The village of Drenmoor wasn't on any of Kael's maps.
That was the first good sign.
Built low between two ridges and blanketed in perpetual fog, it looked like the kind of place travelers avoided—forgotten, modest, suspiciously quiet. That was the second.
Kael stood at the tree line for a moment, eyes scanning its edges. Smoke rose from three chimneys. No sentries. No patrols. A wooden watchtower leaned too far forward and looked ready to collapse. Mud paths crisscrossed through the village like veins—worn, sunken, but used.
Nothing looked fortified. But that didn't mean it was safe.
He stepped out of the trees.
A bell clanged once as he passed through the entrance arch—a slab of carved wood with moss creeping up the posts. It wasn't ceremonial. Just old.
A few villagers noticed him. An old woman carrying bundles of wood. A pair of kids throwing stones at a frozen puddle. A merchant sweeping his steps. They looked at Kael like people look at a passing storm—don't anger it, and maybe it'll pass.
Kael didn't speak.
He went to the only building that looked like it served strangers: a squat stone structure with a faded ale sign swinging above the door and two rusted lanterns glowing dimly on either side.
Inside, warmth hit him like a low tide.
A fire. Tables. A few cloaked figures nursing cups and silence.
Kael approached the barkeep—middle-aged, balding, with a burn scar across his throat. He didn't speak, just raised his chin.
"Room," Kael said.
The barkeep pointed up the stairs, then held out a hand.
Kael placed two silver suns in it. Enough to cover food and a place to lie down.
The barkeep nodded once.
No questions.
That was the third good sign.
Kael sat with his back to the wall, eyes on the doorway.
He ate slowly—dry bread and root stew—but didn't finish the drink.
His blade stayed hidden, but he didn't relax. The villagers were too calm. Not indifferent—accustomed. Like they'd seen men like him before and knew better than to ask anything stupid.
The way the bartender didn't look at him twice. The way no one approached. The way every stranger in the room kept their hands beneath their cloaks.
He didn't need the system to warn him.
This village had seen killers.
He went upstairs after sundown.
The room was small. One bed, one chair, one shuttered window. Clean enough. The floor didn't creak when he walked. That told him the boards had been replaced recently.
He didn't sleep.
At midnight, the message came.
Not from the Ledger.
From a piece of parchment slid under the door.
Kael read it in one glance.
You shouldn't have come here. They'll be at the shrine by first light. Leave through the well tunnel behind the inn. Go now. Don't look back.
No signature. Just the shape of a moth burned into the corner.
Kael stood, quiet.
He didn't panic.
He checked the hallway. Empty. Quiet.
Then he moved.
Behind the inn, just as the note said, he found the well.
The stone was cracked. The rope was missing. But the iron ladder down the inside was intact—old, rusted, but functional.
Kael descended into the dark.
After fifteen feet, the air changed—cold, but moving.
A tunnel.
Cut by hand. Reinforced by old timbers. Smelled of clay and mold.
Kael moved quickly, blade at the ready.
No messages from the system. No warnings.
But he could feel it.
He emerged twenty minutes later beneath a half-crumbled mill east of the village.
From there, he climbed the ridge and looked back.
The shrine sat at the village center—a simple stone circle with a small arch. By torchlight, figures moved around it. Seven or eight. Maybe more. Robes. Not Church. Not Order. He couldn't see Brands. But the way they moved told him they weren't villagers.
One of them held something wrapped in cloth—long, narrow.
Another blade.
Kael didn't wait to find out who they were or what they planned to do with it.
He vanished back into the woods, silent as the night behind him.
By dawn, he was five miles out and moving faster.
He didn't know who'd warned him.
But he knew this: the trap wasn't meant to kill him. Not outright.
It was meant to contain him.
Whoever had lured him to Drenmoor hadn't expected him to get out. Which meant someone was testing him. Watching to see if the rumors were true.
He didn't like being tested.
Soulweight: 36Instability: LowObserver Presence: Unknown[Caution]: Spiritual Signature Match Detected — Entity Class: [Severed]
Kael slowed.
That last line wasn't normal.
He dismissed the prompt, pulled his cloak tight, and pressed on.
If someone from the Severed had been in that village...
He would make sure next time they didn't walk away.