In the vast halls of the Nightshade Kingdom, shadows loomed longer than usual.
The once-proud city of twilight, with its towering blackstone spires and dark pirple lights woven through the trees, was now tense with hunger, unrest, and uncertainty.
It had once been a place of mystique and quiet strength—hidden deep within the dark forested veils and mountains, thriving in secret—but now that very secrecy was becoming its prison.
The grand market squares stood quieter than they had in years. Food stalls were empty. Soldiers patrolled more frequently, not for order, but to stave off unrest. And whispers—resentful whispers—drifted through the alleys like venom.
"It's because of those cursed refugees…They have now cursed us with their fate"
"The blasted draconians wouldn't have bothered with us if it wasn't for them…"
"Their king is starving us, and the bloodburners the reason…"
Citizens who once extended kindness to the refugees of Bloodburn were now starting to shift.
