The village at the base of the mountains was a quiet place, nestled between the looming peaks and the deep forest beyond. It had always been a place of refuge for travelers and soldiers, a temporary haven before venturing into the dangerous wilds. Now, it felt more like a sanctuary of grief, as Elara and her companions crossed the threshold of its gates.
The villagers noticed their arrival with hushed whispers, eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and dread. Word had spread quickly about the group's mission, though few knew the full extent of their ordeal. All they saw now was a band of weary adventurers, their faces marked by sorrow and loss.
As they made their way through the narrow streets, an older man, his face lined with worry, approached them. He was the village elder, someone who had lived through more than his fair share of battles and seen enough heroes come and go.
"Is it done?" the elder asked, his voice low and raspy.
