Fangs in the Dark

Chapter 1: An Ordinary Day

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long, lazy shadows across the path as Lysander Zharos made his way back to the village. The air was warm, and heavy with the scent of pine and earth. His arms were full of freshly gathered herbs, each carefully selected from the dense forest surrounding the village. The chore had become second nature to him over the years, yet today something weighed on him. It was a subtle feeling, like an itch at the back of his mind, that he couldn't quite place.

The village came into view, a cluster of modest wooden homes nestled on the edge of the great forest. Beyond, the landscape stretched out toward the Holy Nation's borders, its presence a constant, looming threat. The Holy Nation rarely ventured this far, but everyone knew their influence was always felt, like an invisible hand controlling the rhythm of life in the region.

Lysander stepped onto the worn path that led into the heart of the village, his footsteps kicking up small clouds of dust. The village was small, barely more than a few dozen homes scattered around a central square where the villagers gathered for the market. Life here was simple, predictable. Most people spent their days working the fields or tending to livestock, while others, like Lysander's father, dealt in more specialized trades. His father had been an alchemist of sorts, though Lysander had always felt there was more to it than the simple potions and remedies his father sold to the villagers.

The village seemed peaceful enough, but Lysander couldn't shake the tension that had crept into his mind during his walk back. Something felt different today, though he couldn't place what. As he passed the other villagers, he offered polite nods and exchanged the occasional greeting, but something about their faces—about the way they looked at him—felt off. He had long grown accustomed to the subtle suspicion that lingered in their eyes when they saw him. His family had always been set apart from the others. Not through any fault of their own, but because of a quiet, unspoken difference that no one could quite articulate.

Lysander had learned early on that the village viewed his family with a mix of wariness and respect. His father, Thalon Zharos, was a private man who kept mostly to himself, speaking little and revealing less. His work as an alchemist provided vital remedies and potions that the villagers often needed, yet he was never fully accepted. His mother, Elyra Zharos, was gentler, more approachable, but even she carried an air of mystery. People whispered about her, though no one dared speak ill of her openly.

As a child, Lysander had been baffled by the distance his family seemed to keep from the rest of the village. The other children rarely played with him, their parents often forbidding them from coming too close to his home. Over the years, Lysander had accepted it as part of life—his family was simply different. And yet, he had never fully understood why.

Lysander's father had always been a figure of authority in his life, though not in the typical sense. Thalon was not a warm man. He was strict, disciplined, and intensely private. He rarely spoke of their family's past, and whenever Lysander asked about his father's work, the answers were brief and vague. Thalon's alchemy was more than just simple herbalism. Lysander had seen glimpses of it—strange, shimmering liquids in glass vials, powders that glowed faintly in the dark, and symbols drawn with meticulous precision on parchment. But his father never explained what they were for.

As Lysander neared the edge of the village, his thoughts drifted to his mother. Elyra was the only warmth in his otherwise distant family life. She was a soft-spoken woman, always with a smile for him, even when she seemed tired or preoccupied. She would hum quietly while preparing meals, and her gentle voice had often lulled him to sleep as a child. But even she had a certain guardedness about her. There were times when Lysander would catch her staring out the window with a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were seeing something only she could understand.