The boy looked no older than twelve, with wide, frightened eyes and clothes that were torn and dirty. His hands shook as he clutched a piece of parchment, his knuckles white from the strain. We led him to a chair, and he sat down, his body visibly trembling.
"What's your name?" Lise asked gently, crouching down to his level.
"I'm Jorin," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I need your help. My village... it's been attacked by demons."
Zaya leaned forward, her expression serious. "Tell us everything, Jorin. What happened?"
Jorin swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting another attack at any moment. "It started a few days ago. Strange creatures began appearing at night, attacking our homes, taking people. My father... he tried to fight them, but they... they took him too."
My heart ached for the boy, and I could see the same sorrow mirrored in Lise's eyes. "Where is your village?" I asked.
