Valerius descended from the skies with the grace of a hawk, the tips of his wings skimming the tops of the trees as he neared the outskirts of the town. The village of Greywood was modest, nestled in a shallow valley between two craggy hills. The scent of burning wood and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding forest. The town itself was unremarkable—a cluster of thatched cottages, a few stone buildings, and a market square paved with uneven cobblestones.
But it was not the town's appearance that drew Valerius. It was the people—their whispers, their fears, their knowledge of the land that he needed to make sense of this strange new world. He needed information, and for that, he had to blend in.
As he touched down in a secluded grove just outside Greywood, Valerius let the magic within him pulse gently, reshaping his appearance. His wings folded into his back, vanishing as if they had never existed. His once-charred armor melted away, replaced by the rough, well-worn garb of a traveler—a hooded cloak of deep brown, a simple tunic, and leather boots caked with the dust of long roads. His golden eyes dimmed to a hazel hue, still striking but no longer otherworldly. The transformation was subtle, yet complete; Valerius now appeared as nothing more than a weary wanderer, his true nature hidden beneath layers of illusion.
Satisfied with his new appearance, Valerius pulled the hood low over his face and strode confidently toward the town. As he neared the main road, he saw the first signs of life—farmers tending to their fields, a cart laden with hay being pulled by a tired mule, and a pair of children chasing each other with sticks, their laughter ringing through the crisp morning air.
No one paid him much heed as he entered Greywood. To them, he was just another traveler passing through, one of many who wandered these lands in search of work or shelter. The townsfolk were busy with their morning routines—merchants setting up stalls in the market square, women hanging laundry, and men sharpening tools or repairing thatched roofs.
Valerius made his way to the center of town, where the market square was beginning to fill with people. He walked with a slight limp, affecting the mannerisms of a man who had seen too many miles and too little comfort. It was important to be unnoticed, to slip into the background like a shadow, observing without drawing attention.
He paused near a stall selling bread and cheese, the merchant a stout woman with a bright, welcoming smile. Valerius exchanged a few coins for a small loaf, and as he took it, he allowed himself to linger, listening to the idle chatter of those around him.
"Did you hear about the attacks in the west?" a man with a scruffy beard was saying to the woman beside him. "Another village burned to the ground. They say it's demons—creatures from the old stories."
"Nonsense," the woman replied, shaking her head. "It's just bandits, using fear to keep people from fighting back. Demons…bah!"
The man leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Maybe. But the way the bodies were found…there was magic involved, I'm sure of it. The elders are frightened, I can tell. They're sending messengers to the capital, asking for help."
Valerius's interest piqued at this. Demons, bandits, and the mention of magic—all within the same breath. It seemed Terros was not just a land of hidden powers but also of rising chaos. The balance between order and destruction was tenuous, and the people here could sense it, even if they didn't fully understand it.
He moved on, weaving through the crowd, picking up snippets of conversation as he passed. The talk was of failed crops, strange creatures spotted in the forests, and whispers of a dark force stirring in the mountains to the north. The air was thick with unease, the kind that clings to a place before a storm.
Valerius approached a small inn at the edge of the square. The sign above the door was faded, but he could make out the name: *The Weary Traveler*. Fitting, he thought, as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The interior was dimly lit, with the warm glow of a fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the wooden walls. A few patrons sat at rough-hewn tables, nursing mugs of ale or eating simple meals. The innkeeper, a lanky man with a receding hairline, looked up as Valerius entered.
"Room for the night?" the innkeeper asked, his tone indifferent as he wiped a mug with a rag that had seen better days.
"Just a drink and some news," Valerius replied, his voice gruff and weary. "I've been on the road too long."
The innkeeper nodded and gestured to an empty seat near the fire. "Ale's a copper. Stew's a silver if you're hungry. Not much news to speak of, though. The world's in a bad way, same as always."
Valerius sat down, placing a few coins on the table as the innkeeper brought him a mug of ale. He took a sip, letting the bitter taste roll over his tongue, and listened to the quiet conversations around him.
"You hear about the stranger that came through last week?" one of the patrons was saying to his companion. "Had the look of a nobleman, but no entourage, no servants. Odd, that. Didn't stay long, either. Just asked a few questions and left."
"Questions about what?" the other man asked, leaning in.
"Magic," the first man replied, lowering his voice. "He wanted to know about the old places—shrines, ruins, places where the veil between worlds is thin. Said he was a scholar, but he had the look of someone with more on his mind than dusty tomes."
Valerius's mind raced as he processed the information. Another traveler, searching for places of power. It seemed he wasn't the only one with an interest in the ancient magics of Terros. This world was indeed teetering on the edge of something—a conflict, a revelation, or perhaps both.
The innkeeper approached again, this time with a bowl of stew that smelled better than it looked. Valerius accepted it with a nod, though his appetite was secondary to the information he had gathered. He needed to know more, but pressing too hard might draw unwanted attention.
"Seems like trouble's brewing in every corner of the land," Valerius remarked casually, breaking the silence as he dipped a chunk of bread into the stew. "I've been hearing talk of demons and bandits since I crossed the mountains. Any truth to it?"
The innkeeper sighed, scratching his chin. "Some truth, I suppose. But this land's always had its share of dangers. The forests aren't safe, not for travelers alone. And the townsfolk…well, they're a superstitious lot. See a shadow move the wrong way, and they're quick to blame demons. But there's something different this time. People are scared. More than usual."
Valerius nodded thoughtfully, concealing the satisfaction that bubbled beneath his calm exterior. Fear was a powerful force, and in a world like Terros, it could easily be manipulated. But it could also reveal truths that might otherwise remain hidden.
"I'll keep my wits about me," he said, finishing his meal. "Thank you for the advice."
The innkeeper shrugged, taking the empty bowl. "Just be careful on the roads. The darkness hides more than just shadows."
As Valerius left the inn, he felt the eyes of the townsfolk on him, wary and watchful. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the square, and the villagers were already beginning to close up their shops and retreat to the safety of their homes. Night was a time for caution in Terros, and for good reason.
But Valerius had no intention of staying hidden. He walked with purpose, his stride steady, his eyes scanning the streets as he made his way back toward the edge of town. The information he had gathered was valuable, but it was only the beginning. There were forces at play here that he needed to understand—forces that could either aid him in his quest or become formidable obstacles.
As he reached the outskirts of Greywood, Valerius let the illusion fall away. His wings unfurled once more, and his form shifted back to that of the fallen angel. The cloak and tunic faded into nothingness, replaced by the dark, charred armor that marked him as a being of power and fury.
He looked back at the town, now cloaked in the gathering dusk, and felt a surge of determination. Terros was a world full of secrets, and Valerius was determined to uncover them all.
The night air was cool against his skin as he leaped into the sky, leaving Greywood behind. The horizon stretched out before him, vast and dark, and somewhere within it lay the answers he sought—the knowledge that would restore his power, and perhaps even lead him back to Aetheris.
But for now, he was content to be a wanderer, a traveler in a world of shadows, biding his time until the moment was right to reveal his true nature.
And when that time came, Terros would tremble.