Trouble arrived before Zerathul did.
I noticed it in the way the noise around us changed. The laughter from the nearby bars grew uneven. The roars from the arena dulled, as if attention had shifted. Footsteps began cutting through the terrain with purpose, not wandering or drunk, but measured and deliberate.
Primus noticed it at the same time. His posture adjusted, weight settling into his stance without a word.
Whatever Zerathul had set in motion, it was already close.
I didn't move.
I remained seated near the fire, one leg crossed over the other, a heavy cup resting loosely in my hand. The drink was bitter, sharp, and hot enough to burn most throats. I barely tasted it. Lana sat opposite me, her posture stiff, her eyes flicking past my shoulder again and again as if she could already sense what was coming.
The first demon didn't bother with words.
