The chill of dawn clung to the air like a warning. As the iron gates of the Order of the Black Sun creaked open, Rael stood beside his steed, armor freshly polished, cloak fastened, and eyes locked on the path ahead. Lady Selene Drakos stood at the threshold, arms crossed beneath her raven cloak.
"Remember," she said quietly, only for him to hear. "Not all monsters wear fangs. Some wear smiles. Some wear crowns."
Rael nodded. He had no words, only the lingering ache of the abyss curling beneath his skin.
Darius mounted his horse in silence, his expression unreadable behind a half-mask. Mira, already atop her steed, gave Rael a quick smile. "First mission jitters? Don't worry, rookie. Just stay behind me and try not to get eaten."
Rael smirked faintly. "Thanks for the confidence."
They departed into the fog-laced wilderness, the landscape growing stranger with each mile. Trees leaned unnaturally, branches gnarled like grasping fingers. Crows circled in silence, their cries swallowed by the stillness.
By noon, they reached the outskirts of Greystone — or what remained of it.
The village was… wrong. Not destroyed. Not ravaged. But abandoned. Horses still tethered, fires long dead in hearths, meals half-eaten on tables. Doors hung open, as if the villagers had simply walked away in the middle of living.
Darius stepped into the square, hand on his sword. "No bodies."
"No blood either," Mira added, crouching beside an overturned cart. "But something happened. Look."
Rael followed her gaze — claw marks, deep and twisted, carved into the cobblestones. Whatever did this had strength. Hunger.
They split to search. Rael wandered toward a barn behind the chapel. The smell hit him first — not death, but rot. A sickly-sweet scent that made his stomach twist. Inside, hay was scattered, and symbols—vile, jagged, burned into the wood in dried blood.
He touched one, and a chill ran through him. A whisper curled in his ear, like breath over bone.
"It watches."
The sound of stumbling behind him made Rael whirl. A figure collapsed from the haystack — a man, or what once was. Skin pale, veins blackened, eyes wide and glassy.
"They opened the door…" the man rasped. "He's coming… the feast… the feast…"
And then he screamed — a horrible, wet shriek as his flesh twisted, bones cracking, black tendrils bursting from his back.
Rael backed away, hand reaching for his blade.
The Devoured had found them.