The chill of the evening settled over Ashmere, creeping through the gaps in the wooden shutters and winding its way down the narrow village paths. Cyrus exhaled, watching the mist curl around his breath as he locked up the forge for the night. The hammer's weight still clung to his arm, a familiar ache that usually soothed him, but tonight, it did little to ease the unease prickling at his skin.
Something was different.
It wasn't just the cold. It wasn't just the quiet.
Something else was here.
The feeling had started earlier that evening, like a whisper at the edge of his senses. At first, he ignored it—blamed it on exhaustion. But as he walked home through the dimly lit village square, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Someone was watching him.
He turned his head sharply, scanning the street. Nothing. Only the usual glow of lanterns flickering in the mist. But then—just as he stepped past the well—he saw them.
Two figures, standing near the far edge of the village, just beyond the tree line where the mist was thickest. One was taller, broad-shouldered, the faint glint of metal catching in the lantern light. The other was cloaked, slender, their features obscured by the hood's deep shadow.
Cyrus stopped in his tracks, heart hammering against his ribs. The figures didn't move, didn't speak. Just watched.
Then, as if the mist itself had swallowed them, they were gone.
A sharp breath left his lungs. He could still feel their presence, lingering like a fading ember. He wanted to dismiss it—tell himself it was a trick of the fog—but instinct told him otherwise.
He wasn't the only one who noticed.
As he passed by the Durand house, he saw Tomas, standing by the doorway, speaking in hushed tones with Old Beric, the village's storyteller. Their faces were tense, their voices barely more than whispers.
"…seen them near the ridge," Beric murmured, stroking his graying beard. "Not bandits, not travelers either."
Tomas shook his head. "They've been watching. Not just the village—watching someone."
Cyrus felt his stomach tighten. He didn't need to hear more.
He was certain now.
The strangers weren't passing through.
They were here for a reason.
And whether he liked it or not, he was part of it.