In a world still haunted by legends of devastating scourges that rise every five centuries, a quiet tension hums beneath the surface of everyday life. The prologue whispers of ancient calamities—of beings so powerful they reshaped the world through cycles of conquest, death, and ideology. With each rise, morality itself was challenged, rewritten, or destroyed. Now, in the present age, stories of these apocalyptic risings are fading into folklore, cautionary tales spoken more with awe than urgency. But change stirs again, though none can yet see it clearly.

Eldergrove, a town once vibrant with activity, bustles quietly in the calm before an unseen storm. Jack, a skilled but unassuming hunter, lives a modest life, grounded in instinct and survival. As a man of the wild, he begins to notice what others overlook: strange silences in the forest, altered migration patterns, and an eerie stillness in the wind. Something isn’t right. He can’t explain it, but the world is holding its breath.

Meanwhile, Eamon, Jack’s mentor and a member of a wise but aging order of sages, grows troubled. The sages—keepers of history and magic—convene to discuss signs of a possible new Scourge. But uncertainty clouds their vision. Though they feel a disturbance, no grand events or omens have yet occurred. Eamon, cautious and insightful, pushes for further observation, while others remain divided. The Master Watcher, the most ancient among them, remains silent—his thousand-year gaze unreadable.

As time passes, Jack's unease deepens. His instincts become sharper, almost too sharp, as if the natural world itself is crying out in whispers only he can hear. This sensitivity isolates him, but soon, events begin to escalate beyond what even his sharpened awareness can rationalize. People in neighboring villages report strange disappearances. Shadows stretch longer than they should. At night, the wind carries voices it shouldn't.

Jack reconnects with an old friend, Jones—a spirited, sarcastic man with a knack for masking insight behind humor. Despite his playful nature, Jones is loyal and grounded, and his presence offers Jack some much-needed balance. They’re soon joined by Mike, a thoughtful but emotionally fragile man who sees patterns others miss, though his ability to cope with those insights often fails him. As the group investigates the disturbances together, they encounter Page—a quiet, powerful mercenary from a neighboring village scarred by unseen forces. Her silence masks a keen eye, and her strength makes her invaluable.

Together, they delve into increasingly grim discoveries: villages emptied without signs of struggle, people who seem fine one day and vanish the next, and a world slowly unraveling in ways no one can describe. The deeper they go, the more Jack is drawn into internal conflict. He begins to question not only the world around him but himself. The lines between right and wrong blur. What does it mean to protect? Who decides who is good or evil?

Amidst this, Jack meets a man named Justin. Quiet, reserved, and unsettlingly calm, Justin exudes an odd presence—neither threatening nor warm. Jack, already struggling to make sense of what’s happening, finds himself drawn to a conversation with this stranger. What begins as a probing discussion soon shifts into a deep philosophical challenge. Justin proposes a disturbing idea: that mortals have no authority to define good or evil. Only a higher being can decide. Jack is shaken. The words cling to him like smoke, infecting his thoughts. Every choice, every judgment he’s made suddenly feels uncertain. The encounter fractures something within him.

From then on, Jack’s mind begins to slip. Not dramatically, but in moments—when deciding how to deal with bandits, when choosing who to trust, when protecting the weak—he begins to question if his decisions, even well-intentioned, are righteous or wrong. His instincts falter. His voice loses conviction. The others begin to notice, but no one can put words to it.

Despite the growing tension, the group follows what they believe is a solid lead: reports of a monstrous force lurking in a ruined region, an entity responsible for mass disappearances. It fits the pattern. All signs point to this being the new Scourge. With courage and resolve, they enter the region, encountering death and horror. The creature they face is unlike anything they’ve ever seen—grotesque, towering, a nightmarish mockery of flesh and rage. During the brutal battle, Gerran, a scout from a neighboring village who had led them into the ruins, is killed—his death sudden and harrowing. Blood is shed. But through sheer force of will and unity, the group defeats the monster.

What follows, however, is not relief.

As the creature collapses, it begins to twist and convulse, revealing its true form—not a man, not a god, but an abomination. Its death brings no clarity, only horror. Eamon stares at the remains, stunned. Then, slowly, realization dawns. This was not the Scourge. This thing—this grotesque beast—was a decoy. A distraction. A tool meant to draw their focus, to make them believe they had won. The sages, for all their wisdom, had been deceived. And while they were distracted, the real threat had moved unseen, untouched, unchallenged.

Jack falls to his knees, trembling. The weight of his doubts, the loss of Gerran, and the knowledge that they’ve been played overwhelms him. Page demands answers. Jones spirals into frustrated disbelief. Mike sinks into despair, muttering that they’re already too late. Eamon, face pale, confesses that the enemy has outwitted them in every way. They never saw it coming. They were hunting a ghost while the true Scourge wove his influence in silence.

A silence settles among them. Not peace—but dread. They were seen. Studied. Mocked. The Scourge now knows who they are.

And they still don’t know what he looks like.