Outside the small town.
Old Jack, Bran, Eira, and Mog stood back-to-back.
Standing at the edge of the apple orchard that emitted an ominous purple glow.
The air was thickening with a sense of "void", as if sound and light were being slowly absorbed.
All around was unusually quiet, even the chirping of autumn insects had vanished.
All natural creatures living here had fled in instinctive fear.
Only the increasingly shrill and piercing high-frequency buzzing of the detector in Bran's hand, and their own heavy heartbeats, remained.
"Index... index is off the charts! The detector... is about to overload!"
Bran's voice was hoarse, his beard soaked with sweat, as he futilely tried to stabilize the instrument that flashed erratically, almost jumping out of its casing.
Eira's bowstring was taut, the arrowhead trembling slightly, aimed at the most intense area of the purple glow.
She felt bouts of dizziness and nausea, signs of her spirit fighting against invisible erosion.
