The night air over Elyria was cold and still, the kind of silence that carried a warning—a breath held too long, a hush before a scream. The moon hung pale and distant in the sky, casting a silver sheen over the southern ridges, where the land dipped into shadow and the wind whispered secrets through the dry grass.
A lone scout rode the southern perimeter, his horse moving at a slow, careful pace, ears twitching in the quiet. He had been assigned the midnight watch, a routine patrol that rarely offered more than fox tracks and the rustle of nocturnal beasts. But tonight felt… wrong. The stillness was too perfect, like the world had paused in anticipation.
Then he saw it.
A dark shape emerged over the ridge—no more than a silhouette at first, lurching against the horizon. As the scout drew closer, he raised his torch, and the flickering flame threw light across the approaching form. A horse. Riderless at first glance, until the firelight caught the limp figure slumped across its nec
