Night had swallowed the streets, leaving only flickering lamps and shadows that seemed too thick to be natural.
Soren walked quickly, still thinking about the fortune-teller's words:
"The Seeker walks between things not meant to touch."
He didn't fully understand it, but the word Shades had finally given a name to what he had been seeing since his eyes began to change.
Then he heard it.
Fast, uneven footsteps—running, panicked. Behind the sound, a low, distorted growl crawled along the walls, something not quite animal, not quite human.
Soren pressed himself against a brick wall, heart pounding.
A man stumbled into view, clutching his arm. His sleeve was torn and darkened with blood, the cloth soaked through. He was pale, shaking, gasping for air.
"P-please…" he whispered, eyes wide. "Don't let it find me…"
Before Soren could ask what had happened, a shadow stretched across the street.
A wolf-shaped Shade stepped forward. Its body shifted like smoke around a skeleton, muscles long and tense. Its face didn't move, but a soft, horrifying snarl echoed in the air.
The man backed away.
"I was trying to reach the Wardens… the ones who work with the Sorcerers…" he panted. "They can see these things. They could've stopped it… but I won't make it…"
Soren felt the familiar pressure behind his eyes—his vision flaring. Overloading.
Suddenly, the man shoved something into Soren's hands.
It was a quill. A white feather with a silver handle, etched with strange symbols. The tip glowed faintly red, pulsing like it had a heartbeat.
"Take it…" the man gasped. "It's awake for you… not for me. You… you can use it."
Soren stared. "Use it for what?"
The Shade advanced.
The man pushed Soren aside, collapsing against the wall. His voice was weak but urgent.
"You can see it, right? The thing behind me…? Keep it safe. It will warn you… but it will never answer everything…"
Soren looked down at the quill. The feather twitched as if alive. When he held it, a thin line of red energy formed at the tip—not blood, but something that felt like life itself, drawn into the pen.
His hand moved on its own, scribbling a single word on the pavement:
"STOP."
The Shade froze mid-step. Its shadow rippled violently, trying to fight the command, but the quill's magic held it back.
Soren stepped back, trembling.
"What… what is this thing?" he whispered.
The man coughed, blood streaking his lips. "A relic… from the Pale Scribes… it answers in warnings… clues… never the full truth…"
The Shade broke free, snarling. It leapt toward them.
Soren grabbed the man's arm. "Stay with me! You can't—"
"I'm done… run…" the man whispered, barely conscious. "If you want to live… run."
The quill pulsed again, as if urging Soren to write. He didn't know what to write. Didn't know if it would even help.
The Shade lunged.
Soren tightened his grip on the quill. The feather shimmered, alive with red energy.
And that was when the street seemed to hold its breath.