cage.
