Ana faced the makeshift group, her eyes narrowing as she assessed their readiness. "You," she pointed at a wiry young man clutching a chipped axe. "What's your name?"

  He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the ground. "R-Reed."

  "Reed. Why are you here?"

  His voice trembled beneath his resolve. "To protect my family." He hesitated. "They took my sister."

  Ana nodded, moving briskly to a middle-aged farmer whose hands shook around a rusted pitchfork. "And you?"

  "Granger." His voice cracked with fear but pressed on. "Someone must fight."

  "They could kill you," Ana said bluntly, watching how he flinched.

  "I know." The resignation in Granger's eyes was echoed in the bleak determination of the others.

  "Any of you come across a Schattenschleicher?" Ana asked, her voice as sharp as the question itself. The townspeople exchanged confused glances, their lack of recognition speaking louder than words.

  Granger shook his head, baffled. "A what?"

  Ana exhaled, folding her arms with growing impatience. "Death Walker. Mana Devourer," she elaborated, each name weighted with ominous portent. "When it kills, it corrupts whatever magic it touches."

  Reed's eyes went wide, his terror evident even as he fought to remain steady. "You think that's what they're summoning?"

  Ana tilted her head, considering. "Maybe," she said, her tone dire. "But no. They don't attack towns usually—not enough magic for them. Not unless they were working with the Syndicate."

  Understanding flickered in Reed's eyes. "Working with them?" he echoed, horror-struck.

  "They eat the magic of anything they kill," Ana continued, her voice cold and unsympathetic. "Feed off people first to make it last longer, more painful." As her gaze swept over them, she felt the gravity of her words sink like stones into their hearts, confirming the townspeople's worst fears.

  A murmur of panic rippled through the crowd, a tide of dread threatening to crest and crash. The old man clutched at his chest, dread written into every line of his face. "It's worse than last time," he choked out.

  "But we're not soldiers," Reed protested. "How do we—"

  "Not soldiers," Ana agreed, interrupting him, "but survivors. That's enough."

  Ana continued down the line, each face marked with fear.

  Despite everything, they remained.

  "Weapons won't be enough," Ana said grimly, casting a glance at the motley collection of tools and implements. "We'll need barriers. Fortifications."

  Garin looked around, measuring the meager supplies with creased features. "Perhaps the merchant wagons..." he ventured uncertainly.

  Ana considered it. It was risky; leaving them exposed for their approach. But if they meant to survive this, risk was no longer avoidable.

  "Yes," she replied, an idea forming as she spoke. "Use them to create a blockade at the south road." She caught Reed's eye, his anxiety still evident but now braced with a hint of resolve. "Take whatever you can find that might slow them down. Carts, barrels... anything."

  Reed nodded quickly and sprang into action.

  Ana turned back to Garin. "Round up all the cloth and wood you can spare," she instructed. "We'll need torches if it comes to fighting demons."

  Several villagers gasped; some exchanged fearful glances.

  A tense silence followed; eyes shifted nervously from one person to the next until Granger stepped up and stood beside Caden.

  "I'll fight," he said simply, an unexpected steadiness in his timbre.

  Others found hidden resolve in Granger's example and murmured assent rippled through the crowd.

  Garin exhaled slowly—the breath of someone who had held despair too long—and nodded again.

  "We'll send a few runners," he offered, squaring himself as if confronting his own demons. "Try to warn those outside town."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He paled even further at what this could mean before adding hoarsely: "Tell them not to come back."

  Ana watched him hurry off; an old man galvanized by hope that she wasn't sure she could deliver.

  "An elven word is nothing they can respect!"

  Ana's jaw tightened; she knew that tone too well—an old mistrust of promises made by her kind.

  Caden stepped forward before she could respond, his youthful enthusiasm cutting through their doubts like a beacon in the dark. "If Ana says she'll help, she means it! I've seen her face worse than—"

  Granger silenced him with a raised hand, his voice measured and resolute. "Then we'll be ready by morning."

  Ana met Granger's eyes, nodding once, her gaze hardening as she took stock of their fragile hope.

  Caden looked to Ana and saw in her expression a commitment she rarely voiced. Courage surged through him, bolstering his earlier bravado.

  "Ready," he echoed, as if convincing himself as much as the others.

  The urgency in Ana's commands sparked a flurry of movement. Under her direction, the villagers tore across the town like startled birds, each man and woman on their way. Reed rallied a small group toward the merchant wagons. Granger led a handful toward the outskirts.

  Ana watched them go; disparate threads of will woven into something resembling strength—or perhaps just desperation. She felt Caden's eyes on her and turned to find him waiting for her next instruction.

  "With me," Ana ordered, grabbing his arm in urgency before he could speak.

  They moved quickly through a maze of narrow alleys and crumbling buildings, Ana's pace relentless despite Caden's efforts to keep it. She knew what they needed most—but gathering it would mean crossing a line she wasn't sure she wanted to face again.

  "Where are we going?" Caden panted, struggling to match her stride.

  "Storage cellar," Ana replied curtly.

  Her words caught Caden by surprise; spoken as if her departure had been mere days ago instead of years.

  Ana's mind raced with contingencies and half-formed plans. The Syndicate must have some reason beyond sheer malice for targeting this town; she needed to know what before it was too late.

  Ahead loomed an old stone building on the edge of town; walls marked with time and scars from past conflicts. They reached its entrance, and Ana hesitated—so many ghosts buried here that even she couldn't tell which were hers and which were not.

  She shook off the memories like rainwater from a cloak.

  Inside was dark; dampness clung to everything like wet ashes. Ana moved swiftly toward her goal, flinging open barrels and crates with methodical precision until at last she unearthed what they needed: a cache of weapons abandoned but not forgotten.

  "Rusted or not," Ana said grimly as she tossed a sword to Caden, "they'll be more use than pitchforks."

  Caden caught it awkwardly but held onto the battered hilt like a lifeline. He glanced at his mentor—a woman rekindling fires she thought extinguished—and felt himself pulled deeper into the kindling blaze of her resolve.

  "Why did you leave?" he asked quietly while loading what they could carry. He didn't expect an answer but hoped for one anyway.

  For once Ana didn't deflect; instead gave him truth layered in ambiguity: "I thought it was over."

  Her voice sounded hollow, even to her. "I was wrong."

  Caden felt the weight of her words pressing in on the darkness around them. He sensed something more than regret—a guilt that gnawed at the edges of her resolve. "Is it different now?"

  Ana looked at him, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features. "It is different." She paused, searching for words that eluded even her thoughts. "Those times were chaos; I was... chaos." Admitting it aloud was like pulling splinters from an old wound, painful but strangely freeing.

  Caden stared at Ana, absorbing the depth of her turmoil. Her past clung to her like shadows in a darkened room, and he wondered how it felt to carry so much weight alone. The silence stretched between them, long enough for Ana to glance away and fix her attention on an old wooden barrel.

  As she pried it open, a whisper slithered through her mind. "Oh look at you go," came the mocking voice of Ethan, taunting and familiar, "having a therapy session with your little boy?"

  Ana halted, her brain vibrating from the sudden intrusion. Caden looked up, concern etched on his face.

  "Ana? What is it?"

  She hesitated, then shook it off with a sharp breath. "Nothing," she said tersely, resuming her task with renewed focus. "Come on."

  They gathered what they could, their arms laden with tools of war and survival.

  They made their way through the town at a hurried pace. Caden struggled to keep up beneath his own burden, but he steeled himself against the strain.

  They reached the marketplace, breath coming in sharp bursts. Ana dropped the barrel with a thud, drawing the curious gaze of those beginning to gather. Caden followed close behind, depositing his haul of farming tools and rusted weaponry with a clatter.

  Ana began distributing the weapons, her eyes scanning each hesitant face. "It's not much," she admitted, "but it's a start."

  The old man appeared, brows furrowed in confusion as he took in the unexpected arsenal. "Where did you get all this?" he asked, his voice a mix of suspicion and relief.

  Ana met his gaze evenly. "Do you really want to know?"

  A flicker of doubt crossed his features, but then he shook his head and gave a resigned chuckle. "Don't matter," he said with a trace of admiration. "At least we have 'em now."

  Caden watched the exchange. He hoisted his sword onto his shoulder, feeling the cool weight settle against him.

  "They'll be more use than pitchforks." he echoed Ana's earlier sentiment with a grin.

  Some nodded as they accepted chipped blades and makeshift spears.

  A somber silence settled. Reed and the others returned, arms laden with scavenged goods: fraying rope, rotting planks, chipped stone. It was pitiful, but it would have to do.

  "We won't hold long," Garin remarked grimly.

  Ana watched the sky deepen with gathering fatigue; exhaustion and determination settling equally over the town. "Let's see how ready we are," she announced, pushing through the crowd with Caden in tow.

  They surveyed the defenses, finding a semblance of order amidst the chaos. Wagons assembled into barricades, torches lined along rooftops, even tattered banners hung defiantly from windows. A strange calm descended.

  She knew this might be their last stand. With a final nod to Caden, she turned toward the tavern. "Keep watch," she instructed, her voice firm despite the fear she felt for him. "Signal if you see anything."

  Caden opened his mouth to argue, then closed it with a determined set of his jaw. He climbed to a high roof, eyes wide for any sign of what was sure to come.

  Inside the tavern, Ana let the noise from outside fade into a dull roar. The air was thick with uncertainty; men whispered to each other at shadowed tables.