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... e village is palpable as the village chief, furious and nursing his bruises, gathers the villagers to march toward Sylas's hut. He arms them with farming tools—sickles, pitchforks, and pickaxes—turning them into makeshift weapons.

One of the younger men hesitates, voicing his concern,

"Chief, isn't this a bit much?"

It was hard to justify twenty men against a fifteen-year-old boy. It seemed excessive, almost absurd.

"What do you mean, too much?" the chief snapped, ...

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Waking up from a nightmare several hours before dawn, Belle fetched a drink of water.

She paused in front of her kitchen’s window when she noticed a lit lantern in front of her mansion’s garden. Her butler stood there, shovel in hand. This was no hour to be gardening.

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