The journey back to Eldermoor had been a long one, filled with an uneasy silence that seemed to stretch between Marcus and Elara. The battle at the Rift had taken its toll, physically and emotionally. They had won, yes—but at what cost? The massive rift that had threatened to swallow the land was now sealed, its violent force contained, but Marcus couldn't shake the feeling that the true storm was yet to come.
As they approached the village gates, Marcus found himself scanning the horizon. The village of Eldermoor was eerily still. Normally, the streets would be alive with children playing, merchants peddling wares, and the distant sound of laughter echoing from the tavern. But today, all was quiet, and the air felt thick with unspoken fear.
Elara noticed it too, her brow furrowing as she quickened her pace to match Marcus's. "Something's off," she muttered, eyes flicking to every corner, every shadow. "I don't like this."
