The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, tapping against the wooden roofs of the village. Smoke curled from a few chimneys, thin and pale in the dim afternoon light. Rian sat in the modest home of Garron, the village chief, nursing a warm cup of tea that tasted faintly of herbs and smoke.
Garron, a stocky man with tired eyes and a face full of beard, sat across from him, hands folded on the table. The fire between them gave off more light than heat, but it was something.
"You've been quiet," Garron said, breaking the silence. "Most folks ask a hundred questions when they hear about the well."
Rian looked up, his gaze thoughtful. "I've heard a lot of stories. Some things don't need to be asked—they show themselves eventually. But your people... they look like they've already given up."
Garron's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't argue.
"They walk around like they're just going through the motions," Rian continued. "No one smiles. No kids laughing. Everyone looks like they've been waiting for something bad to happen, and it finally did."
"You're not wrong," Garron said with a tired sigh. "It's been years now. First, the animals stopped drinking from the well. Then the crops around it started to rot. People started falling ill, but not all at once—just slowly. Like something was wearing us down. And then folks started disappearing."
He paused, looking into the fire. "We tried to block off the well. Put up signs. Posted people to watch it. Nothing helped."
"Anyone ever go down there?" Rian asked.
"Once. A young lad. Brave but foolish. Tied a rope to the old tree stump near it and went down with a lantern." Garron's voice dropped. "We never saw him again. The rope came back up, but not him."
Rian nodded slowly. "I've seen things like this before. Not often, but once or twice. The signs are familiar."
Garron raised an eyebrow. "Then maybe you're not just another blade-for-hire after all."
Rian gave a half smile. "I carry a sword, but not always for coin."
Just then, a small knock came at the door. Garron stood to answer, revealing the little girl from earlier.
She stepped inside, dripping slightly from the rain. "Sorry... I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You're fine," Garron said, ruffling her damp hair. "Come in before you catch cold."
She looked at Rian with wide eyes, then shuffled over and sat across from him. "You're the monster hunter, right?"
Rian blinked, then chuckled. "I suppose so. I am Rian. What about you?"
"Mina", she replied cheerfully.
"Do monsters get scared of you?" she asked.
He thought for a moment then replied, "Some probably do. But most of the time, they don't know what fear is."
She leaned forward, her chin on the table. "Do you get scared?"
Rian looked at her seriously, then nodded. "Yes. Fear keeps you alive. If you're never afraid, you're either foolish or already dead inside."
Mina giggled at that. "You don't seem dead inside."
He smiled softly. "Thanks."
Her innocence was disarming. It reminded him of days long past, of simpler times. He could barely remember the sound of his own laughter as a boy.
"I like your hair," she said suddenly.
Rian raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"It's like fire. But not scary fire. The kind that keeps you warm."
Garron laughed gently, shaking his head. "That's the kind of compliment you won't get from anyone over ten."
Rian chuckled, a sound he wasn't used to hearing from himself anymore. "She's got a sharp eye."
Mina eventually left, humming to herself as she went back out into the rain.
Garron leaned back in his chair. "She's one of the lucky few. Still has some spark left."
Rian grew quiet. "I want to help. I don't know how deep this runs yet, but after seeing all this... I can't just walk away."
"You sound like you found out something," Garron said, raising an eyebrow.
"Maybe I'm just trying to sound like I've got control," Rian replied.
They both laughed.
"You know," Garron said after a pause, "we weren't always like this. There was a time this village had festivals. Laughter. Even a yearly race around the old oak path. People came from nearby towns to watch."
"What changed?"
"The world," Garron replied simply. "It started crumbling. One piece at a time. You see it too, don't you?"
Rian nodded. "I've seen forests that move when no wind blows. Towns swallowed up by the ground. Cults worshipping things that should have never been remembered."
"And the Church?" Garron asked.
"Still standing. Barely. They speak of Armathor as if he still watches. But no one listens anymore. Not really. They've become a relic, clinging to old glory."
"Sounds about right."
Rian stood and stretched, looking out the window. The rain had stopped.
"I'll start with the well tomorrow. But I want to speak with a few villagers first. See if anyone's seen or felt anything unusual."
"I'll make sure word gets around," Garron said.
"Thanks."
As Rian stepped toward the door, Garron called after him.
"You know, if you're staying long enough, maybe we'll bring back that race around the oak path."
Rian smiled. "Let's deal with the nightmare in the well first."
Outside, the village was still quiet. But Rian walked through it with a new sense of purpose. Maybe he couldn't change the world. But maybe—just maybe—he could help this one place remember what hope felt like.