A Shadow Falls

The afternoon sun, usually a comforting balm on Elara’s flour-dusted cheeks, felt strangely brittle today. A prickle, like the first whisper of frost on a summer bloom, traced its way down her spine. She’d been kneading dough for the evening’s rye loaves, her movements as familiar and comforting as the hum of her own heartbeat, when the sensation had begun. It wasn’t a physical chill, not exactly, but a deep, unsettling awareness of being watched, of a vast, cold emptiness encroaching on the cozy warmth of her bakery.

Master Eldrin, perched on his usual stool by the hearth, his spectacles glinting as he pored over a brittle, leather-bound tome, paused. He tilted his head, a frown creasing his brow. "Do you feel that, Elara?" he murmured, his voice barely disturbing the quiet.

Elara’s hands stilled, leaving a sticky sheen on the dough. "Feel… what, Master Eldrin?" she asked, though she already knew. The air had grown heavy, charged with an unseen energy that made the very motes of dust dancing in the sunbeams seem to hold their breath.