The streets of Halewick lay in eerie silence, a hollow emptiness stretching through the ruined city. Not a single guard. No alarms. No hushed whispers of survivors exchanging frantic accounts of the chaos. It was as if the entire place had collectively agreed to forget what had transpired, to ignore the smoldering mark left behind on the scorched wall. The sigil still pulsed faintly, its heat distorting the air in thin, wavering lines. A warning. Or perhaps, a promise.
The wind carried the acrid scent of burnt stone and something more pungent—something unnatural. It wasn't just the destruction left in the wake of the fire, nor the remnants of bodies turned to dust. It was the absence of reaction, the way the city remained still, as if the people within had locked their doors and sealed their windows, hoping ignorance would keep them safe.
