The heavy, iron-banded door of the Thorncroft estate groaned as Eleanor pulled it open. Outside stood a group of villagers, their faces a blend of apprehension and hope. At their center was William, his pale, sweat-drenched face illuminated by the flickering lanterns the villagers carried. His body shuddered violently, his eyes darting as though seeing things no one else could.

“Lady Thorncroft,” said an elderly woman with trembling hands. “We beg of you. Help him. We don’t know what else to do.”

"You’re the last of the Thorncrofts," the elderly woman said, wringing her hands. "Your family has always been… connected to the strange. If anyone can help us, it’s you."

Eleanor’s dark eyes scanned the gathering, lingering on William. She noticed the faint shimmer of an unnatural glow that traced faint, jagged lines across his forearms. Symbols, barely visible, etched themselves onto his skin before fading into nothingness, leaving behind a charred impression.

“Bring him inside,” she instructed, stepping back to allow the group entry.

The library, with its warm firelight and towering shelves, provided a sharp contrast to the cold unease of the scene. William groaned as the villagers laid him onto a makeshift cot. Eleanor knelt beside him, her fingers brushing against his fevered brow. The glow of the symbols pulsed faintly again, and she felt a peculiar hum vibrate through her touch.

Lena entered the room, a mixture of concern and fatigue etched onto her face. “What happened to him?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“He’s marked,” Eleanor said, her voice grave. “These symbols… they’re connected to the Obelisk.”

One of the younger villagers, a boy of barely sixteen, stepped forward. “We think it’s the shard. The one he found last week,” he said, his words rushing out. “It looked like a piece of the Obelisk, broken off somehow. William kept it. Said it was just a rock, but then he started… changing.”

Eleanor’s gaze sharpened. “You found a shard?”

The boy nodded. “Near the edge of the forest. He… he thought it was valuable. Kept it hidden.”

“Where is it now?” Eleanor demanded.

“It’s gone,” the boy said, trembling. “After William started… screaming, it disappeared.”

A chill ran through Eleanor. She turned to Lena. “We need to investigate the site where they found it. If shards of the Obelisk are out there, they could be the source of these marks—or worse.”

Lena nodded, though her expression betrayed her apprehension. “But what about William? He doesn’t have much time.”

Eleanor stood. “If we’re to save him and protect the village, we need to understand what we’re dealing with.”

The forest at night was an entirely different world. Fog slithered through the trees, clinging to their gnarled trunks and muting the sounds of nocturnal life. The villagers who accompanied Eleanor and Lena carried torches, their light casting eerie shadows that danced on the mist.

At the edge of the forest, the boy pointed to a clearing. “It was there,” he whispered.

Eleanor stepped forward, her boots crunching softly on the frost-kissed ground. In the center of the clearing was a patch of earth that looked disturbed, as if something had been wrenched from it. Kneeling, she ran her fingers over the soil. A faint vibration, almost imperceptible, thrummed beneath her fingertips.

“There’s residual energy here,” she said, standing. “The shard was part of the Obelisk, no doubt. But why did it break off? And why is it affecting people?”

“Maybe it’s trying to spread its influence,” Lena suggested, her voice low. “Like roots extending from a tree.”

Eleanor’s expression darkened. “Or like a disease.”

Suddenly, a sharp cry broke through the night. One of the villagers—a man standing at the edge of the clearing—collapsed, clutching his chest. The torches flickered wildly as everyone rushed to his side.

Eleanor’s breath caught as she saw it: the same glowing symbols etching themselves into the man’s skin. His eyes rolled back, and he convulsed violently before going still. The glow faded, leaving him lifeless.

“It’s spreading,” Eleanor said, her voice barely above a whisper. “The shard… it’s not just a fragment. It’s a carrier.”

Back at the Thorncroft estate, Eleanor pored over her mother’s journal and the Codex Umbra. The symbols on William and the other man matched those connected to the Obelisk, but they also resembled markings associated with ancient rituals—ones designed to bind, transfer, or awaken power.

“These marks,” Eleanor said, pointing to a page in the Codex. “They’re a language, a form of communication. The shard isn’t just a piece of the Obelisk; it’s a message, a piece of the puzzle.”

“A message for whom?” Lena asked.

Eleanor’s gaze drifted to the window, where the Obelisk loomed faintly in the distance. “Perhaps for us. Or perhaps for something else entirely.”

The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the room. But as Eleanor studied the symbols, the whispers returned—faint and indistinct, yet persistent. They weren’t in her ears this time; they were in her mind.

“When the shadow consumes the light,” she murmured, translating a line from her mother’s notes. “The gate shall open.”

Lena’s eyes widened. “The gate? What gate?”

Eleanor shook her head, her expression grim. “I don’t know. But I fear it’s tied to the Obelisk and the marks. The shard… it’s a harbinger.”