The Investigation Squad
The morning sun spilled golden light across the training yard, yet the atmosphere was far from its usual routine. Instead of the clang of wooden swords and bursts of magic, there was a chaotic scramble that looked more like a circus than a disciplined gathering of knights-in-training.
At the center of it all stood Sir Alaric, the Commander of the Holy Knights, who was attempting to project an aura of gravitas. He had even donned his most polished breastplate and combed his hair back into what might have been a respectable look—if not for the loose strap on his shoulder armor and the faint smudge of soot across his cheek.
"Children!" Alaric's voice boomed, echoing across the yard. "Gather round, for today begins a grand mission! A task of utmost importance, bestowed upon us by the heavens themselves!"
He raised his hand high, as though expecting a chorus of awe. Instead, Rowan yawned loudly and muttered, "If this is another lecture about polishing armor, I swear I'm defecting to the elves."
Selene, seated primly on a wooden bench, rolled her eyes. "You couldn't last a day in an elven camp. They'd hang you upside down for insulting their fashion sense before you finished your first sentence."
Rowan pointed at her dramatically. "See? She admits they're obsessed with fashion! I'd never survive."
Icarus, leaning quietly against the oak tree at the yard's edge, allowed himself the faintest sigh. Rowan's antics were as predictable as the sunrise, and Selene's sharp tongue kept him in check with mathematical precision. It was a strange equilibrium, one that Alaric often disrupted unintentionally.
The Commander puffed out his chest, determined to wrest back attention. "As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted… the kingdom has charged us with investigating strange disturbances near the northern borders."
That caught their attention. Selene's posture straightened, eyes narrowing. Icarus's silver gaze flicked toward Alaric, calm but attentive. Even Rowan perked up.
"Disturbances?" Rowan repeated, tilting his head. "Like bandits? Or like… mysterious glowing goats that haunt people's dreams?"
Alaric blinked. "…What?"
"You'd be surprised," Rowan said solemnly, as though haunted by personal goat-related trauma.
Selene pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ignore him. What kind of disturbances, Commander?"
Alaric gestured with grand flair, nearly knocking his helmet off in the process. "Whispers of strange lights in the sky, fields of crops failing overnight, animals behaving… unnaturally. The villagers fear something foul is afoot. Our duty is to seek the truth."
Rowan immediately struck a pose, one fist on his hip. "Ah! At last, the call to adventure! Finally, the bards will sing of Rowan the Brave, who fearlessly faced the haunted goats of Chronus!"
"There are no haunted goats," Selene said flatly.
"Yet," Rowan corrected.
Alaric cleared his throat, trying to redirect. "The four of us shall form an investigative squad. Icarus, Rowan, Selene, and myself—Commander Alaric, leader extraordinaire!"
He attempted a heroic stance, but the strap on his shoulder armor snapped, causing the entire piece to slide down his arm with a clang. Rowan burst out laughing, doubling over.
"Leader extraordinaire indeed!" Rowan wheezed. "Extraordinarily clumsy!"
Even Selene smirked, though she quickly hid it behind her hand. Icarus merely shook his head.
Alaric coughed, reattaching the strap with mild embarrassment. "Ahem. As I was saying, we leave at noon. Pack your belongings wisely, for this journey may take weeks."
Rowan raised a hand. "Can I bring Gerald?"
"…Who is Gerald?" Alaric asked warily.
Rowan grinned and pulled a small wooden box from behind him. He opened it to reveal a rather unimpressed chicken pecking at the straw inside. "My emotional support rooster."
The silence that followed was profound.
Selene's expression was caught between disbelief and disdain. "That's… a chicken."
"Correction!" Rowan puffed his chest. "He's a rooster. Gerald and I share an unbreakable bond forged in the fires of destiny."
The rooster clucked, unimpressed.
Icarus stared at the bird for a moment before saying evenly, "It looks like it wants to peck your eyes out."
Rowan gasped. "That's just how he shows affection!"
Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose. "By the gods… fine. Bring your… Gerald. But if he slows us down, he's dinner."
Rowan clutched the box protectively. "Gerald would never slow us down! He's got the heart of a lion!"
The rooster promptly toppled over in the box, fast asleep.
Selene sighed. "We are all doomed."
The Journey Begins
By noon, the four of them assembled outside the gates of Chronus, each prepared in their own fashion.
Selene sat atop a pristine white mare, her posture elegant, her armor gleaming. She looked every inch the princess-knight she was, carrying herself with quiet nobility.
Icarus rode a sturdy brown horse, plain but reliable, his silver hair catching the sunlight like spun moonlight. His gear was practical, minimalistic—nothing flashy, but everything precise.
Rowan, meanwhile, had somehow acquired a mule. It was laden with an absurd assortment of items: pots and pans dangling from its sides, a frying pan strapped to the saddle, a rolled-up blanket twice its size, and of course, the box containing Gerald the rooster. The mule looked deeply offended by its life choices.
Alaric rode a magnificent warhorse… which promptly sneezed and nearly unseated him the moment they started moving.
The guards at the gate watched them leave with mixed expressions of awe and pity.
As they rode, Rowan regaled them with what he considered essential "journey songs." His voice was enthusiastic, if not particularly on-key.
"Oh, the brave adventurers march!
With courage, with spirit, with starch!
We fight goats in the night,
Till the dawn's silver light,
And Rowan shall be most in charge—"
"Stop," Selene cut in sharply. "Just stop."
"Hey, that was good!" Rowan protested. "Starch rhymes with march!"
"It was awful," Selene said.
Alaric clapped along. "I thought it had potential!"
Rowan grinned smugly. "See? The Commander has taste."
Icarus, riding silently beside them, finally said, "If you keep singing, I'll tie Gerald to your mouth."
Rowan gasped. "Blasphemy! Gerald is a sacred being."
The rooster clucked, unimpressed.
The First Village
By late afternoon, they arrived at a small farming village on the edge of Chronus's northern province. It was a humble settlement of wooden cottages and wheat fields, with smoke curling lazily from chimneys. Children played in the dirt roads, and farmers greeted the newcomers with a mix of curiosity and relief.
Alaric dismounted with a flourish, only to trip over a loose cobblestone and nearly faceplant. Rowan caught him just in time, grinning. "You okay there, fearless leader?"
Alaric coughed, straightening. "Perfectly fine. This was merely… a test of reflexes. Which I passed!"
The villagers gathered around, eager to share news.
"Strange lights, Commander," one farmer said nervously. "Dancing above the fields at night. No fire, no lanterns. Just… lights."
Another villager added, "The cows have been restless. And last night, old man Jarek swore he heard whispers on the wind."
Rowan's eyes went wide. "See? Whispers! Haunted goats, I told you!"
Selene slapped the back of his head. "Not goats."
Still, Icarus remained silent, scanning the fields. His silver eyes narrowed. The wheat rustled though there was no breeze. He felt it again—that faint metallic tang, the hum of wrongness. Subtle, but there.
Something foreign had brushed this land.
The rooster crowed far too early.
Rowan bolted upright, hair sticking in every direction, eyes wild. "Gerald! What treachery is this?!"
The rooster clucked and flapped its wings, perfectly unbothered by Rowan's outrage.
Selene, already awake and neatly braided, looked up from polishing her sword. "It's called dawn, Rowan. The rest of us live with it."
Rowan squinted at her suspiciously. "Do you sleep? Or do elves braid your hair for you in the night?"
Selene raised an eyebrow. "I am human."
"Debatable," Rowan muttered, flopping back down onto his blanket.
Icarus stood at the edge of the camp, gazing toward the horizon. The wheat fields rippled though the air was still. Subtle again, but undeniable—the same disturbance he had sensed yesterday. It was growing stronger.
Alaric emerged from his tent with a stretch, yawning loudly. His breastplate was on backwards.
Rowan blinked. "…Sir, your chestplate."
Alaric looked down. "Ah. So it is." He turned it around with a shrug, as though this were a perfectly normal start to the day.
Selene muttered under her breath, "How is this man the Commander of the Holy Knights?"
Rowan grinned. "Comic relief. Every hero needs one."
Alaric pointed a finger at him. "Careful, boy. I can still make you scrub latrines."
Village Gossip
After breakfast (Rowan's stew had mysteriously vanished, which everyone silently agreed was for the best), the squad returned to the village square.
Alaric attempted diplomacy with the villagers, which was… less than ideal.
"Good people of—" he glanced at a wooden sign. "—uh… Good people of Wheatstead!"
A farmer corrected him, "It's Wheatford."
"Ah! Yes! Wheat-ford," Alaric continued smoothly, as though he hadn't just renamed their home. "We, the noble investigation squad, are here to uncover the truth behind your… mysterious goings-on."
The crowd murmured with interest, though one child pointed and whispered loudly, "That knight put his armor on backwards this morning."
Rowan cackled so hard he nearly fell off the well he was sitting on.
Selene buried her face in her palm. "Professionalism. What even is that?"
Still, the villagers were grateful to speak, each with their own tale. One woman swore she saw strange lights drifting above the fields like lanterns. A shepherd claimed his sheep had refused to graze for two days straight. An old man muttered that the wind itself was whispering his name at night.
Rowan leaned in, eyes wide. "What did it say?"
The old man rasped, "Jaaarek…"
Rowan blinked. "That's… your name though."
The old man shrugged. "Creepy all the same."
Selene sighed. "This is getting us nowhere."
But Icarus wasn't listening to the chatter. His gaze swept across the village, narrowing on the fields. The wrongness pulsed faintly there, like veins of sickness beneath healthy skin.
He walked toward the wheat without a word.
Corruption in the Fields
The villagers watched curiously as Icarus knelt in the dirt. His silver eyes gleamed as he brushed his fingers over the soil. It felt warm. Too warm.
He extended his senses, calling upon the magic within him. The soil thrummed with something foreign, a faint residue clinging to it like oil on water. It was subtle, nearly invisible—but it was there.
"Moonborn," Alaric called. "What is it?"
Icarus stood, brushing dirt from his hands. "Corruption. Something unnatural seeped into this land."
The villagers gasped. Selene's hand tightened around her sword hilt.
"Demonic?" she asked quietly.
"Not fully," Icarus answered. "But close. Like an echo of their power."
Rowan whistled. "Well, that's unsettling. Guess I'll cross farming off my list of retirement options."
"You never had farming on your list," Selene said.
"True," Rowan admitted. "Too much goat trauma."
Rowan's Drinking Contest
That evening, after a long day of questioning villagers and inspecting fields, the squad found themselves at the village tavern.
It was a cozy, noisy place filled with farmers celebrating the end of harvest. Music played in the corner, mugs clinked, and the smell of roasted meat filled the air.
Rowan's eyes sparkled. "At last! Civilization!"
Alaric chuckled. "A single pint won't hurt. But don't overdo it—"
Too late. Rowan was already challenging three burly farmers to a drinking contest.
"Gentlemen!" Rowan slapped a hand on the table. "I, Rowan the Magnificent, challenge you to a battle of endurance! The victor shall earn eternal glory!"
One farmer shrugged. "Loser pays the tab."
"Deal!" Rowan grinned.
Selene sat at the far end of the tavern with Icarus, arms crossed. "Why are we letting him do this?"
Icarus's expression didn't change. "Because it's easier than stopping him."
She exhaled sharply, annoyed by how much sense that made.
The contest began. Tankards of ale were slammed onto the table one after another. Rowan downed the first with gusto, foam dripping down his chin. The farmers laughed, matching him pint for pint.
By the third round, Rowan's cheeks were flushed. By the fifth, he was standing on the table, declaring himself "Champion of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Rowan," Icarus said calmly. "Sit down before you fall."
Rowan pointed dramatically at him. "Do not underestimate me, Moon-Eyes! I have the liver of a god!"
He promptly slipped, tumbled off the table, and landed flat on his back.
The tavern erupted in laughter. Even Selene snorted, quickly covering her mouth.
Alaric slapped the table, howling with mirth. "By the gods! Someone write a song about this man!"
Rowan groaned from the floor. "The floor… is spinning. Tell it to stop."
The rooster Gerald, who had been perched on the bar counter, crowed as if mocking his downfall.
Selene's Quiet Leadership
Later that night, once Rowan was snoring in the corner with Gerald perched on his stomach, Selene gathered the villagers still sober enough to listen.
Her voice was calm, steady, carrying the weight of her royal upbringing. "Until the corruption is resolved, avoid the fields after dark. Keep watch on your children. If you notice further disturbances, send word to the capital immediately."
The villagers nodded solemnly, reassured by her confidence.
Alaric watched with a proud smile. "She's a natural," he whispered to Icarus.
Icarus said nothing, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual.
Midnight Whispers
When the tavern grew quiet, Icarus stepped outside alone. The village slept under a blanket of stars, but the air hummed with that same unnatural presence. Stronger now, pulsing with every beat of his heart.
He looked up. The moon's silver light bent unnaturally again, curving toward him like a spotlight. For a moment, he swore he saw shapes moving within it.
Whispers brushed against his mind.
"Moonborn…"
His silver eyes narrowed. So it follows me even here
The morning after Rowan's heroic defeat at the tavern dawned bright and clear.
The squad gathered in the village square again, though Rowan was a pitiful sight. He shuffled along, pale as parchment, with Gerald the rooster strutting proudly at his side like a victorious rival.
Selene regarded him with undisguised disgust. "You're pathetic."
Rowan groaned. "Do not speak to me. Words cause headaches."
Alaric clapped him on the back hard enough to nearly knock him over. "Cheer up, boy! Nothing cures a hangover like duty!"
Rowan staggered. "Nothing causes hangovers like duty either…"
Icarus was already studying the road leading northward. His silver eyes were sharp, scanning every detail of the land. The corruption wasn't confined to the fields anymore. It was spreading—thin traces of it stretched toward the horizon like invisible veins.
"We need to move," he said simply.
Selene nodded. "Agreed. The villagers will be fine if they follow instructions. But if this spreads to other towns—"
"It won't be pretty," Alaric finished, surprisingly serious for once.
Rowan attempted to salute, realized it made his head pound, and settled for a half-hearted wave. "Lead on, Moonborn."
Rowan vs. The Goat (Again)
Their journey north was uneventful at first. Fields gave way to rolling hills, dotted with farms. But the sense of unease never left Icarus. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat in the earth itself.
Around midday, they passed another small farmstead. A goat stood at the fence, staring intently at them.
Rowan froze. "You."
Selene groaned. "Not this again."
Rowan pointed dramatically at the goat. "This beast is clearly in league with the corruption. Look at its shifty eyes!"
The goat blinked slowly.
Icarus kept walking. "Rowan."
"No, no, hear me out!" Rowan hopped the fence before anyone could stop him. "This goat is suspicious. It's been watching us since we arrived!"
Alaric chuckled. "Maybe it just likes your face."
Rowan crouched down, nose to nose with the goat. "Tell me your secrets."
The goat answered with a mighty baaaaaa before ramming him square in the chest.
Rowan flew backwards, landing flat in the dirt.
Selene laughed so hard she had to lean on her sword for balance. Even Icarus's lips twitched in the faintest hint of amusement.
Alaric wheezed. "By the gods, that goat's got more fight than half my recruits!"
Rowan groaned from the ground. "Conspiracy confirmed… goats are agents of darkness…"
Gerald the rooster crowed triumphantly from atop the fence.
Campfire Confessions
That night, the group camped by a small stream. Rowan was sulking with a bruise forming on his chest, while Selene roasted fish over the fire. Alaric attempted to help by telling "inspirational" stories of his youth, most of which ended with him falling into mud.
"—and that's when I realized," Alaric said proudly, "never chase a runaway chicken while wearing full armor. You'll sink faster than a rock in a river."
Rowan muttered, "You're not inspiring confidence in the Holy Knights here, Sir."
Selene rolled her eyes. "You two are hopeless."
Icarus sat apart, gazing at the silver reflection of the moon on the stream. The corruption pulsed faintly beneath the soil even here. Subtle, but growing stronger.
"You're quiet," Selene said softly, moving to sit beside him.
"I'm listening," Icarus replied.
"To what?"
"The world." He gestured to the ground, the water, the sky. "It's speaking. And it's in pain."
For once, Selene had no sharp retort. Her gaze softened. "…Then we'll heal it. Together."
Icarus glanced at her, but before he could reply, Rowan groaned loudly.
"Could you two not share emotional moments while I'm dying over here? Have some respect for the wounded."
Selene threw a fish bone at him.
Clues in the Dark
Later, when the others slept, Icarus remained awake. His silver eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight as he extended his senses.
The corruption was clearer now. It wasn't random—it flowed in a pattern, like a current. As if something was pulling it northward, drawing it like moths to flame.
His jaw tightened. Whatever lay ahead wasn't natural.
Then he heard it again.
"Moonborn…"
The whisper was soft, curling around his mind like smoke. He turned sharply, but the woods were still. Only the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
But he knew. They were being watched.
Dawn Decisions
The next morning, Icarus spoke firmly. "We follow the corruption north. Whatever waits there is the source."
Alaric scratched his head. "Straight into danger, eh? Good. I was getting bored."
Selene nodded. "Agreed. If this continues unchecked, more villages will suffer."
Rowan raised a hand weakly. "Counterproposal: we go south instead. Very far south. Preferably somewhere with no goats."
Selene smirked. "Coward."
Rowan clutched his chest dramatically. "Pragmatist!"
But despite his whining, he shouldered his pack and followed. Because Rowan always followed, even if he complained the whole way.
Cliffhanger
By late afternoon, the squad crested a hill.
And there, in the valley below, they saw it.
A blackened scar carved through the land—fields wilted, trees twisted, animals lying dead. At its center pulsed a crater glowing with faint red light, seeping upward like smoke into the sky.
Even Alaric fell silent.
Selene whispered, "Gods preserve us…"
Rowan's face was pale. "…That's not normal, right?"
Icarus's silver eyes burned. "No. That's a wound in the world itself."
And whatever had caused it was waiting
Rowan vs. Goat
Their investigation led them to the farmlands. While Icarus examined the soil for traces of corruption and Selene questioned the villagers, Rowan became distracted by a goat standing atop a wooden cart.
The goat stared at him.
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "You."
The goat bleated.
Rowan stepped closer, whispering, "You've seen things, haven't you? You know what's going on here."
The goat blinked.
Rowan poked its nose. "Tell me your secrets!"
The goat headbutted him square in the chest, launching him backward into a haystack.
Alaric burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching his sides. "By the gods—that goat has better aim than you, Rowan!"
Even Selene cracked a rare laugh, though she quickly schooled her expression. Icarus walked over, offering Rowan a hand up.
"You're interrogating livestock now?" Icarus asked dryly.
Rowan spat out hay. "That goat knows something. Mark my words."
The goat bleated again, smug.
Nightfall
That evening, they set up camp just outside the village. A fire crackled in the center, casting warm light across their faces. Rowan attempted to cook with his frying pan, producing a stew of questionable origin.
"It's edible!" Rowan declared proudly.
Selene sniffed the pot. "It's poison."
Alaric slurped a spoonful anyway. "Not bad!"
Icarus, ever cautious, passed on the stew and instead ate dried rations. He stared into the fire, thoughtful.
As the others bickered, he felt it again—that subtle wrongness in the air. Stronger now, pulsing faintly with the rhythm of the moon.
When the others eventually drifted to sleep, Icarus remained awake. The moon hung low and bright above, its silver light bending unnaturally across the fields. For a moment, it looked like the light itself was watching him.
He whispered into the night, "It's getting closer."
The squad stood at the hill's crest, staring down at the corrupted scar in the land.
The air was thick with an acrid stench, as though the earth itself had burned from the inside. The once-green valley was a graveyard—trees twisted into grotesque shapes, grass wilted black, animals stiff and lifeless where they had fallen.
And at its center, a crater glowed faintly with pulsing red light, like the ember of some dying fire. The air above shimmered unnaturally, warping the sky.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Finally, Rowan broke the silence. "…Sooo, we're all thinking it, right? Let's turn around, go back to the tavern, pretend we never saw this?"
Selene shot him a glare. "Coward."
"Survivor," Rowan corrected. "Big difference."
Alaric rubbed the back of his neck, his normally cheerful demeanor subdued. "Well, this is… unsettling."
Icarus's voice was calm, but cold. "This is the source. We have to see it up close."
Rowan groaned dramatically. "Of course you'd say that. Do you ever just… not?"
Icarus didn't answer. He was already walking down the hill.
Approaching the Crater
The closer they came, the worse it felt. The ground was soft underfoot, damp like rot. Insects buzzed unnaturally loud, only to fall silent whenever Icarus passed.
Rowan clutched his staff nervously. "I hate this. I hate this so much. This is worse than goats. And that's saying something."
"Quiet," Selene snapped, though her hand rested on her sword hilt. She was tense too.
Alaric tripped on a root, caught himself, and tried to play it off with a grin. "Testing my reflexes! Still sharp as ever."
"Sharp as a butter knife," Selene muttered.
Finally, they reached the crater's edge. The soil around it was blackened, cracked, as though scorched by unnatural fire. The red glow within pulsed in rhythm, like a heartbeat.
Rowan peeked over the edge. "That looks… alive. Craters aren't supposed to look alive, right? Please tell me I'm right."
"No," Icarus said. His silver eyes glimmered faintly. "This isn't natural. Something fell here… or broke through."
Investigating the Scar
Selene crouched, touching the soil with gloved fingers. It burned faintly, like touching a coal. She hissed and pulled back. "Corruption. Stronger than in the fields."
Alaric scratched his chin. "So, what's the plan? We poke it until it stops glowing?"
Selene stared at him. "That's your strategy?"
Rowan perked up. "Actually, that's not bad. We send Alaric to poke it. If he explodes, we run."
Alaric frowned. "Hey now—"
But before he could finish, the crater pulsed violently.
The earth trembled.
And then, it opened.
First Encounter
From the glowing heart of the crater, something began to crawl.
It was small at first—no larger than a wolf. Its body was made of writhing black smoke, with claws of solid bone protruding from its limbs. Its head was a twisted skull, glowing red eyes burning in empty sockets.
A hiss like boiling water filled the air.
Rowan paled. "…I change my vote. Let's leave. Immediately."
Selene drew her sword in a flash of silver. "Stand ready!"
Alaric unsheathed his blade as well, grinning despite the tension. "Now we're talking!"
Icarus's eyes narrowed, silver light reflecting against the creature's glow. He could feel it—the corruption was alive within this thing, its essence pulling at the world around it like a parasite.
The Battle Begins
The demon lunged.
Selene met it first, her sword striking sparks as it clashed against bone claws. She moved with precision, her blade cutting arcs of silver light. But the creature was fast, unnaturally so, twisting like smoke around her strikes.
Alaric charged in next, his sword coming down with sheer brute force. The impact shattered one of the demon's claws, sending shards of bone scattering.
Rowan, of course, stood frozen. "Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods—"
"Rowan!" Selene snapped. "Do something!"
Rowan flailed, then waved his staff. A fireball sputtered out, pathetically small, and singed the demon's back.
The demon turned its burning gaze on him.
"Oh no," Rowan whispered. "I've made a terrible mistake."
It lunged straight for him.
Icarus Awakens
But before the creature could strike, Icarus moved.
His silver eyes blazed, his aura flaring faintly. He stepped between Rowan and the demon, raising his hand.
A surge of silver light burst forth, striking the demon squarely in the chest. It howled, its smoky body flickering violently.
For a moment, the world went still. Moonlight itself seemed to bend toward Icarus, wrapping around him like a cloak. His silver hair shimmered faintly, the first hint of the blazing transformation that lay dormant within him.
The demon staggered back, shrieking.
Selene's eyes widened. "…What was that?"
Rowan clutched Icarus's shoulder. "Yes, great, wonderful, but could you maybe do it again? Like… a lot?"
Finishing the Fight
The demon recovered, lunging again. But this time, Icarus was ready.
He moved with calm precision, his silver light striking in bursts that seared through the creature's smoky body. Selene fought at his side, her blade finding purchase in the gaps left by his magic.
Alaric provided raw power, smashing through the creature's defenses with brute force. Rowan, though panicked, managed to launch a barrage of firebolts—most missed, but one lucky shot hit the demon's skull, cracking it open.
The creature shrieked one final time before collapsing into smoke, dissipating into the air.
Silence fell.
Aftermath
The squad stood in the smoking crater, catching their breath.
Rowan collapsed to the ground. "I hate this. I hate everything about this. Can we go home now?"
Selene cleaned her blade with steady hands, though her expression was troubled. "That wasn't a natural creature. It was born of pure corruption."
Alaric wiped sweat from his brow, unusually serious. "Which means whatever caused this… is still out there."
Icarus said nothing. His silver eyes were fixed on the fading smoke. Deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.
The corruption had taken shape.
And more would follow