Auriel followed with a sharp breath and hand resting casually near her blade. "This place smells like fear," she muttered.
David stretched lazily but his eyes flicked from rooftop to alleyway with the precision of a man who'd rather not be caught off guard. "Bet the mayor's thrilled we showed up fashionably uninvited."
They were led to the modest town hall stone walls reinforced with iron braces, mismatched planks across the windows. Inside, Mayor Rensel leaned over a war-stained map, his heavy frame hunched and voice low. He looked like a man who'd traded sleep for strategy and lost both.
"You're from Blueish City?" he asked, not looking up.
Auriel stepped forward. "We took the extermination contract."
The mayor motioned them over, eyes shadowed beneath thick brows. "They started small. Single goblins, couple of livestock gone missing. Everyone thought it was nothing. Then they came in bands silent, fast, and smarter than they should be."
A nearby adventurer same age as them, blade nicked, armor dented spoke up with the urgency of someone who'd seen too much too soon.
"They're scouting in shifts," he said. "We spotted one group at dusk near Timberveil's edge. Six goblins. Coordinated. They circled our patrol like they were mapping it testing response times."
The mayor nodded grimly. "We recovered a few weapons off the ones our lads managed to drop. Bone-carved daggers, crudely runed spears. Crude, but... designed. Someone's giving them tactics."
Another adventurer leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "And they're using signals bone whistles with different tones. Some of us think it's code. Last night they led a dog into a trap, then used its body as bait. We're not dealing with a rabble."
Aaron frowned, eyes drifting to a pinned sheet on the map wall symbols marking movements around Timberveil and along the irrigation ditch bordering the southern crop line.
"These are trained behaviors," he murmured. "Goblin packs don't evolve like this on their own."
David let out a slow exhale. "If they're learning, someone's teaching."
Mayor Rensel's eyes met Auriel's, grim and steady. "We don't have the people, or the time. We need answers fast. If they push again, and we're not ready…" He didn't finish the sentence.
Auriel scanned the village layout pinned before them. "You said the goblins struck after dark."
Rensel gave a weary nod. "Twice now. Once through the wheat fields. Last night by the southern pens. Both times, they avoided the lantern paths knew where to slip between the shadows."
Auriel tapped a spot along the outer fields. "Then we deny them the shadows."
The mayor's brow lifted. "You suggesting torches?"
"No," Auriel said. "I'm suggesting a wall of fire. Tall pyres along the perimeter overlapping lines of light. If these things are coordinating, they won't risk moving in exposed."
The mayor hesitated, then nodded. "We'll need timber. Cloth. Pitch. And people who know how to lash a support frame."
Auriel's smirk was dry under her viel. "You've got villagers. I've got the bossy one."
She turned on her heel. "Time to build."
...
By late afternoon, Smalllight stirred like a hive awakened.
David stood in the square, sleeves rolled, assigning collection groups with a grin sharper than most knives. "You yes, you with the big hat. I need three bundles of drywood and a sense of urgency. Go"
Villagers moved in tandem collecting branches, stripping cloth, and hauling buckets of black pitch up from the smithy. Children ran supplies; carpenters reinforced frames; Auriel oversaw the pyre map like a general charting siege lines.
Aaron silently drove tall support beams into the earth with heavy thuds, each one placed where torchlight would break shadow lines. His movements were precise. Calm. But his eyes kept darting toward Timberveil's dark edge calculating.
As the sun began to sink, villagers lit the perimeter torches. One by one, the flames took, rising higher, casting long golden halos into the deepening dusk. The smoke curled upward in slow spirals, and the air hummed with quiet tension.
Auriel approached the mayor near the gate, wiping soot from her fingers. "Line's set."
Rensel nodded, jaw tight. "Do you think it'll stop them?"
"No," she said. "But it'll make them think twice."
And behind them, the fire burned brighter a warning etched in flame.
Night draped itself over Smalllight Village in a hush of soft shadows and glowing emberlight. The cobbled paths, etched with age and memory, gleamed faintly beneath the torchfire lining the outer fences. Thatched rooftops slumbered beneath a broad, star-flecked sky, their edges stirring gently in the warm-season breeze.
Aaron stood watch atop the village's lone tower, its wooden beams creaking faintly beneath him. The air was comfortably cool, the kind of breeze that carried the earthy scent of damp soil and the peppery tang of drying herbs from the gardens below. It stirred the tall grass like a lullaby, yet Aaron's eyes remained sharp, tracing the dark silhouettes of distant trees.
The night sang softly around him. Crickets trilled from hedgerows, frogs croaked lazily down by the brook, and an owl's hoot echoed once through the high branches before melting into silence. Every sound seemed somehow amplified beneath the stars.
Warm pools of firelight ringed the village, their flickering halos casting long, restless shadows. Goblins, ever sensitive to flame and noise, kept to the darker hollows of the forest.
A faint crunch of footsteps broke the rhythm of the insects. Aaron didn't look down he recognized the cadence. A quiet voice floated up:
"You always take the high ground," Auriel called softly, climbing the last few rungs of the ladder. Her silver-blonde braid swayed behind her, catching hints of torchlight. "Figured I'd keep you company for a minute before David joins."
Aaron offered a half-smile. "Just couldn't resist the view."
Soon after, David emerged from the path below, rubbing sleep from his eyes, a half-eaten biscuit in hand. "Three hours isn't long enough for decent dreams," he muttered, his tone light but worn.
Shifts changed every three hours a tradition kept not just for safety, but to remind everyone that vigilance was shared. As Aaron stretched and slung his cloak over his shoulder, he gave the two a brief summary of the watch. "No movement so far. Torchline's strong. Crickets haven't paused once."
Auriel nodded, already moving to the far side of the platform, bow in hand, eyes narrowing at the horizon. David took up his post with a familiar sigh, finishing his biscuit in silence.
Aaron descended, boots thudding softly on packed earth. Smalllight still slept, unaware. And now it was their turn to keep the quiet quiet.