Darkness had descended upon the canyon quicker than the winter solstice. With horror, Walter watched as the sun was blot out from the sky and thrown into pitch black darkness. Terrible, horrifying things emerged and terror spread throughout the entire settlement. He had to get out while he still could. Fighting off whatever tried to grab onto him, he was frantically looking for a way out. At this point even ending up in the desert wasn't half as bad as things were now. The natives were up in arms doing what they could to hold the monsters at bay. Eyota Etu had been hit hard by the cruelty of deities before, and it was still fresh in their minds. With fire, weapons, and anything else–they were rushing out to take the nightmares head on.

Navigating the canyon was difficult with the madness all around them, but suddenly a group of the crowd began turning around and running towards him. They had torches, axes, pitchforks even. Then Walter realized–these weren't the Eyotians. His heart pounded in his chest as sweat broke out all over his body. Their eyes were cold, full of rage. There were Highlanders, Adelunians, and many others from smaller places he'd passed through. "THERE HE IS!! KILL THE WEREWOLF!!!" A grizzled hunter jabbed a finger in his direction, spitting as he shouted. Chills went through the tracker's body as he dropped whatever he was holding, and started to run. Even past the age of fifty, it was enough to make the wolf in him desperate to escape.