The next two days of the journey to Brenden passed with little more than the rhythmic sound of hooves on dirt and the occasional grumble from Lord Faolan.

Adrian and Medea kept their senses sharp, knowing the dangers the Shadow Court could bring, but there were no further signs of bandits or ambushes. The air was heavily tensed, but for now, the road remained quiet.

At night, Adrian and Medea took turns keeping watch while the others slept, their eyes scanning the dark treeline for any movement.

The faint glow of the fire was the only light in the otherwise pitch-black surroundings, casting long shadows that danced with the flickering flames.

Despite the stillness, Adrian's thoughts raced with anticipation of what lay ahead in Brenden.

On the third day, they were just a few hours away from the village. As they rode, the landscape changed gradually, the wild forests and open plains giving way to the outskirts of Brenden—a small, heavily fortified village surrounded by a wooden palisade and guarded by what looked like makeshift watchtowers.

Adrian's eyes narrowed at the sight of the village's high security. "Something feels off," he muttered to Medea, who nodded in agreement. The tension in the air was palpable.

As they approached the gates, a group of armored guards stood waiting, their faces stern and unyielding. One of the guards stepped forward, holding up a hand to stop them.

"Halt! State your business," the guard barked, his eyes scanning the envoy suspiciously.

Lord Faolan, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat and took the lead. "We are here on behalf of the kingdom of Zarpha," he announced in a practiced tone. "We've come to speak with the village head about a matter of importance."

The guard eyed them for a moment, then nodded. "Wait here. We will inform the leader of your arrival." He gestured for another guard to run ahead toward the village center, while the rest of them stayed, their expressions unreadable as they kept a tight watch on the group.

As they waited, Adrian's gaze roamed the fortified gates and the armed patrols walking the perimeter. The level of security was far beyond what he would expect for a village of this size.

"This is unusual," Adrian whispered to Medea, his brow furrowed. "Why would a village need this much protection?"

Faolan overheard and chimed in, his tone smug. "From what I remember, this place wasn't always this heavily fortified. Could be a sign of leadership change."

"Or something else," Medea added quietly, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

Before any more speculation could be exchanged, the guard who had gone ahead returned, followed by another figure—a burly man with a clean-shaven head and a muscular build.

He wore nothing but a pair of loose trousers and boots, his chest bare like a soldier fresh off the battlefield. His presence commanded attention, and there was an air of authority about him that made Adrian instantly wary.

The burly man stopped before the envoy, his gaze sweeping over each of them before settling on Faolan. "The village head will see you," he said gruffly. "Follow me."

The group was led through the gates and into the village proper, where Adrian could see villagers going about their daily business—though with a noticeable air of unease. The streets were quiet, and every now and then, Adrian caught sight of armed men patrolling the area.

This was no ordinary village.

They were brought to a large, modestly furnished hall where the village head waited for them. He sat at a wooden table, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

He greeted them with a nod, his gaze lingering on Adrian for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to Faolan.

"What brings the kingdom of Zarpha to Brenden?" the village head asked, his voice deep and commanding.

Faolan stepped forward. "We've come on behalf of Queen Alannah to inquire about the recent lapse in tribute payments. The kingdom has not received the required funds for two months now, and we are here to understand the reason for this delay."

The village head looked at them both for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. "Ah, of course, Zarpha's tribute," he mused, his voice laced with mild amusement. "How is Queen Alannah these days? Did she send her regards?"

Faolan blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift in conversation but recovered quickly. "Yes, she sends her regards," he replied smoothly.

The village head's lips curled into a small smile, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "Well, about that tribute," he began, his tone growing more serious. "I'm afraid I cannot provide you with an answer without the entire council present. I've already sent for them, but it will take some time for them to gather. In the meantime, my men can show you a place to rest."

Adrian exchanged a glance with Medea, sensing something off about the village head's demeanor. The man's casual tone belied the tension that seemed to hum beneath the surface of the village, and there was a coldness in his words that didn't sit well with him.

Lord Faolan, unaware or uninterested of these subtle notes, nodded politely. "Very well. We'll wait for the council to gather."

As they were led to a nearby inn to rest, Adrian's mind churned. The village's strict security, the guarded responses from the leader—everything about this place screamed caution.

He couldn't help but wonder if this village's sudden secrecy had anything to do with the Shadow Court.

Medea, who had been silently observing, spoke up once they were out of earshot of the village guards. "Something's wrong here, Adrian. This village feels like it's preparing for war, not handling a late tribute."

Adrian nodded, his thoughts echoing the same suspicion. "The Shadow Court could already have its claws in this place. We need to tread carefully."

They reached the inn, where they were given rooms to rest and recover from the journey. The air inside the inn was thick with tension, the kind of quiet that made the hair on the back of Adrian's neck stand up.

The villagers who walked by whispered among themselves, casting furtive glances toward the envoy.

As night began to fall, Adrian and Medea stood by the window, overlooking the quiet streets of Brenden. Adrian's fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the map in his pocket, the one that pointed to the temple where one of the remaining goddesses lay in wait.

"We'll need to be ready," Adrian muttered, his gaze hard. "The village council may be our best chance at figuring out what's really going on here."

Medea nodded, her expression as serious as his. "We'll find out soon enough. Let's just hope our worst fears don't come true."

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