The village had been deathly quiet after the last howl faded into the woods.
In one of the houses, a group of goblins and kobolds huddled together—civilians, too old or too young to fight, hands clenched around whatever they could find: tools, sticks, even cooking pots. Mothers clutched their children, ears still ringing from the clash outside the walls.
Jen sat close to the hearth, her arms tightly wrapped around her knees, trying to stay calm. Old Man Dan sat beside her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.
"Brother will be okay... right?" she asked in a trembling voice, looking up at her grandfather.
Old Man Dan didn't answer at first. His gaze was fixed on the closed door, as if waiting for someone—or something—to barge through.
"He's strong," he finally said. "Too stubborn to fall. But still…" His voice trailed off, and he gently pulled Jen closer. "Let's pray the sun rises without more sorrow."
A tense silence passed.
