I opened my eyes and focused. I was no longer in that darkness. It had only been a dream, yet the image remained vivid in my mind.
Leafy trees surrounded me. I was not in the village. I was not in Harlen's house. It had all been a dream, even though it had felt completely real.
I pushed myself away from the tree. Not far from me was a path like the one that led to the village. I set out along it once again.
The road was the same as yesterday. The same wagon tracks, the same worn edges of the path. Only the air was colder now and the light harsher. The sun was just beginning to rise above the treetops, and mist clung to the branches. I walked slowly. I had no reason to hurry, and yet I knew I was returning for a different reason than before.
The forest was silent. If it had seemed silent in the dream because of the approaching war and the fear of bandits, now I heard no one and met no one.
When I reached the place where I had seen the ambush the day before, I stopped. The wagon was still there.
The horse's reins had been cut. One wheel was broken, and goods lay scattered along the road. There was no one in sight.
I stepped closer. The blood on the wood had darkened until it looked almost black. The craftsman lay a few steps away, facedown in the dirt. I did not bother checking whether he was alive. There was no need.
What had happened was not my fault, and there had been nothing I could have done to stop it. I passed the wagon and kept walking.
The village appeared sooner than before. The trees that had once hidden it now stood like blackened ash. The gate was open and scorched by fire. The dogs that had guarded it in my dream were nowhere to be seen.
I stepped inside, and the sight made bile rise in my throat.
It was not a pleasant sight.
The houses that had made up the village had collapsed. The people I had seen in my dream lay dead everywhere. I walked to the nearest body. There was only a single sword wound on it. Some of the bodies showed signs that they had tried to fight back. Others looked as if they had been trying to flee. But they all had one thing in common. No one had survived.
I made my way to the center of the village, where the well and Harlen's house stood.
I was not alone.
A group of about a dozen people stood near the well, some of them civilians mourning the dead, others guards.
"What happened here?" I asked.
One of the guards turned toward me.
"One of the merchants reported it when he arrived yesterday. Said he found nothing but a bloody slaughterhouse and a burned out village."
I frowned. "Yesterday?"
The guard looked me over as if I were the one with no right to ask.
"Yesterday morning," he replied. "He said he saw smoke from a distance."
I looked around. The smoke was gone. Only the smell of burned wood and flesh remained, clinging low to the ground. The air was heavy and stuck to my tongue.
So was it a dream, or had I really been here?
"That's impossible," I said at last. "I spoke to Harlen yesterday. I spent the night at his place."
Several heads turned toward me.
"That's impossible," another man said, this one dressed in leather armor. "Yesterday the village was already nothing but ashes."
"I spoke to Harlen. I ate at his table."
Silence fell for a moment. Then someone cursed under his breath.
"Harlen is dead," the first guard said. "They're all dead."
I looked toward the house. All that remained was a charred frame. The roof had collapsed inward, and the beams were blackened.
I clenched my jaw.
"When did this happen?" I asked more calmly.
"Judging by the tracks, the night before last," the man in leather armor replied. "Quick work. No looting. No plundering. Just killing."
That did not fit.
Bandits take things. They leave empty houses behind.
I walked closer to the well. Harlen's body lay at the bottom. He was on his back, eyes open, with a single clean wound in his chest.
"It isn't a pretty sight," a woman's voice said behind me.
I turned at once.
Standing before me was a girl who could not have been much older than twenty, yet her posture and voice were steady. Her azure eyes were focused, and her brown hair was tied back out of the way. A sword hung at her side.
She was no ordinary villager.
The guard straightened. "Who are you?"
"Lasin, officer of the Twelve Swords." She pulled out a badge crossed with several swords, just to make sure.
The guard froze when he saw it and immediately stood at attention.
Two more figures appeared behind her. One was a man with a slender but tall build, reddish skin, and horns rising from his head. A Variet, I realized, one of the half demon race. The other was a massive red haired woman, about six feet tall, with a huge axe on her back. Judging by her muscles, she was stronger than most men.
The Variet studied the village carefully. "I could've burned it better," he remarked with confidence.
Everyone, including the guards, turned toward him.
Before anyone could say anything, the woman beside him cut in sharply.
"Breias, we are not here for you to show off your taste."
Breias shrugged as if she had commented on the weather and looked over the charred beams again. His gaze was calm. Too calm. Too sharp.
It did not take me long to realize he was different. It was not just the horns or the way he carried himself. It was something beneath that. Something pressing into the space between us. His gaze burned like a flame, and I felt a brief wave of magic pass around him. For a moment, I felt a strange urge. Not fear. More like desire. A desire to test that strength. To find out where its limits were.
My fingers slipped to the hilt of my sword on their own. It was not a conscious movement, more a habit of the body, which remembered more than my mind did. My thoughts caught up a second later.
No. I can't.
I pulled my hand back before anyone noticed.
Even so, I had the feeling someone had.
Lasin watched me with suspicion, but said nothing.
"Do you have any idea who might've done this?" the guard finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Considering the village wasn't looted and everyone is dead." Lasin thought for a moment. "I would say this was meant as intimidation."
"Intimidation?" I repeated.
"I can't tell you more. It's classified."
The guard clenched his jaw. "Then what were they? Bandits? Mercenaries?"
Lasin lowered her gaze to the well for a moment, then straightened again.
"No," she said calmly.
"Then who?" he pressed. "People deserve to know."
Breias remained silent. He only watched.
Lasin made sure her voice stayed firm. "An organized group. Fast. Experienced."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one you need right now, and the only one we can give," she said without raising her voice. "Your job is to make sure this does not happen again, not to spread panic."
The guard drew a breath as if he wanted to protest, but in the end he only nodded. Not because he agreed, but because he respected the badge.
I knew she knew more than she was saying.
And I knew it was not something she wanted to say aloud in front of people who had just lost their families. The last thing she could do now was plant the seeds of fear just before a war.
The guards slowly dispersed. People began preparing the bodies for burial.
Lasin remained by the well.
"You said you were here yesterday," she said calmly.
"Yes."
"And that you spoke to the villagers."
"Yes."
She was silent for a moment.
"Judging by the footprints and the ashes, this village has been dead for two days."
I said nothing.
Her gaze was not accusing. It was calculating.
"Strange," she said quietly. "Do you remember anything suspicious?"
"I don't know. That night I dreamed of ash and people dying. I woke up in the forest, even though I fell asleep in the village."
"You're coming with us to Theocran," Lasin decided.
It was not a suggestion.
"As a prisoner?" I asked.
"As a witness."