Standing, Leor turned toward the village square. The villagers, sensing his presence, shifted uneasily. Their gaze lingered on the worn leather scabbard at his side, and the whispers that followed him were like shadows in the mist. He walked purposefully through the crowd, ignoring the weight of their gaze.
Leor approached a weathered farmer tending to his stall. The man's face was etched with lines of hardship, his hands rough from years of toil. Leor offered a small nod before speaking. "Excuse me, kind sir. Could you direct me to the church… a- and the blacksmith?"
The farmer looked up slowly, his eyes clouded with suspicion. His voice, when he finally spoke, was barely louder than a whisper. "The church lies on the outskirts of the village, beyond the old oak tree, Father Elric should be there," he said. "The blacksmith… he's moved his forge to be farther from the boundary of the town. You'll find it near the bakery. Doesn't take visitors often these days."
Leor thanked the farmer, but something about the man unsettled him. As he studied the lines on the farmer's face, a strange feeling stirred within him—a sense of déjà vu. There was something familiar about the way the man fidgeted with his calloused hands, the way his eyes darted away from Leor's gaze. But how could that be? He didn't know this man. Pushing the unsettling feeling aside, Leor turned his attention back to the task at hand.
The church. His path was clear, and the day stretched before him, full of purpose.
Fydo trotted beside him, his nose twitching at the scents carried by the breeze. Leor's thoughts, however, lingered on the farmer's face. He would come back and investigate later. For now, the church awaited.
The village square began to fall behind him, and soon Leor found himself walking along the dirt path that led to the outskirts of Hollow Creek. The mist had begun to lift, revealing the towering silhouette of an old oak tree in the distance. If the villagers were gathered for worship, he would join them. If not, then he would go straight to the priests and warn them of the evil encroaching on their lands. Either way, his mission was clear.
The familiar weight of his sword at his side grounded him as he walked, and with Fydo close at his heel, Leor pressed on, determined to face whatever darkness awaited him next.