Morning light seeped through the grimy apartment window, thin and anemic, casting pale bands across the cramped room. Dust hung in the air like frozen ghosts.
Anthony stirred on his narrow bed.
The scratches from the ruins throbbed beneath makeshift bandages—old cloth strips tied too tight, already crusted with dried blood. He hissed softly as he pushed himself upright, muscles protesting. Across the room, Orion was still sprawled on his own bed, chest rising and falling in a slow, obnoxiously peaceful rhythm, a faint snore rumbling from his throat.
Anthony's jaw tightened.
The night replayed in fragments—
the wraith's freezing grip,
the desperate escape,
and that dream.
A veiled woman. Midnight-blue wings. A whisper pressed intimately to his ear, lips brushing skin like a promise that refused to fade.
Midnight mystery lady, Anthony thought dryly. Divine stalker… or narrative landmine?
Either way, she'd patched him up without permission.
He rubbed his temple, feeling a faint warmth where her breath had lingered, unreal yet unmistakable. His fingers brushed the crystal in his pocket. It hummed softly in response, alive.
Loot.
He pulled it out carefully. Faceted and clear, it pulsed in time with the dim lantern on the table, light and crystal syncing like shared breath.
Testing it seems wise.
Anthony focused, willing it to respond.
A soft shimmer wrapped around his hand.
The air rippled—and something snapped.
A minor illusion collapsed. Beneath a loose floorboard, a copper coin glinted into existence, where his memories insisted nothing had ever been.
Anthony exhaled, slow and sharp.
"Okay… illusion breaker. Or a low-tier reveal spell."
He smirked faintly.
"Entry-level gear. Won't delete bosses—but perfect for puzzles."
Behind him, Orion groaned and rolled over, blinking awake.
"Ant? You're up already?" He squinted. "Damn, you look like hell. What happened to your arm—did you get mugged by a bookshelf?"
Anthony pocketed the crystal and forced a grin.
"Something like that. Library ambush. Ancient tomes get aggressive when you dog-ear pages."
Orion snorted and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"Sure. Seriously though—you were gone all night. Again. If you're chasing ghosts, at least bring back ectoplasm we can sell."
The banter grounded him. Orion's lazy charm was an anchor—proof this world was still real.
"No ghosts," Anthony said. "Just insomnia." He paused, then added, "Hey. About that guild idea—let's do it today."
Orion blinked.
"…You're serious?"
"Easy bounty," Anthony continued. "Pay Varkis a little. Eat something that isn't stale bread."
Last week's Anthony would've laughed this off.
But Zhang Lu—the analytical mind now layered over his own—saw opportunity.
"Low-risk only," Anthony added. "Retrievals. Investigations. No dragon slaying."
Orion studied him, then grinned.
"Fine. But if we die, I'm haunting you first."
"Deal."
The Warrens were already alive when they left. Vendors shouted from crooked carts, children weaved through crowds like sparks, and Ivory Guard patrols watched with practiced disdain. The air smelled of bread and forge smoke—life persisting through neglect.
As they climbed into the mid-districts, stone straightened, streets widened, and rune-lamps hummed with steady light.
The Adventurer's Guild loomed ahead.
Inside, chaos ruled—mercenaries haggling, bards tuning strings, clerks stamping contracts in relentless rhythm. One wall was dominated by bounty boards, parchments pinned beneath glowing runes sorted by rank.
E to S.
Easy to suicidal.
Anthony scanned with methodical calm, Zhang Lu's instincts surfacing.
Avoid anything with "shadow" or "disappearance." That's main-plot bait.
Orion whistled.
"Rogue golem in the mines. Pays gold."
Anthony didn't even look.
"No."
He tapped an E-rank posting.
"Lost relic. Abandoned warehouse. Fifty silvers."
Orion frowned.
"Sounds boring."
"Sounds survivable."
The job went sideways fast.
The warehouse whispered secrets—glowing warnings, cult markings, and a journal soaked in paranoia.
EVERYONE DIES UNLESS—
Anthony swallowed.
Cult of the Forgotten God.
Varkis' people.
And then the ambush came.
Pain flared. Shadows clawed. His body failed him.
Too fragile. Can't tank.
Darkness swallowed him—
—and the void bloomed with stars.
Midnight descended like a falling thought, wings brushing eternity.
"Struggling already, light-bearer?"
"Bad timing," Anthony rasped.
She leaned close, whisper curling around his soul.
"Feed the crystal. Let it consume what threatens."
Clarity struck like lightning.
Anthony woke screaming light into the world.
The crystal devoured shadow, spat brilliance, and the cultists fell.
Later—stew steaming, ale bitter and real—Orion raised his mug.
"To surviving. You're getting weird, Ant… but I like being alive."
Anthony smiled.
Inside, unease coiled.
Midnight was watching.
And strings were tightening.
That night, the amulet pulsed. A holographic whisper echoed from the past:
The Dark Castle holds the next piece. Father awaits—before everyone dies.
The wall answered with fresh words.
THE CASTLE CALLS.
Anthony closed his eyes.
The whisper returned—awake this time.
"I'm watching, light-bearer."
The mysteries had only just begun.