Tarran's Story - Hunger Consumes the Horizon

Tarran lowers the elder to the broken ritual stones and devours him in one brutal gulp, ash-gray robes and all. The cracked circle spits one last violet spark, then goes dark.

Bone and splintered staff crunch under her weight as she straightens. The town hall looms ahead, its windows shaking with the villagers’ frantic movement inside.

Inside, heavy thuds slam against the doors. A beam drops into place, then another, as if wood could bargain with a beast like Tarran.

Her shadow crawls over the threshold, long and hungry across the mud. The village falls eerily quiet except for the trembling of the timbers.

A muffled voice cracks from within, sharp with fear. "Hold the doors. Do not let her in."

Tarran turns toward the sound, towering over the entrance, with one clear path left for her hunger.

Tarran drives both horned shoulders into the barricaded doors. Wood bursts inward in a white crack of splinters, and the beam snaps like a dry bone.

The hall yawns open, spilling torchlight, smoke, and a ring of terrified faces back from the rush of splintered planks. A side wall caves with the shock, opening a jagged gap to the outer dark.

Three villagers reel from the breach, robes half-fastened, one clutching a chalked charm before it crumbles under the impact.

From the ruined threshold, the Elder's last violet chains flicker in the mud, their broken glow reflected in the widening crack.