The detour felt harmless at first.
The western road had grown muddy from recent rain, and Taru didn't like how the wheels were beginning to drag. When the smaller path appeared marked only by a crooked wooden sign and half-swallowed by green roots, he tilted his head thoughtfully.
"There's a village about half a mile in," he said. "Not on trade routes. Quiet place."
Arun scanned the trees. The air felt thick. Still.
"We rest there," he decided.
The path narrowed quickly, roots curling across the dirt like veins. The forest grew denser the farther they travelled, the canopy knitting together overhead. Even Brakka's heavy hooves sounded muted, as though the ground absorbed more than just weight.
Then the trees parted.
The village lay in a shallow valley surrounded by forest on all sides. Small wooden homes clustered close together, their thatched roofs sagging slightly with age. Smoke rose from only a few chimneys despite the hour nearing dusk. The well at the center square stood untouched. No one lingered around it.
Children had been playing, Arun could tell by the scattered wooden toys but the moment the carriage rolled into view, they vanished behind doors.
Windows were closed quickly
Taru slowed Brakka to a gentle stop.
"That's… welcoming," he muttered under his breath.
A few villagers emerged slowly from their homes. Their movements were measured. Cautious. They didn't approach immediately just watched.
Arun stepped down from the carriage bench, armored boots pressing into packed earth. His presence drew eyes instantly. Not just curious glances assessments.
One older woman clutched a string of wooden beads at her neck. A farmer standing near the well held a pitchfork, though the tool's prongs trembled faintly.
"They look afraid," Taru whispered.
"Of us?" Arun asked.
Taru hesitated.
"…Not exactly."
After a long moment, a man stepped forward from the largest house near the square. His hair was silvered, but his posture straight. He wore one bead on his arm. He carried a carved wooden staff more ceremonial than practical.
"I am Halren," he said. "Chief of this village."
His tone was polite.
"We are travelers," Taru said with an easy smile. "Heading west. We were hoping to rest the night if that's acceptable."
Halren's eyes moved past Taru lingering on Arun especially the sword hitched on his hip.
"You are armed."
"We do not seek conflict," Arun replied evenly.
Another silence followed.
A woman stepped forward slightly, whispering something into Halren's ear. Her eyes flicked nervously toward the treeline rather than toward the travelers.
Halren nodded once.
"You may stay," he said at last. "We do not often receive guests."
"That's kind of you," Taru said, giving a small bow.
They were directed toward a stable near the edge of the square. A younger man approached to help with Brakka but stopped several paces short when the bull snorted.
"He won't harm you," Taru assured gently. "He's better behaved than he looks."
The man swallowed and nodded, though he kept his distance.
As Arun helped unhitch the carriage, he noticed something odd.
The stable doors were reinforced.
Thicker wood. Fresh iron nails. Like they were newly built.
Taru noticed too. His eyes flicked to the hinges. New metal. Hammered within the last month.
Inside the village, doors were bolted early despite the sun not yet fully set.
No one lingered outdoors.
And most telling
There were lantern posts along the perimeter of the square, but none were lit.
Instead, several small wooden charms hung from doorframes. Twisted branches bound with thread. Some were cracked.
"Do you see those?" Taru murmured.
"Yes."
"They're warding charms."
"Against what?" Arun asked.
Taru didn't answer.
They were offered a simple meal in a communal hut near the well. The interior smelled faintly of dried herbs and something sharper like crushed pine sap.
Villagers filled the long benches, but conversation was muted. When Arun and Taru entered, several heads turned.
Then quickly turned away.
A young girl sat across from them, staring openly at Arun's helmet. Her mother gently pulled her closer.
"Are you knights?" the girl asked before being hushed.
"Something like that," Taru replied with a friendly grin.
The girl leaned forward. "Will you be here tomorrow?"
Her mother stiffened.
"We are resting," Arun answered. "Nothing more."
The girl frowned slightly, as if disappointed.
An older man at the end of the table spoke quietly to another villager. "If they're passing through… we shouldn't involve them."
"Or maybe it's a sign," the other whispered back.
Taru's ears picked up the exchange.
"Involve them in what?" he asked lightly.
Both men stiffened.
"Nothing," the older one muttered quickly. "Just… village matters."
Another silence followed.
Halfway through the meal, a loud thud echoed from somewhere beyond the treeline. Which sounded like an heavy thud
Several villagers flinched.
One dropped their cup.
No one moved to investigate.
Arun's head tilted slightly toward the sound.
The girl across from him whispered, barely audible
"It walks again."
Her mother's hand tightened on her shoulder.
"That's enough."
Night fell quickly.
The village became unnaturally still.
No dogs barked.
No livestock stirred.
Even Brakka seemed restless, shifting his weight more than usual.
Arun stood near the well, staring toward the forest edge. The trees seemed darker than they should be. The air heavier. Arun spotted that some of the plan life seemed to have rotted.
Taru joined him.
"It seems they're not just afraid," Taru said quietly. "It feels like they're waiting."
"For what?"
"Something to happen."
Before more could be said, Halren approached once again.
This time, he didn't pretend at casual politeness.
"You have seen it," he said softly.
"Seen what?" Arun asked.
Halren's gaze drifted toward the treeline.
"For generations," he began carefully, "this forest had a guardian."
He paused, studying their reactions.
Taru remained still.
"A great stag," Halren continued. "Ancient. Majestic. Its antlers like woven branches. It walked the outer woods and kept darker things from approaching our valley."
Arun said nothing.
"We honored it," Halren said. "Left offerings at the forest edge. Sang during harvest. It was… part of us."
The wind shifted slightly.
"But three weeks ago," Halren's voice grew tight, "it returned changed."
Taru's eyes narrowed.
"In what way?" he asked.
Halren hesitated.
"Its antlers are warped now. Twisted unnaturally. Its eyes…" He swallowed. "White. Empty."
"And where it steps," a voice from behind them added one of the villagers who had quietly gathered nearby "the plants rot."
The words seemed to chill the air itself.
"It has attacked three of our hunters," Halren continued. "Two survived. One did not."
Arun's gaze sharpened.
"And yet you hesitate to kill it," he observed.
Halren looked at him , his gaze unshaken and for the first time.
"We once worshipped it."
The weight of that admission settled heavy.
"If we slay it publicly," Halren said, "the village loses more than protection. We lose what we believed watched over us."
Taru understood then.
This wasn't just a monster hunt.
It was faith on the brink.
Halren stepped closer.
"You carry strength," he said quietly. "We can feel it."
The faintest thread of White Flame shimmered beneath Arun's cloak before disappearing again.
"We would not ask travelers for such a burden," Halren continued. "But you did not come here by accident."
The forest beyond the village exhaled.
A distant crack of wood echoed faintly.
Halren's voice lowered.
"Will you help us?"