The morning dawned with a muted glow, the sun's rays filtered faintly through the canopy of ancient trees that surrounded Eldar's Hollow. Yet, beneath the calm surface of the village, a restless tension rippled like a silent storm.
Serena moved through the narrow paths with purpose, her senses sharpened by the spirit's warning. Every glance from a neighbor, every hushed whisper behind closed doors, seemed to carry a hidden meaning. The air was thick with secrets, and the roots of distrust began to take hold.
Her closest companions gathered beneath the great hall's weathered arches — Eamon, his tall frame steady and vigilant; Lysara, her sharp eyes ever watchful; and Jorin, whose quiet strength was a constant comfort. Yet, beneath their familiar faces, Serena searched for the shadows the spirit had spoken of.
"Silver Maiden," Eamon greeted, bowing his head respectfully, "the village stirs with rumors. Some speak of dark omens — crops failing, the sacred wells clouded. Others say the ancient rune has been defiled."
Serena's heart tightened. The rune — carved deep into the standing stone at the village's heart — was a symbol of protection and balance, its glow a beacon against the encroaching night. To see it sullied was a sign that the fragile harmony was breaking.
Lysara stepped forward, voice low but urgent. "We must find who dares this sacrilege. If the betrayal is true, it festers among us."
Jorin's gaze darkened, "Trust is a fragile thread. Once broken, it may never mend."
The words hung heavy between them, unspoken fears taking root.
That night, Serena returned to the temple. Moonlight spilled through stained glass, casting ethereal colors upon the cold stone floor. She lit a circle of candles, their flames flickering like living souls, and sat cross-legged in the center.
Fingers tracing the contours of her amulet, she closed her eyes, seeking guidance from the depths within. The visions returned — flashes of shadowy figures, hidden glances, whispered secrets. Faces she thought she knew now blurred with suspicion.
A sudden chill swept through the chamber, and Serena's eyes snapped open. There, at the threshold, stood a figure cloaked in midnight, face veiled.
"Silver Maiden," came a voice, low and smooth as silk but laced with an edge of menace. "Beware the serpent that hides beneath the veil of friendship. Not all who smile are true."
The figure vanished before Serena could react, leaving behind only a single white feather resting where they had stood.
The omen was clear: danger was closer than she had feared. The wolf was not merely among friends — it was hunting in the heart of Eldar's Hollow.
As the moon climbed higher, Serena's resolve hardened. She would uncover the traitor's name, no matter the cost.
For the fate of the village — and her ow
n soul — depended on it.
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