Day 4: The First Disturbing Incident

The sun barely rose over Thornwick on Day 4, casting the town in a dull, gray light that did nothing to ease the tension that had been mounting since the first omen. The drying of the well had sent the townspeople into a quiet panic, but most tried to carry on as if things were normal. Eira, however, knew better.

She spent the morning combing through more of her family’s records, trying to piece together anything she could about Alden and Evandra. Every scrap of paper she found was steeped in guilt and betrayal. The more she learned about her great-grandfather’s involvement, the heavier her heart grew.

Alden had been relentless in his pursuit of Evandra, fabricating evidence, bribing townspeople to speak against her, and turning public opinion so thoroughly that no one questioned the accusations. It wasn’t just a trial—it was a vendetta. And now, Eira’s bloodline would pay for it.

But the true reason behind Alden’s hatred remained elusive. What had driven him to destroy Evandra? There was still something missing, some key detail that could explain it all. As Eira rifled through old letters and records, she wondered if she’d ever truly understand the dark secrets buried in her family’s past.

The First Incident

By mid-afternoon, the town had grown eerily quiet. The thick clouds overhead blocked out the sun, casting everything in a perpetual twilight. Eira decided to take a break from her research and stepped outside, hoping the fresh air would clear her head. But as soon as she reached the square, she knew something was wrong.

A low murmur spread through the crowd gathered around the old church. People whispered anxiously, pointing toward the small cemetery behind the building. Eira’s heart skipped a beat as she quickened her pace, weaving through the crowd to get a better look.

“What’s going on?” she asked one of the townspeople, a woman named Agnes, whose face was pale with fear.

“It’s... it’s the graves,” Agnes stammered, her voice trembling. “The graves have been disturbed.”

Eira felt a chill crawl up her spine as she made her way toward the cemetery gates. The air around her seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of something unnatural. When she reached the cemetery, the sight before her made her stomach turn.

Several of the graves had been opened—dug up, but not by human hands. The earth was torn apart, as if something had clawed its way out from below. Coffins lay broken and splintered, their contents scattered. A few of the headstones had cracked in half, the names of the dead barely legible in the dim light.

The sense of dread that had been creeping up on Eira now flooded her, overwhelming her senses. This wasn’t just vandalism. This was something far darker, far more deliberate.

She knelt beside one of the open graves, her breath catching as she noticed the same mark she had seen in the chapel—the witch’s mark—etched into the earth. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there. The symbol pulsed with an eerie energy, sending a chill through her bones.

“The dead...” a voice whispered behind her, causing Eira to jump. She turned to see Margaret standing nearby, her eyes wide with fear. “The dead are being disturbed. The curse is reaching them.”

Eira felt the weight of Margaret’s words settle over her. The curse wasn’t just affecting the living—it was reaching beyond the grave, disturbing those who had already passed. The witch’s power was growing, spreading through the town like a sickness.

“Why would Evandra disturb the dead?” Eira whispered, more to herself than to Margaret.

Margaret shook her head, her voice low and fearful. “The stories say that the dead are her messengers. If the dead walk, it means the witch’s disciples are being awakened.”

Eira’s blood ran cold. The witch’s disciples—the 25 dark souls Evandra had vowed to raise in the days leading up to the solstice. If the dead were being disturbed, it meant Evandra’s plan was in motion. She was gathering her power, preparing for something far worse.

The Warning

As the crowd in the cemetery murmured nervously, Eira knew she needed to speak to the stranger again. The cloaked woman had given her cryptic warnings before, but now she needed answers. If the witch’s disciples were rising, time was running out.

She left the cemetery and made her way back to the edge of the woods where she had encountered the woman before. The wind howled through the trees, and the air felt charged with something dark and unseen.

Just as Eira began to think the woman wouldn’t show, a familiar voice drifted through the trees.

“You’ve seen it now, haven’t you?”

Eira turned to see the cloaked figure emerge from the shadows, her face still obscured by the hood. The woman moved with an eerie grace, her presence heavy with the weight of ancient knowledge.

“The graves,” Eira said, her voice barely above a whisper. “They’ve been disturbed.”

The woman nodded slowly. “It is the next stage of the curse. The dead are not merely disturbed, child. They are being called forth.”

Eira’s heart pounded in her chest. “Called forth? For what?”

“The witch’s disciples,” the woman replied. “Evandra’s power grows with each day, and soon her chosen will rise to fulfill her vengeance. The dead are merely the messengers. They carry her will into the world of the living.”

Eira felt a knot tighten in her stomach. “How do I stop it?”

The woman was silent for a long moment before speaking. “You must sever the connection between the living and the dead. The graves are linked to the curse through blood. If you can break that link, you may be able to slow the curse’s progress.”

Eira swallowed hard, her mind racing. “How do I do that?”

The woman reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, ancient-looking dagger. The blade gleamed in the fading light, and Eira could feel a strange energy emanating from it.

“This dagger,” the woman said, holding it out to Eira. “It was forged long ago, before the curse was ever cast. It is made of iron, one of the few materials that can sever the bond between life and death.”

Eira hesitated before taking the dagger, its weight surprisingly light in her hand. “What do I do with it?”

“You must go to the graves,” the woman said. “Use the dagger to carve a new symbol into the earth—a mark that will disrupt the witch’s magic. But be warned, the magic you are about to face is old and powerful. It will not give up its hold easily.”

Eira nodded, though her heart was racing. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this, but she knew she had no choice. If she didn’t act soon, the curse would continue to spread, and the dead would rise.

“Thank you,” Eira said quietly, gripping the dagger tightly.

The woman gave her a final nod before disappearing back into the shadows, leaving Eira alone with the weight of her new task. She stared at the dagger in her hand, feeling the pulse of magic within it. She knew what she had to do, but the thought of returning to the cemetery filled her with dread.

As night began to fall, Eira made her way back to the graves. The air was thick with tension, the wind howling through the trees like a warning. She could feel the presence of something dark, lurking just beneath the surface.

Taking a deep breath, she knelt beside one of the disturbed graves and raised the dagger. With steady hands, she began to carve the new symbol into the earth, her heart pounding in her chest.

The moment the blade touched the soil, the air around her seemed to shift. The wind grew stronger, whipping through the trees with a furious intensity. Shadows danced along the edges of her vision, and Eira could feel the weight of the dead watching her.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. With each stroke of the dagger, she felt the magic in the air grow more chaotic, as if the witch’s curse was fighting back.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the symbol was complete. Eira stood, breathless and trembling, as the wind died down and the air grew still.

For a moment, nothing happened. The cemetery was silent, and the shadows seemed to retreat.

But as Eira turned to leave, a voice whispered in her ear—cold and malicious.

“You cannot stop what is already in motion.”

Eira froze, her blood turning to ice. The voice was familiar. It was Evandra’s.

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the voice was gone, leaving Eira standing alone in the dark cemetery, the weight of the curse pressing down on her like a shroud.

The witch’s power was growing, and Eira knew that this was only the beginning.