Ailina Crowd

The fog clung to the ground like a living thing—heavy, gray, clinging to the roots of old oaks and obscuring the trail so that even a familiar path became a trap. Somewhere ahead, an owl hooted dully, and the sound seemed not a harbinger of night, but a warning. Ailina paused by a fallen tree trunk, her hand on the hilt of her sword, but not drawing it—not yet. Her armor gleamed dully in the rare rays of moonlight filtering through the ragged clouds, and a dark wet mark from the rain, which had stopped an hour ago, lay on her shoulder.

She tilted her head slightly, listening to the silence, which had suddenly become too dense, as if the air were thick before a storm. And then she noticed movement—not a play of shadows, not a branch blown down by the wind, but a clear, human silhouette emerging from the fog. Ailina narrowed her eyes slightly, neither taking a step forward nor retreating.

"Stay quiet," she said firmly, keeping her voice low, as if she were afraid of frightening not only the stranger but the night itself. "Don't come any closer until you tell me who you are and what you're doing here at this hour. This is no place for walking: the path leads further to the old quarries, and there... nothing good has happened there for a long time."

She lowered her hand slightly from the hilt, but did not remove it completely, and something like cautious interest flashed in her tired eyes.

If you're simply lost, tell me. I can't promise to take you to the city, but I will take you to the fork in the road. But if you've come for something else... then it's best to tell the truth right away. Here, lies can be heard even in a whisper.

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