Chapter 331: The Great Fall
The streets of Wyfellon in Wyfn-Garde buzzed like a hive of restless bees. From the stone-paved alleys winding past the bustling markets to the grand avenues lined with towering statues of past kings, there was one thing on every tongue—
The Demon Prince’s wife is missing.
Gossip spilled like wine from cracked cups.
At the marketplace, fishmongers paused mid-bargain to murmur behind their hands. Vendors leaned over carts brimming with fresh fruit and wilted herbs, whispering about the witch who had ensnared Prince Alaric’s heart—and now vanished without a trace.
"She’s gone," a butcher muttered, wiping bloodied hands on his apron. "Poof! Like smoke."
"They say it was a spell gone wrong," an old woman croaked, holding a basket of half-rotten apples. "Witches always meddle with things better left untouched."
Near the coastal edge of Wyfn-Garde, where the sea licked the rocky shores and saltwater stained the air, the whispers didn’t die—they grew.
The sailors spoke in low, fearful tones.
"Maybe the sea took her," one grizzled man said, peering out over the gray horizon. "The witch angered the gods, and now she’s part of the water."
Another spat into the waves. "Or maybe the Tackeros did it—they’ve been too quiet lately. Too quiet."
The forests, too, weren’t immune to the rumors.