**Harper's Hill**
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a harsh glare on the ground. A cold wind blew east, sweeping across the rocky mountains—once a place of magic and wonder—down the rugged road to Harper's Hill. Two men rode in a cart pulled by a horse, their journey marked by the soft creak of the wheels.
Liam shivered slightly in the autumn chill. Dust rose in clouds before him, obscuring his view. He turned to his father, who was intently focused on the locket in his hand. Liam sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy for the man. His mother had been gone for two months now, lost to illness, and the locket was their only remaining memory of her. Liam and his father, Caleb, were merchants, trading fine cotton and spices for gold and other valuable goods in the city, far from home, and they only returned to their hometown—Harper's Hill—at the end of the year.
Caleb's fingers traced the delicate engravings on the locket, his eyes distant as if he were lost in memories of happier times. Liam watched him for a moment, then turned his gaze back to the road ahead. The path wound through the hills, dotted with patches of stubborn grass and the occasional wildflower, defiantly blooming despite the chill.
"Do you think she'd be proud of us?" Liam asked, breaking the silence. His voice was tentative, unsure if he should disturb his father's reverie.
Caleb looked up, his expression softening. "Your mother always believed in us, Liam. She knew we'd find a way to make our lives better. This journey… it's for her as much as it is for us." He closed the locket with a gentle snap, tucking it safely into his coat pocket.
Liam nodded, though he felt a knot of worry in his stomach. The road to Harper's Hill was becoming more treacherous, with the sun setting earlier each day. They had encountered bandits before, and the thought of facing them again made him uneasy.
Liam suddenly felt something—or someone—watching him from the shadows of the trees lining the path. He glanced to the side but saw only the flickering leaves dancing in the wind. Shaking off the feeling, he turned, focusing on the road.
As they continued along the winding road, the landscape shifted from rocky outcrops to dense thickets. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and reach for them. As time passed, the feeling grew in him that he was being watched. He tried convincing himself that no one was watching, but the feeling intensified with each passing moment. He glanced over his shoulder and was surprised. Not more than ten meters down the road stood a cloaked figure. The cloak covered the figure down to his boots, and the cowl was pulled forward so that no part of him was visible.
But something was odd about the cloaked figure. Dull, dark smoke was swirling around him. Liam tried to see the cloaked figure's face through the cowl, but he couldn't. Yet he had a feeling that he was staring right into the stranger's eyes. There was only shadow to see in the hood, but he felt hatred as sharply as if he could see a snarling face. Liam could feel the figure staring at him with death glares, as if he wanted him dead.
Suddenly, the wheel of the cart hit a stone, producing a clunking sound that vibrated through the entire cart. Liam was startled and lost his balance, breaking his gaze from the cloaked figure. He was about to fall flat on his back, but Caleb caught him before he could tumble.
"Easy there, son!" Caleb said, steadying him with a firm grip. "What's wrong?"
"Demon!" Liam said breathlessly as he tried to regain his balance.
"Where?" Caleb asked, drawing his sword.
"It's there, down the…" Liam's words trailed off as he turned in that direction. The road behind them was empty. Where did he go?
"He was right there. A man in a black cloak."
"Liam, you are seeing things. It's been a long day," Caleb said, sheathing his sword. He cracked his whip, and the horse galloped onward, continuing their journey.
Liam realized that something was odd about the cloaked figure. The way the dark smoke was swirling around him... that was something that only existed in fairy tales. But Liam turned back; he was sure he saw something—someone, to be precise. He could still remember the feeling of hatred and danger he felt. But he kept that in the back of his mind and looked forward to reaching his home. Home, sweet home.
As they approached a bend in the road, the silhouette of Harper's Hill emerged on the horizon, its quaint cottages and the towering oak tree at its center standing as a beacon of familiarity. The sight filled Liam with a mix of relief and nostalgia. He had spent countless afternoons climbing that tree, imagining it was a castle tower, a place where adventures awaited.
"Look, Father," Liam pointed ahead, "we're almost there!"
Caleb nodded, a small smile breaking through his somber demeanor. "Yes, we are. Just a little further now." He urged the horse onward, its hooves thudding rhythmically against the dirt path.
As they drew closer, the first signs of life appeared—children playing in the streets, their laughter ringing out like music. Liam felt warmth spread through him. The houses were beautifully decorated; it seemed the village was ready for the Frostwyn festival—one of the reasons why Caleb missed home.
Caleb would occasionally wave to his neighbors as they passed, his face brightening with each familiar sight. The vibrant colors of the decorations—reds, golds, and greens—filled the air with a sense of celebration, a stark contrast to the somber mood they had carried with them on their journey. Liam guided the horse to their family's home, a sturdy, two-story stone cottage with a sloping roof. The door, adorned with a simple iron knocker, opened into a cozy entrance hall.
Inside, the house was warm and inviting, with plush furnishings and rich tapestries lining the walls. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint hint of exotic spices. To the left, a large fireplace crackled in the living area. Above it, a wooden mantelpiece held a few cherished family heirlooms. Adjacent to the living area, a kitchen boasted a large hearth for cooking.
Upstairs, three bedrooms provided ample space for the family. A small storage room and attic completed the cozy abode. Out back, a modest garden bloomed, filled with herbs and vegetables. The house was one of the finest buildings in Harper's Hill, but Caleb preferred staying in the farmhouse a few kilometers away from the town.
"Caleb!" William, Caleb's neighbor, hurried toward them. "It's good to see you at last. And you, Liam, how are you, my boy?"
"Fine, Mister William," Liam said. "And you, sir?" But William's attention was already on Caleb.
"I was almost beginning to think you wouldn't come back home this year. You have never waited so late before."
"The journey was dangerous, with bandits lurking around every bend," Caleb replied, his expression grim. "We had to take extra precautions."
William's face turned serious. "Aye, I've heard rumors of increased bandit activity. We've had some troubles here too. Winter is coming, and wolves are attacking the sheep. Crops can't grow as well, so I'd advise you to visit the farm."
"There have been rumors of wars in the North. A war between mages, they say." The war between mages had spread like wildfire, as well as the rumors of the Dark Lord's return. In Harper's Hill, only a few people believed in magic. That included Liam.
Liam focused on unloading the carriage when suddenly he heard a familiar voice calling. He turned to see a familiar figure—Eric Branthor, his childhood friend, who was commonly known as Eric the Tricker.
"Liam! I thought you wouldn't be here to celebrate the Frostwyn festival, but it seems like you came to see Julia," he said with a wink. Julia and Liam had been childhood lovers, and their parents, Caleb and Andrew, were best friends. They were about to betroth them to each other, but since Liam was not always in town, they kept that aside for the time being.
"Why don't you come and help me with the ghost lantern we are about to make? We are going to scare the hell out of them," Eric said with a mischievous smile.
Liam's smile broadened; he could remember how he and Eric loved playing tricks on people. His heart raced at the thought of joining Eric in their old antics. The Frostwyn festival was always a time of laughter, mischief, and a touch of magic, and he had missed it dearly during his travels.
He took a quick look at his father—the two men were engaged in a serious discussion—then turned back to Eric. "I'm sorry, I have to unload the truck. I can meet you later, though."
"Don't worry, I can wait," Eric said. "Apart from the ghost lantern, there's a stranger looming around the town—a man in a black cloak." Liam's heart raced; it stopped for an instant.