As Draven and Sylara left the chapel, the weight of the priest's words settled on them like the oppressive clouds hanging over the town. The looming mountain range in the distance, dark and jagged against the evening sky, seemed to beckon them with a mix of dread and anticipation. Draven's mind was already calculating their next move, his sharp intellect piecing together the threads of the situation. Every decision needed to be precise; any misstep here could unravel everything.
They passed through the deserted streets once more, the unnatural stillness punctuated by the faint sound of shutters closing as the remaining townspeople retreated into their homes. The fear was palpable, a constant presence lingering in the air. Draven noted how every villager avoided casting even the smallest shadow, moving only in the open spaces where light from the dimming sun bathed the streets.
