Inside the fortified perimeter of Oakhaven, terror had reached a fever pitch. In the village longhouse, eighty villagers—men, women, and trembling children—knelt in prayer around the dying embers of the hearth, listening to the ominous howling of the winter wind rattling the timber shutters. On the eastern watchtower, Jarek the bailiff peered through the slits of the heavy wooden shutters, clutching an iron-tipped spear with trembling, sweat-slicked fingers. Suddenly, the…
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