Somthing dark seemed to be surging within the depths of Ebner's heart.
He felt strange, very strange—the unprecedented sensation was both unsettling and exhilarating.
That dark entity welling up inside him seemed to be what was known as malice.
In reality, Ebner had never done anything bad in his decades-long life, not even harbored ill will towards anyone; it was today, truly left with no alternative, that he decided to lead the other three traveling companions to this cave.
Before the group had even set out, the elderly village chief had sought him out for a private word.
At that moment, he had been tidying up herbs at the entrance to his home when the old man approached, leaning on his walking stick.
"Ebner."
The village chief's usually clouded eyes revealed an uncommon sharpness, his frail, wrinkled hand resting on Ebner's shoulder.
