The unrest in Eldergrove had grown palpable, a thick tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud poised to burst. Though the village had always been a sanctuary of peace, strange occurrences had begun to ripple through the community, spreading to the neighboring settlements. Crops withered despite the season’s bounty, livestock vanished without a trace, and a simmering anger festered among the villagers. Jack could sense the mounting unease, a foreboding weight pressing against his chest.

Sitting on a wooden bench near the village square, Jack observed the townsfolk bustling about. Eldergrove was no stranger to hard times, but this felt different. Familiar faces wore expressions of suspicion and fatigue, their voices hushed, and laughter absent. Even the air felt heavy, carrying a sense of something dark lurking beneath the surface. Jack’s instincts, sharpened by years of hunting, screamed that something was wrong, but every time he tried to pinpoint it, it eluded him like mist vanishing at dawn.

Early one morning, Jack met his friend Mike just outside the village. Mike was lugging a bundle of furs, the spoils from a recent hunt. His eyes looked weary, shadowed by sleepless nights. Jack could see that Mike had been plagued by the same restlessness that haunted him.

"Hey, Jack," Mike greeted, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Going hunting again?"

"Yeah, But… something feels off, doesn’t it?" Jack replied, 

Mike’s expression darkened, and he dropped the furs to the ground, stepping closer. "You felt it too? I thought I was the only one going mad."

"No, it’s not just you. People have been acting strange. I overheard a couple of farmers almost come to blows yesterday over something trivial… just a disagreement about whose ox was stronger. It’s ridiculous."

Mike shook his head, his brow furrowed. "Tell me about it. I heard it’s worse in Muirwood. Traders mentioned full-on brawls breaking out in the market, and not the usual scuffles either. Seems like everyone’s on edge."

Jack nodded, feeling a growing concern. "I was thinking of talking to Eamon. Maybe he knows something about all this. I can’t shake the feeling that something is brewing beneath the surface."

"You think it has anything to do with that stranger?" Mike asked, lowering his voice as if the very name could summon trouble. "Justin? The one who appeared a couple of weeks back?"

Jack glanced around as if expecting Justin to materialize from the shadows. "I don’t know. He’s… different. Like he’s trying to fit in, but something about him doesn’t sit right with me."

"Yeah, I feel that too. There’s just something off about him. Like he’s forcing it. You should definitely mention him to Eamon."

"I will," Jack said. "I need to catch up with him later."

As the day wore on, Jack made his way to Eamon’s home. The old sage sat by a small fire, a collection of ancient tomes scattered around him. When Jack entered, Eamon looked up, His skin was pale and weathered, marked by fine lines that traced the passage of his two centuries of life. He greeted Jack with a weary smile that concealed deeper concerns.

"Jack," Eamon said warmly. "I was just thinking about you. What brings you here?"

Jack took a seat across from Eamon, the gravity of his thoughts weighing heavily on him. "There’s something wrong, Eamon. The village… people are acting different. And it’s not just here. Mike mentioned that Muirwood is experiencing unrest too. Have you noticed?"

Eamon's demeanor shifted to one of seriousness as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Yes, I have. It feels as if a shadow is creeping across this land, slowly engulfing us. I’ve been searching for answers, but… I can’t find any solid leads."

"Do you think it’s related to the scourges?" Jack ventured cautiously.

Eamon's eyes narrowed, contemplating the question. "I’ve pondered that myself, but if it is, I cannot discern how. I’ve felt no signs of a new scourge rising. The omens are eerily silent, yet…" He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration.

Jack could sense Eamon's unease mirroring his own. "What if it’s something else? Something we don’t understand yet?"

Eamon leaned forward, intrigued by Jack’s words. "That is indeed a possibility. But if that is the case, it could be more dangerous. A threat we cannot see is much harder to confront, and I fear that if something is stirring, it’s already infiltrating our lives."

Jack’s mind raced as he grappled with Eamon’s words. Thoughts of Justin flooded his mind—the stranger’s unsettling presence, the way he seemed to glide through the village, effortlessly mingling yet maintaining an air of mystery. "There’s this stranger," Jack finally said, choosing his words carefully. "Justin. He’s been around a lot lately, interacting with the villagers. But I don’t know why, yet he gives off an odd vibe."

Eamon leaned forward, a flicker of curiosity in his glinting eyes. "Is it the man we met in the woods the other day?"

"Yes. It’s like he’s trying too hard to be liked, to fit in. There’s a look he gets, just for a moment sometimes, like there’s something hidden beneath the surface. I can’t quite put my finger on it… maybe I’m just overthinking it."

Eamon considered Jack’s observations carefully. "It’s wise to trust your instincts, Jack. They often see what the mind cannot comprehend. If this Justin is indeed someone to be wary of, we must tread carefully. But you’ve given me much to think about."

Jack felt a small relief in sharing his concerns, yet it did little to dispel the clouds of doubt swirling in his mind. "Should we keep an eye on him?" he asked.

"Yes," Eamon affirmed. "But we must be discreet. If he is involved in whatever is causing this unrest, we don’t want to reveal our suspicions prematurely. Keep observing, and I will do the same. If there’s something to uncover, we will find it."

As evening fell, Jack walked back through the village, watching the sun dip below the hills, casting long, eerie shadows over the streets. A chill crept into the air, though it wasn’t from the cold. The sense of foreboding loomed larger than ever, gnawing at him with relentless insistence.

As he approached the tavern, Jack spotted a group of men arguing just outside, their voices escalating in anger. What began as a trivial dispute quickly morphed into a heated confrontation, hands clenched into fists, faces flushed with rage. It was like watching a fire ignite, and Jack felt an uneasy knot form in his stomach.

He hesitated, torn between stepping in to defuse the situation and retreating to avoid drawing attention. But as the shouting grew louder, he knew he couldn’t intervene without risking the ire of the crowd. Turning away, he made a silent vow to uncover the truth behind the unrest plaguing Eldergrove, even if it meant confronting his own doubts and fears.

As Jack’s footsteps echoed in the quiet of the night, he steeled himself for whatever lay ahead. The tension that hung in the air was thickening, and he felt an urgency to act before the storm broke.