The man trudged home alone after another grueling day at his blacksmith's forge in Sācar, a tiny, forgotten town tucked deep within the eastern region of Lamora. The moonlight cast a silver glow upon the dirt road that led to his cottage.
His tunic was smeared with soot and sweat, his hands blackened and raw from hours of hammering molten metal into shape.
Now every step he took sent a dull ache up his legs, and his shoulders burned with the strain of labor.
At that moment, the only things occupying his weary mind were the thought of a bath, a hearty meal, and perhaps a few hours of dreamless sleep.
Then, suddenly, a sharp creak split the silence.
The man paused. The night had been quiet a moment ago and he was certain he had been the only one on the road.
He turned his head slowly, scanning the empty path behind him, but there was nothing. Only the faint rustle of leaves in the cold breeze and the soft, rhythmic sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
