Day 1

  The sun rose slowly over Hallowglen, its pale light muted by the ever-present mist that clung to the forest. Day one of the sealed village plan had begun, and Kalenor was already walking the perimeter, inspecting the walls and checking on the patrols. The villagers had settled into uneasy routines, their movements cautious, their eyes filled with both fear and determination.

  Kalenor made his way through the village, ensuring that rations and supplies were being distributed. The fires burned steadily at the gates and along the walls, their warmth a small comfort against the creeping chill of the corruption. As he passed groups of villagers, nodding to reassure them, his sharp ears caught the sound of hurried footsteps and labored breathing.

  “Scalesworn!” A voice called out, strained and breathless.

  Kalenor turned to see a man pushing through the crowd, his face pale and his chest heaving. He was one of the village watch, a stout and reliable guard who rarely showed signs of alarm.

  “You need to come with me,” the man panted, his voice trembling. “Now.”

  Kalenor frowned but nodded, gesturing for the man to lead the way. He followed him through the village, past wary villagers who whispered among themselves as they watched the Scalesworn stride by. The guard led Kalenor to the wall, climbing up to the lookout point with urgency.

  As Kalenor stepped onto the wooden platform, the man pointed toward the tree line, his hand shaking. “There,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Kalenor followed his gaze, his amber eyes narrowing as he scanned the misty forest beyond the walls. At first, he saw nothing but the dense fog swirling between the trees. But then, just as he was about to speak, he saw it.

  A figure stood at the edge of the forest, barely visible through the haze. Its form was cloaked in an ocean-blue hood and gown that shimmered faintly, even in the dim light. A single branch-like horn jutted from the left side of its head, curling upward like a twisted crown of wood. The figure’s presence exuded an unnatural stillness, as though it were part of the forest itself.

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  Kalenor’s breath caught in his throat. His mind raced as he stared at the figure, trying to process what he was seeing. A Noble of Thalassai? Here? His homeland was far to the west, beyond the sea. What business could a noble have in Brynshale, let alone this far inland?

  The figure did not move, its gaze—or what Kalenor imagined was its gaze—fixed on the village. Then, as if sensing his attention, it stepped back into the fog. The mists thickened around it, swallowing its form entirely. Within moments, it was gone, leaving behind only an oppressive silence.

  Kalenor stood frozen for a moment, his mind unsettled by what he had seen. Finally, he turned to the guard, his voice calm but firm. “Did anyone else see it?”

  The man shook his head. “No, Scalesworn. Just me... and now you.”

  “Say nothing,” Kalenor ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The villagers don’t need more reason to panic. Keep this between us for now.”

  The guard nodded, though his expression betrayed his unease. Kalenor descended the wall, his thoughts racing. He had to keep moving, to focus on his duties, but the image of the figure lingered in his mind like a shadow.

  As Kalenor returned to the village, he couldn’t shake the dread that had settled over him. A noble of Thalassai, corrupted. He knew the power the nobles held—they were direct descendants of the Great Dragons themselves, their lineage imbued with the very essence of the ancient beings. If the figure he had seen was truly one of Thalassai’s nobles, it wasn’t just a threat—it was an omen of something far worse.

  Kalenor’s homeland was a place of vast oceans and thriving coastal cities. Why would any noble venture so far inland, let alone to Brynshale? The thought gnawed at him, the implications spiraling in his mind. He reached back and pulled the ceremonial short sword from its sheath, studying the blade.

  The blade shimmered faintly in the firelight, its blackened steel polished to perfection. Embedded into the center of the blade was a singular black pearl, its surface gleaming with a mysterious iridescence. It was more than a weapon; it was a symbol—a mark of achievement and status bestowed only upon those who had proven themselves in Thalassai. Kalenor remembered the day he had earned it, the trials that had tested his strength, will, and devotion. This sword was his bond to his homeland, a constant reminder of who he was and where he came from.

  As his fingers traced the edge of the pearl, memories surfaced—flashes of Thalassai’s shimmering waters, its nobles adorned in finery that radiated their draconic heritage. The weight of those memories pressed against him as he tried to make sense of what he had seen.

  The Lady in Blue. Could it be her? The elders had spoken of a noblewoman passing through the village before the plague began, cloaked in oceanic hues and exuding an unsettling presence. Kalenor hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now, the connection seemed undeniable.

  He shook his head, forcing the thoughts aside. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. The village needed him focused, and there were still preparations to be made. But deep in his gut, he felt the weight of a truth he couldn’t yet grasp—a truth that tied the Lady in Blue to the corruption spreading through Brynshale.

  As the day wore on, Kalenor moved through the village, resuming his duties with quiet determination. But the image of the shadowy figure lingered in his mind, its presence a chilling reminder that the fight for Hallowglen was far from over.