The fires still burned as Kalenor stepped out of the main hall, the echoes of his meditation with Morbitral lingering in his mind. The cryptic words of his master weighed heavily on him, but they also gave him a clarity of purpose. Hallowglen was hanging by a thread, and it was his duty to ensure the village endured for the next six days.

  He quickly formulated a plan as he walked through the dimly lit streets, the flickering glow of bonfires casting long shadows over the weary villagers. The gates needed to be sealed. Patrols had to be doubled, and a more organized effort was needed to gather firewood and medicinal herbs. He would assign specific teams for foraging and fortify the village’s defenses further. The walls must be manned at all times.

  Kalenor quickened his pace as he approached the Briarhouse, determined to put his plan into action. Just as he reached the door, an elder stepped out, her weathered face illuminated by the faint glow of the surrounding torches.

  “Elder,” Kalenor began, inclining his head respectfully. “I’ve come to discuss a new plan to protect the village. We need to—”

  The elder held up her hand, cutting him off. Her face was grim, her tone heavy with dread. “Kalenor, two of the elders have been infected.”

  The words hit him like a blow. “Infected?” he repeated, his voice quiet but tense.

  The elder nodded. “And it’s not just that. Our people are growing restless. They’re uneasy, and some are beginning to talk about leaving. They don’t trust the fires to keep them safe. They fear the corruption is already inside the walls.”

  Kalenor exhaled, his sharp amber eyes narrowing as he processed the news. “It’s reasonable they’d want to leave,” he admitted after a moment. “But it’s also reckless. We don’t know the extent of the corruption, and the forest beyond these walls is dangerous. We don’t even know if the courier we sent has made it.”

  The elder nodded in agreement but said firmly, “We cannot stop them if they choose to leave. It is their decision.”

  Reluctantly, Kalenor nodded. “Understood. But if they do leave, they’re walking into the unknown. We can’t protect them once they’re outside these walls.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The elder sighed, her shoulders heavy with the weight of responsibility. “We’ll speak to them, but those who choose to leave must do so at their own risk.”

  Kalenor inclined his head. “I’ll respect their choice. But for those who remain, we must act swiftly.” He then laid out his plan, explaining the need for sealed gates, fortified patrols, and organized foraging teams. The elder listened carefully, her expression pensive, before nodding and leaving to gather the other elders.

  Stepping into the Briarhouse, Kalenor was immediately struck by the stifling air. The afflicted groaned faintly from their cots, their bodies writhing with fever and corruption. The wiry Briar was hunched over a patient, his sharp eyes focused as he worked, but he straightened when he noticed Kalenor.

  An elder sitting nearby caught Kalenor’s attention—the wiry man’s face was pale, and his breaths came shallow and strained. Kalenor frowned as he approached. “You’re one of the infected, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

  The elder nodded slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he spoke. “Yes… I was with a foraging party two days ago. I was helping them gather the mushrooms we need for the medicine. I’ve taught them all I know, but I felt compelled to join them this time.” He hesitated, his face tightening with guilt. “There was… a plant I’d never seen before. It was twisted and dark, unlike anything I’ve encountered. When I went to harvest it, it burst—spores spewed out everywhere.”

  The elder’s voice wavered as he continued. “I shouted for the others to stay back, to not come near me. But it was too late. I’ve felt it growing inside me ever since.”

  Kalenor’s expression darkened. If the corruption had evolved to spread through spores, medicine harvesting was no longer safe. He turned to the Briar, his tone grim. “We need to reconsider sending foraging teams. It may no longer be safe.”

  The Briar straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing. “If the spores are spreading, then we must act with greater caution. Perhaps it’s time to stop harvesting altogether.”

  Kalenor hesitated. “If we stop harvesting, the medicine supplies will dwindle. The infected will worsen, and they’ll pose a greater threat inside the village.”

  The Briar’s apprentice, standing nearby, suddenly spoke up, his voice eager. “What if we covered our faces with cloth? It might reduce the risk of breathing in the spores.”

  Kalenor gave the young man a thoughtful look but ultimately shook his head. “It’s too risky. But I appreciate your input.”

  Turning back to the Briar, Kalenor said, “We’ll adopt your plan, but with adjustments. We’ll keep watch over the afflicted, but we’re sealing this building off. We can’t risk anyone escaping, or worse—infecting more people.”

  The Briar nodded reluctantly, his gaze shifting to the writhing figures on the cots. “It’s a harsh measure, but I can’t deny its necessity.”

  Kalenor stepped forward, his amber eyes scanning the room. “We’ll secure the doors and assign guards. The afflicted must remain contained, no matter what.”

  The apprentice’s voice trembled as he asked, “And if they break free?”

  Kalenor’s expression hardened, his voice steady. “Then we stop them—whatever it takes.”

  As the villagers began to implement the plan, sealing the Briarhouse and reinforcing the gates, Kalenor couldn’t shake the elder’s story from his mind. The corruption was evolving, spreading in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Time was running out, and the line between safety and disaster was growing thinner by the moment.

  But Kalenor knew one thing for certain: Hallowglen would endure. It had to.