The fires flickered low as the weight of unease settled over Hallowglen. Though Kalenor had laid out a plan to protect the village, not everyone shared his resolve. The corruption’s reach had spread too far, and fear had taken root in the hearts of many. Despite Kalenor’s efforts to reassure them, some families had decided to leave, their faith in survival behind the village walls eroded by the horrors they had witnessed.

  Kalenor stood at the gates as the families prepared to depart. Their belongings were bundled on carts, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and determination. The cries of children and murmurs of hesitant goodbyes filled the air.

  “I will protect those who stay,” Kalenor said, his voice steady yet laced with regret. “The fires will keep us safe. We have a plan now—please, reconsider.”

  But the villagers shook their heads, their trust in his words irreparably shaken. Two deaths weighed heavily on their decision, the memories of the afflicted turning into monstrous husks and the creature that had broken free of the Briarhouse still fresh in their minds.

  One man, clutching his wife’s hand, turned to Kalenor with weary eyes. “You’ve done what you can, Scalesworn, but... we cannot wait here to die. We’ve seen what this plague does. We’ll take our chances in the woods.”

  Kalenor opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to tell them the truth—that the corruption might already be beyond the forest, that leaving the village’s fragile defenses would only increase their risk. But he couldn’t bring himself to strip away the only hope they had left.

  “May Morbitral guide your steps,” he said quietly, bowing his head as the families passed through the gates.

  When the last cart disappeared into the misty woods, Kalenor turned and gave the signal to seal the gates. Heavy wooden beams and iron locks were set into place, and a team of warriors stood ready to defend the perimeter.

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  Kalenor lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the closed gates. The weight of failure pressed heavily on his shoulders. He had promised to protect these people, yet two lives had been lost under his watch. Now, more lives teetered on the edge, their fates uncertain beyond the safety of the village walls.

  But there was no time to dwell. The villagers who remained were depending on him.

  Inside the village, the new plan of defense was being implemented. Patrols had been assigned, and bonfires burned at key points along the walls, their smoke rising into the darkening sky. Kalenor had made it clear to the elders and the Briar that fire was their most vital weapon against the corruption. The teams he had assembled to forage wood moved with precision, each one composed of five members.

  Two villagers were tasked with chopping wood, their axes swinging rhythmically as they worked. One person, chosen for their sharp eye and steady nerves, scouted ahead to locate paths free of the mysterious plant that had infected the elder with its spores. The remaining two served as sentries, keeping watch for any sign of danger.

  Kalenor himself oversaw the formation of the teams, ensuring that each group understood the importance of their roles. “Fire is our greatest ally,” he told them firmly. “Without it, we are defenseless. But remember: the forest is no longer just a place of shelter—it is a threat. Work quickly, stay vigilant, and avoid anything that seems unnatural.”

  The villagers nodded, their faces grim but determined. Kalenor could see the fear in their eyes, but he also saw something else—a flicker of resolve, a quiet determination to fight for their survival.

  As the teams set out, Kalenor walked the length of the village walls, inspecting the patrols and the bonfires. The flames cast long shadows across the ground, their light a fragile barrier against the encroaching darkness. Kalenor felt a pang of unease as he passed by the Briarhouse, its doors sealed tightly. Inside, the afflicted lay silent, their fate uncertain.

  Kalenor clenched his fists, his amber eyes narrowing. He had six days to hold the line. Six days to ensure that Hallowglen endured. Every choice he made, every resource he allocated, could mean the difference between survival and ruin.

  That night, as Kalenor stood by the largest bonfire in the village square, he allowed himself a moment of reflection. The weight of the villagers’ distrust still lingered, but he reminded himself that their fear was not unfounded. The corruption had taken two lives and shattered the fragile peace of their home.

  But he could not let that fear consume him. He was Morbitral’s Scalesworn, chosen to protect the balance and bring renewal through decay. Even in the face of despair, he would not falter.

  As the flames crackled and the shadows danced around him, Kalenor made a silent vow: he would not let Hallowglen fall. Not while he still drew breath.