Astonished gasps escaped from the drying lips of the trembling villagers as they heard Xander's words. Olarva was a humble village of Ordinaires where no Mystic had been born in the last ninety years. And it was the first time a Dreamwalker had set foot on their land.
"I could tell there was something strange about you," the elder whispered, his keen, penetrating eyes fixed on Xander. "You should not have lied to us."
"I don't have time for explanations. Get back inside your huts if you want to live," Xander replied before marching out of the village.
"And just where do you think you're going?" The elder called him back. "It's not safe out there. You may have lied to us, but you are still our guest."
"You don't need to worry about me. I've faced worse," Xander replied, holstering his revolver and pulling out his Chronica. "If I don't kill that Ethereal, it will come back to finish the job. Infernals are not known to spare their prey."
