Fasltad |work| -

The warning spread like fire. By the time he limped to the third village, children were already running for high ground. Kaelen collapsed at the old oak at the village’s edge, the same tree where he had received his torque as a boy.

He reached the first village gasping, blood threading down his shin. “The Crimson Storm,” he choked out. “Go to the caves. Now.” fasltad

His vision tunneled. The villages ahead—three hamlets strung along the river fork—were still dark. No evacuation had been called. He pushed harder, feeling something tear deep in his calf. The warning spread like fire

And from that day, whenever a sudden wind rises in the north, the old ones say: Listen. You can still hear his footsteps. fasltad