Elara pointed toward a far corner of the chamber, where a hulking skeleton slumped against the wall, partially buried in ash and shattered bone. Its frame was vast—larger than any skep they’d encountered—and the skull was grotesquely misshapen, the jaw split by a pair of thick, inward-curving tusks.

  “An ogre,” she said softly. “Or something close to it. This wasn’t just a skep nest. It was a battlefield.”

  Misty’s tail lashed once, sharply. Her ears flattened, and her fur bristled in a way that set Del’s nerves jangling. She moved without a sound toward a fallen slab near the chamber’s edge, her body low and careful as she threaded through the debris.

  ‘There’s more,’ her voice slid into his mind, tight and grim. ‘Along the wall. Come see.’

  Del and Elara followed, boots crunching lightly across the brittle remnants of rib and femur. As they drew near, Elara’s shoulder-glow caught against soot-dark stone, and the shapes emerged.

  The mural wasn’t grand. Not beautiful. It was desperate—drawn in streaks of ochre and rust and what looked too dark to be pigment. It stretched across the wall in a rough crescent, much of it cracked or buried beneath creeping moss. But the story was still there.

  Stick-figures formed jagged rows, their limbs stiff with tension, holding weapons aloft—spears, blades, bows rendered in bold slashes. Their numbers were vast. Some were tall and fine-boned, long ears clearly marked. Elves. Others broad and square, with rounded helms or hammers clutched in thick arms. Humans. Dwarves. Even a few shapes that defied classification—lithe, four-limbed, tails trailing. United. Facing one direction.

  Against them rose a thing.

  The central figure dominated everything. Bigger than the rest combined, its proportions writhed even in stillness. It had too many arms—or maybe just too many joints on the arms. One limb ended in a hooked claw. Another split at the elbow into writhing tendrils, others had innumerable spikes and what looked like blades. Eyes—dozens of them—dotted the torso and limbs, uneven and wide. From its belly gaped a vast, tooth-ringed maw. Another mouth, smaller, opened from the top of its skull. It had no clear face. No symmetry. No sense.

  Elara knelt, staring upward, the light catching her cheekbones and turning her eyes hollow. “That’s not a creature,” she whispered. “That’s a mistake. Something that shouldn’t exist.”

  Beneath the painting, the ground told its own story.

  Half-curled skep bodies lay in a broken arc, their throats torn open, limbs twisted inward like they’d folded before something unseen. The wounds weren’t made in combat. They were placed. Sacrifices. Arranged deliberately.

  Del’s breath left him in a cold stream. “They’re still marking it,” he murmured. “This wasn’t just a battle site. It’s... it’s a shrine.”

  Misty’s mental voice was cold and sure. ‘They fought together. Even the skeps. Elves, dwarves, humans, beasts,—against that. Whatever it is.’

  Del stepped closer to the mural, eyes tracing the crude shapes. The proportions were wrong, but the intent wasn’t. These weren’t just warnings. This was memory. This was legacy. This was something meant to endure.

  Del swallowed, the taste of old dust thick on his tongue. “What is it?” he asked, the words feeling too small for the space.

  Elara slowly shook her head. “It’s not like any beast I’ve read about. Not even in the old stories.”

  Near the base of the mural, something caught Del’s eye—a jagged mark etched into the rock, separate from the painted figures. He stepped closer, narrowing his gaze.

  It wasn’t painted. It was carved deep, the lines harsh and angular, forming a crooked spiral that hurt to look at directly. It pulsed faintly, not with light, but with a kind of sickly sheen—like oil under moonlight.

  “What is that?” he whispered.

  Elara inhaled sharply. “I know that symbol,” she whispered, stepping back a pace as though distance alone might lessen its presence. “It’s… the mark of the Blight.”

  Del turned toward her. “The what?”

  Her face had gone pale, not just with shock, but with something ancient and reflexive—fear passed down, not learned. Her voice was quiet, brittle at the edges. “The Blight. A corruption. A sickness not of disease, but of being. In old elven stories, it wasn’t described like a creature. Not even a curse. More like... a wrongness that wore forms. That needed forms. They said it came from beyond the stars—or beneath the world, depending on who was telling it.”

  She glanced toward the mural again, her jaw tight. “It twisted everything it touched. People. Beasts. Magic. Even the land. Forests grew backwards. Rivers ran dry, or in loops. Time would stutter near the worst places. They said it didn’t kill you—it unmade you. Rewrote you into something else.”

  Del felt the back of his neck prickle. “And the stories say it was banished?”

  Elara nodded once. “By the First Alliance. Elves, dwarves, men... even monsters, maybe. The oldest version I ever heard said it took seven armies and a sacrifice no one speaks of. But that was many thousands of years ago. It’s barely more than a warning tale now. Told to scare children away from dead places.”

  Misty hissed softly beside them, her fur rising along her spine. Her voice slid into Del’s thoughts, taut and cold. ‘This isn’t a story anymore. This place reeks of something waking. We shouldn’t still be here.’

  Del nodded slowly, the weight of it settling like stone in his gut. He looked back at the mark—angular, vicious in shape, almost burnt into the wall rather than etched. “Elara. Can you copy that symbol? We may need to show it to someone who knows more.”

  She didn’t speak. Just knelt and pulled a scrap of parchment from her satchel, fingers trembling slightly. As she began to trace the rune with slow, careful strokes, the quill scraped faintly on the parchment—a sound suddenly too loud in the heavy silence.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Del turned slowly in place, taking in the scene one last time. The mural. The bones. The ritual arrangement of skep corpses, their throats torn, their bodies laid beneath that mural like offerings.

  Something about this wasn’t just history. It wasn’t over.

  But what was the Blight? A creature? A curse? Was it truly gone… or merely sleeping?

  Misty’s voice sliced through the tension. ‘Del. We’ve stayed too long. That stink’s getting worse. It’s rising.’

  Del didn’t argue. He stepped back from the wall. “Elara. We’re moving.”

  Elara nodded without a word and rolled the parchment with shaking hands, securing it with a thin strip of leather before tucking it tight against her chest. The moment the mark vanished from sight, she let out a slow breath, as if its presence had been pressing against her lungs.

  Together they turned from the mural, their footsteps echoing off bone and stone like the final notes of a funeral hymn. The chamber no longer felt like a place of silence—it felt watchful, as though the very walls had taken notice and were debating whether to release them at all.

  The tunnel swallowed them back into its narrow throat. Del moved with care, conscious of every shift beneath his boots. The air had thickened since they’d entered. It pressed down like water, tasting faintly of copper and ash. Roots brushed his shoulders and arms, slick with condensation, and in the hush, his breath felt ragged and intrusive.

  Misty walked ahead, silent now, her body low to the ground, ears flattened. She didn’t speak—not even to Del—and that unsettled him more than anything. Her stillness wasn’t caution. It was dread.

  The walls closed tighter the further they moved, or seemed to. Del’s memory of the path wavered—had the descent taken this long? Had it always felt like it was narrowing around them? Like the bones behind were drawing closer, step by step?

  When they finally broke the surface, it was like surfacing from a nightmare that hadn't quite let go. Del paused halfway out of the tunnel, blinking against the grey light above. The sky was overcast, the clouds dull and listless—but to his eyes, it was brilliance. Real light. Real air.

  He exhaled slowly, chest rising with a breath that didn’t taste of dust or death. The breeze moved against him and he shivered, gooseflesh rising. Sweat cooled instantly along his spine. It was like waking from a fever.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “That’s better.”

  Elara emerged just behind him, her hand still clutching the parchment like it might try to flee. She stood a long moment in the open, her face lifted to the cloud-stained sky, eyes closed.

  “It felt like we weren’t meant to leave,” she said quietly.

  Del nodded. “Yeah.”

  She looked down at the parchment. “We need to tell someone. If the Blight is stirring—if any of that was real—”

  “We will,” he said, his voice firmer now. “But first things first. We check on Joel. On Naomi. Make sure everyone’s safe.”

  Elara nodded once. The wind caught a strand of her hair, and she didn’t move to tuck it away. She just stared toward the distant line of trees, jaw set, as if already replaying the mural in her head.

  Misty sat beside them, tail curling tightly around her paws. Her gaze fixed on the horizon—but her ears twitched constantly, as though still listening for something underground.

  None of them said it aloud, but the weight in their bones hadn’t lifted.

  They started down the slope, the broken terrain of the upper farmstead stretching out before them in muted tones. Nothing moved but the grass in the breeze. No sign of struggle, no skep, no blood—just crooked fences, scrubby earth, and the quiet hum of insects returning to work.

  It looked peaceful. Almost offensively so.

  But the weight of the tunnels clung to them like a second skin. It wasn’t just memory—it was presence. A shadow without shape, silent and persistent, following in their footsteps.

  Del exhaled and summoned his interface with a flick of thought. The message blinked in the corner of his vision, unobtrusive and far too polite:

  [Congratulations you have gained enough experience to level up; would you like to level up now?]

  He accepted the prompt

  [Level Up – 2 Levels Gained]

  He split the points without ceremony: one to Strength, one to Dexterity, two to Intelligence. It was deliberate and measured. He accepted it with barely a glance. No fanfare. Just a warm pressure behind his ribs as the system folded the gain into his bones and blood—strength renewing, clarity sharpening behind his eyes.

  Then came the inevitable. He checked both their stats

  Misty: still one level above him.

  Del let out a slow, theatrical sigh. ‘Brilliant. The murder gremlin pulls ahead again.’

  A beat passed, then her voice slid into his thoughts like velvet laced with smug. ‘You should see the view from up here. It’s magnificent.’

  ‘I’m thrilled for you,’ he muttered. ‘Truly. Nothing says comfort like being outpaced by something that licks its own arse.’

  ‘Envy doesn’t suit you, Del.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not envious,’ he replied. ‘I’m just wondering how many levels I’d get for punting a cat into the tree line.’

  Misty’s tail flicked as she walked ahead, utterly unbothered. ‘Not enough to level. Try again.’

  Despite everything—the stench of old bones, the looming threat they couldn’t yet name—Del smiled. Just a little.

  The path ahead was long, uncertain, and likely steeped in more horror. But for now, they walked together beneath the open sky.

  And that, at least, was something.

  Name: Del Axholm

  Level: 11

  Path: Archer

  Health: 78

  Strength: 24

  Dexterity: 21

  Stamina: 22

  Intelligence: 16

  Wisdom: 13

  Mana: 88

  Spirit: 71

  Agility: 32

  Presence: 10

  Animal Companion: Misty; feline

  Skills:

  Archery lvl 3 – Able to use all manner of handheld bows and crossbows

  Woodcraft lvl 3 – Basic survival skills in wooded areas. Can safely make fires and create crude shelters.

  Tracking lvl 2 – Can find and follow obvious tracks or blood trails.

  Traps lvl 1 – Can make basic snares and pit traps.

  Sneak lvl 4 – Able to hide in available cover. Movement increases the risk of being seen or heard.

  Herbalism lvl 2 – Can identify and gather basic herbs.

  Skinning lvl 3 – Can manage to roughly skin a carcass.

  Leadership lvl 2 - Able to command small groups of up to 20.

  Attacks:

  Bow lvl 3 – Simple Shot.

  Sword lvl 9 – Cut, thrust.

  Dagger lvl 5 – Stab, Slash.

  Special Attacks:

  Bow:

  Sneak attack lvl 1 – Doubles damage

  Master Archer lvl 1 – Cost 1 Stamina: Increased damage and chance of critical hit.

  Dagger:

  Backstab lvl 2 – Double damage.

  Two Handed Melee lvl 5 – Two weapon fighting, twice the fun.

  Name: Misty

  Level: 12

  Path: Feline Companion

  Health: 70

  Strength: 17

  Dexterity: 23

  Stamina: 20

  Intelligence: 14

  Wisdom: 6

  Mana: 84

  Spirit: 36

  Agility: 35

  Presence: 20

  Skills:

  Charm lvl 4 – Can influence the attitude of someone in eye contact with her.

  Transform lvl 3 – Can assume Hellcat form, Strength, Dexterity and Health Double for 22 minutes, These values halved for 26 minutes after effect ends.

  Attacks:

  Claw lvl 10 – Attack with front claws.

  Rake lvl 7 – Double rear leg attack.

  Bite lvl 7 – It’s teeth all the way

  Special Attacks:

  Pounce lvl 10 – Can be used with any or all of the standard attacks. Double damage, with a small chance to cause the target to stumble.

  Sneak Pounce lvl 5 – As above; Triple damage.