The morning sun spilled over the horizon as Thomas stirred their small camp. “Come on, slowpokes,” he teased, stretching his arms wide. “I know a town not far from here. If we want to gear up, we best get moving.”

Alaric and Morgan gathered their things quickly. The previous night’s attack still weighed on them, and the thought of armor brought some comfort. Yet, as they arrived at the bustling town, their hopes dimmed when they realized the cost of armor was far beyond their coin.

“We’ll need to find work first,” Thomas said with a grin. “No use fighting monsters in your underwear.”

Wandering the town, they soon came upon a heated argument between a grizzled farmer and a dismissive guard. “Something’s been killing my livestock,” the farmer complained. “You’re just gonna stand there and do nothing?”

The guard scoffed. “A few dead sheep isn’t my problem.”

Morgan exchanged a glance with Alaric before stepping forward. “Maybe we can help,” she offered quietly.

The farmer’s eyes brightened, desperation evident. “I’ll pay whatever you want if you can stop this.”

They set out to investigate the farm. The evidence was grim—tracks leading into the nearby woods, broken fences, and the unmistakable signs of a large predator.

Alaric and Thomas worked together to set up a series of traps near the feeding grounds, using bait to lure the creature. Morgan prepared her potions: one to mask their scent and another to calm wild animals, just in case.

As dusk settled, a low growl echoed from the trees. Emerging from the shadows was the beast—a massive dire wolf with fur as dark as night and eyes glowing a fierce amber.

The creature charged, swift and deadly. Alaric dodged, swinging his sword to divert the attack, while Thomas took a well-aimed shot with his sling, hitting the wolf’s flank. The beast snarled, snapping its jaws inches from Morgan, who threw a vial of sleeping powder that shattered near its muzzle.

The wolf stumbled, and Alaric pressed the advantage, slashing at its legs to slow it down. With a final coordinated strike, Thomas hurled a spear, and Alaric drove his sword through the beast’s heart.

The dire wolf collapsed with a heavy thud, its amber eyes dimming.

The farmer emerged from his porch, awe and relief flooding his face. “You did it. I can’t thank you enough.”

He handed over a pouch of coins—enough for armor and then some.

Amid their success, Thomas pulled them aside with a grim expression. “There’s talk in town. Ryker’s men were seen heading toward a place called the Lifeless Lake, not the Lake Viviane you’ve been after.”

Alaric frowned. “So the sword isn’t at Lake Viviane?”

“Nope. Ryker’s moving fast,” Thomas said, his voice low.

———

That night, Morgan’s sleep was far from peaceful. A nightmare took hold—a shattered mosaic of visions flashing behind her closed lids.

She saw the eerie, still waters of the Lifeless Lake under a silver moon, dark clouds swirling ominously overhead.

Faces emerged from the mist—Ryker and his masked followers, their eyes cold and unyielding.

Then, a horrifying image: Alaric kneeling beside her broken form, his hands clutching her body as dark, inky shadows spread across her skin like a living stain.

Amid the silence, a chilling sound pierced through—Morgan’s own laughter, but warped and echoing, coming from somewhere beyond, cold and mocking. It was the laughter of another self, distant yet hauntingly close.

A sharp cry ripped from her throat as she awoke, gasping for breath.

Alaric sat up immediately. “Morgan! Are you okay?”

She nodded slowly, wiping sweat from her brow, but her eyes held a distant fear.

“We have to be ready. Whatever happens at the Lifeless Lake… it’s going to be worse than anything we’ve faced.”

Thomas clapped a hand on Alaric’s shoulder and smirked. “You two really know how to make travelling fun.”

Morgan managed a tired smile, but inside, the dread only deepened.