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Aetheris Chapter 3
Chapter 3: The Veil of Havenmoore
The dirt road stretched before her, flanked by crooked wooden fences and sprawling fields that had long since seen their prime. The sun had already begun its descent, casting an amber glow over the town of Havenmoore, its worn rooftops and stone foundations basking in the fading light.
Elara’s fingers tightened around the reins. It looked… ordinary.
She had expected a ghost town, a ruined settlement on the brink of collapse—something that fit the cryptic warnings she had read. Instead, it lived.
People moved through the streets, bartering, talking, some children even playing near a well. There were merchants, taverns, a blacksmith—the skeleton of what should be a thriving town. And yet… something felt wrong.
A town that lived, yet did not breathe.
A chill crept down her spine.
The unseen weight of something settled deep in her chest, a pressure without source, whispering in her mind that she wasn’t truly welcome here.
Silently, she pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head, its shadow concealing all but the piercing blue of her eyes. Best not to draw attention.
With a silent command, she nudged Vela forward and guided her horse into the town’s heart.
Observing the Town Square
Havenmoore’s square should have been the beating heart of its livelihood—yet the pulse was weak.
The marketplace was sparse, with more desperation than commerce. Makeshift stalls lined the uneven stone roads, peddling stale bread, worn-out garments, and salvaged trinkets. Not stolen, not illegal—just… repurposed.
The merchants called half-heartedly, their voices dull with disillusionment, as if they knew no one would buy.
And then there were the beggars.
Too many of them. Wrapped in tattered cloaks, their sunken eyes full of silent, weary pleading. Some crouched against abandoned shopfronts; others clutched their meager bowls, holding them out to indifferent passersby.
Elara’s gaze drifted upward, scanning the buildings—old architecture, remnants of another time. Thick wooden beams reinforced stone walls that bore the signs of age but not neglect. This place wasn’t simply failing—it had been great once.
But the further she looked, the more she realized something strange—
There were no guards.
No patrols. No watchmen standing at their usual posts.
A town of this size should have had at least some protection, but instead, it felt… exposed.
Elara’s grip tightened on her satchel.
Something’s keeping them afraid.
She dismounted swiftly, keeping to the edge of the crowd. With silent steps, she maneuvered toward a looming stone structure with an iron symbol hanging above the door.
The Guildhall.
If there were anywhere in Havenmoore that held records of what lay beneath the town, it would be here.
Inside the Guildhall
The Guildhall was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of burning tallow candles and old parchment. It wasn’t grand, not like the archives she had lived in—but it was functional.
A wooden counter stood at the entrance, a woman scribbling into a ledger with ink-stained fingers. Maps and quest postings were pinned to the...
The dirt road stretched before her, flanked by crooked wooden fences and sprawling fields that had long since seen their prime. The sun had already begun its descent, casting an amber glow over the town of Havenmoore, its worn rooftops and stone foundations basking in the fading light.
Elara’s fingers tightened around the reins. It looked… ordinary.
She had expected a ghost town, a ruined settlement on the brink of collapse—something that fit the cryptic warnings she had read. Instead, it lived.
People moved through the streets, bartering, talking, some children even playing near a well. There were merchants, taverns, a blacksmith—the skeleton of what should be a thriving town. And yet… something felt wrong.
A town that lived, yet did not breathe.
A chill crept down her spine.
The unseen weight of something settled deep in her chest, a pressure without source, whispering in her mind that she wasn’t truly welcome here.
Silently, she pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head, its shadow concealing all but the piercing blue of her eyes. Best not to draw attention.
With a silent command, she nudged Vela forward and guided her horse into the town’s heart.
Observing the Town Square
Havenmoore’s square should have been the beating heart of its livelihood—yet the pulse was weak.
The marketplace was sparse, with more desperation than commerce. Makeshift stalls lined the uneven stone roads, peddling stale bread, worn-out garments, and salvaged trinkets. Not stolen, not illegal—just… repurposed.
The merchants called half-heartedly, their voices dull with disillusionment, as if they knew no one would buy.
And then there were the beggars.
Too many of them. Wrapped in tattered cloaks, their sunken eyes full of silent, weary pleading. Some crouched against abandoned shopfronts; others clutched their meager bowls, holding them out to indifferent passersby.
Elara’s gaze drifted upward, scanning the buildings—old architecture, remnants of another time. Thick wooden beams reinforced stone walls that bore the signs of age but not neglect. This place wasn’t simply failing—it had been great once.
But the further she looked, the more she realized something strange—
There were no guards.
No patrols. No watchmen standing at their usual posts.
A town of this size should have had at least some protection, but instead, it felt… exposed.
Elara’s grip tightened on her satchel.
Something’s keeping them afraid.
She dismounted swiftly, keeping to the edge of the crowd. With silent steps, she maneuvered toward a looming stone structure with an iron symbol hanging above the door.
The Guildhall.
If there were anywhere in Havenmoore that held records of what lay beneath the town, it would be here.
Inside the Guildhall
The Guildhall was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of burning tallow candles and old parchment. It wasn’t grand, not like the archives she had lived in—but it was functional.
A wooden counter stood at the entrance, a woman scribbling into a ledger with ink-stained fingers. Maps and quest postings were pinned to the...
