The air was heavy with the scent of burning incense, swirling in gentle wisps around the darkened chamber. Shadows played across the stone walls, cast by the flickering light of the torches mounted in brass sconces. Eamon stood before a grand, circular table made of ancient oak, its surface carved with intricate runes that hummed with latent power. Around the table sat the sages—each one dressed in robes of varying hues, their faces reflecting the weight of their centuries-long vigil.

Eamon’s silver eyes scanned the faces of the gathered sages. Very few of them had lived long enough to seen the scars left behind by the fourth scourge. But, some like Soren, the elder who had lived for 500 years, had witnessed the fall of that scourge first hand . And then, there was the Master Watcher, whose presence dominated the room, even as he sat silently, his eyes closed, as if lost in contemplation.

Eamon cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “We have sensed disturbances throughout the kingdom. Signs that... something is amiss. I have come seeking the counsel of the circle, and of you, Master Watcher.”

The Master Watcher did not stir. For a moment, it seemed as though he might remain silent, as he always did, allowing the other sages to speak in his stead. Eamon’s gaze shifted to Soren, who leaned forward, his age-worn face creasing in a frown.

“We have all felt it, Eamon,There are whispers of unrest in Eldergrove and beyond. The signs are not as clear as they once were, but they are there. You are not alone in your unease.”

“But the question remains,” interjected another sage, her voice calm but firm. “Is this the Scourge? Or merely the kingdom’s natural chaos?”

Eamon shook his head, frustration evident. “I cannot say for certain. But the disruptions are unlike anything we have seen for centuries. They feel... different.”

Soren’s brow furrowed, and he nodded. “Different, yes. And that is precisely what troubles me. The past Scourges—each one came with a clear harbinger. Chains, Collars, Yokes, Brands. This time, we have only silence.”

A murmur ran through the chamber as the sages exchanged uncomfortable glances. Then, without warning, the Master Watcher’s eyes opened. Dark, ageless, and intense, they seemed to pierce through the shadows, cutting through the confusion that clouded the room.

“There is a stillness in the air,” he said, his voice smooth and low, carrying an authority that demanded attention. “A stillness that precedes the storm.”

The room fell silent, every sage hanging on his words. Eamon’s pulse quickened as he waited, hoping for some revelation, some clarity.

“The Scourge of the Cage,” the Master Watcher continued, “is not like those that came before. It does not shout its arrival; it does not announce itself with chains that rattle or collars that constrict. It is subtle. A whisper in the wind, a shadow that slips past even the keenest eye.”

Eamon felt a chill run down his spine. “Do you mean to say that it has already... risen?” 

The Master Watcher’s gaze did not waver. “I mean to say that, perhaps, it has always been there—waiting, watching. We look for signs, for omens, but what if this Scourge is one that does not wish to be seen? What if it hides not because it is weak, but because it is strong?”

Soren shifted restlessly in his seat. “But how can we fight an enemy we cannot see? How do we defend against a threat we cannot trace?”

The Master Watcher’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “That, Soren, is the question. And it is one that you, Eamon, must find an answer to.”

Eamon clenched his fists, his mind reeling. The Master Watcher’s words were as cryptic as ever, offering no concrete answers, only more questions. But there was a sense of urgency in his tone, a warning that could not be ignored.

“I will not rest,” Eamon said, determination hardening his voice. “I will continue my search. The Scourge, if it has indeed risen, will not go unnoticed.”

“Then go,And be vigilant. For the shadows are deeper than they seem, and the light... is fading.” said the Master Watcher, his voice softening. 

---

As dusk settled over Eldergrove, Jack wandered the narrow paths of the village, his thoughts clouded troubled. The usual warmth of the evening felt absent, as though something unseen pressed against the air. The villagers moved about their tasks, but there was a stiffness to their gestures, a quiet tension lingering in their hushed conversations.

By the well, Jack spotted Mike, hunched over a grindstone, sharpening the edge of his axe. Sparks flickered as the blade scraped against the stone, their brief glow swallowed quickly by the encroaching night. Jack approached, hands in his pockets, searching for the right words.

“Evening, Mike.”

Mike looked up, startled, but he relaxed when he saw Jack. “Evening. You look like you’ve been thinking too hard again.”

Jack let out a dry chuckle. “Maybe. But I think you’ve been thinking too. This whole village feels different.”

Mike exhaled through his nose, setting the axe down across his lap. “Yeah... I won’t lie. I’ve noticed it. Folks are quieter. Less willing to stay out after dark. It’s like everyone’s waiting for something to happen, but they don’t know what.”

Jack nodded, relieved that he wasn’t imagining it. “Exactly. But if that’s the case, why did you act like I was overthinking just now?”

Mike wiped his blade clean with a rag, not answering right away. When he spoke, his voice was lower, more guarded. “Because what else are we supposed to do, Jack? Sit around and whisper about things we don’t understand? Worry ourselves sick over shadows and rumors? That won’t help.”

Jack frowned. “So you do think something is wrong.”

“I know something is wrong. But what should we do? If we go around spreading fear without knowing anything for certain, we’ll just make things worse. But between you and me? Yeah. I feel it too.”

Jack didn’t like the answer, but he understood it. Mike was practical. If something was coming, he needed it to be tangible, something he could fight. But Jack had the sinking feeling that whatever was stirring in the shadows wouldn’t show itself so easily.

“We need to be ready,” Jack muttered.

 “Aye. We do.”

They sat in silence as the last light of day faded, leaving only the dim glow of lanterns and the cold weight of unspoken fears between them.