Kael awoke to the sound of whispering, a cacophony that seeped from the air itself, like a thousand voices buried beneath the soil, murmuring secrets only the damned could decipher. The words were indistinct, a chorus of regret and rage that clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel the fragile hold he kept on his sanity. He sat up, brushing ash from his coat, the gritty residue clinging to his skin like a second shadow. The fire had died, leaving blackened stones and the faint, acrid scent of burnt shadowbeast meat lingering in the air. Around him, the others slept: Jano snoring softly beneath a jagged outcrop, his spear resting within reach; Leren huddled near the embers, twitching in dreams that seemed to haunt even this forsaken place; and Seris—gone.
Kael stood, his boots crunching over gravel and bone, the sound a stark contrast to the whispers that followed him. The sky above remained a dull gray, endless and suffocating, its clouds swirling in patterns that suggested faces—watchful, judgmental. He dismissed the thought, a habit born of necessity since arriving in the Shadow Realm, where every shadow seemed to harbor intent. He climbed a short ridge, seeking solitude, and found her there—Seris, kneeling in silence, a blade resting across her lap. Her hands moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, tracing runes into the air—glyphs that vanished the moment they were formed, their light a fleeting defiance against the gloom.
He watched, unwilling to interrupt, the rhythm of her movements a strange comfort amidst the chaos. She stopped, sensing his presence. "You're up early," she said without turning, her voice calm but carrying an edge of weariness.
"I didn't sleep much," Kael admitted, stepping beside her. The land below stretched endlessly—jagged hills, broken spires, rivers of black mist flowing uphill and sideways, defying the laws of the world he once knew.
"Why do you ask?" she countered, her gaze narrowing as she turned to face him.
"Because you warned me," he said, meeting her eyes. "Back in the palace gardens. You were there, with those silver eyes. You said, 'Beware the black sun.' What did you mean?"
Her expression shifted, a flicker of surprise quickly masked. "I didn't say that to you," she replied, her tone measured.
Kael froze. "What?"
"I remember saying those words, yes. But not to you."
"Then who—" A sound interrupted—stone shifting. Kael spun, hand instinctively reaching for a blade that wasn't there. Jano stood at the ridge's base, spear in hand, breathing hard.
"Something's out there," he said, voice low. "Southwest. Moving fast."
Kael's instincts flared. "Shadowbeast?"
"Maybe. Or worse."
Leren's voice called from below, shaky but urgent. "It's circling the camp. I can feel it watching."
Kael turned to Seris. "You've been here longer. What do we do?"
She sheathed her blade with a fluid motion. "We move. Now."
They packed quickly, the Shadow Realm rewarding hesitation with death. Kael gathered their meager supplies—two flasks of ashwater, a handful of dried meat strips from their last kill, and three essence crystals, their faint glow a promise of power yet to be harnessed. They moved west, toward ruins Seris claimed were once a temple, now a shelter with walls thick enough to keep the night at bay.
As they traveled, the terrain shifted subtly—rock becoming bone, mist turning to smoke. Kael tried to ignore the shapes within it, but his mind wandered to the gardens, to Seris's warning. What did the black sun signify? A weapon? A prophecy? The thought gnawed at him, a puzzle piece he couldn't place.
Jano muttered under his breath, and Kael caught a name—"Malrik." He stopped, turning sharply. "What did you say?"
Jano looked startled. "Nothing."
"You said 'Malrik.' You know that name?"
Jano hesitated, his grip tightening on the spear. "I… I heard it. In a dream. Last night."
Kael's blood ran cold. "Describe him."
"Tall. Black cloak. Gold ring. Voice like… sand on steel."
That was Malrik—Lord Malrik, the man who had smiled at his execution. "How is that possible?" Kael demanded. "He's not dead."
"No," Seris said slowly, joining them. "But power echoes. If Malrik had a hand in your death—if his will helped cast you down—it might linger here. The Realm remembers."
Kael said nothing, his mind racing. What magic reached across life and death? And why had Jano seen him? The questions piled up, each one a thread in a tapestry he couldn't yet see.
They pressed on, the temple emerging as a skeleton of its former glory—four towers leaning drunkenly against the sky, broken arches jutting like ribs from black soil. Statues, once divine, now crumbled, their faces eaten away by shadow and time. Inside, it was dry, quiet, the whispers softer. Kael dropped his pack and sat against a wall, the cool stone a brief respite.
Leren built a small flame from essence sparks and bone chips, its purple light casting eerie shadows. Jano paced near the entrance, eyes scanning the horizon. Kael turned to Seris, who stood by a cracked pillar. "How long have you been here?"
She didn't answer immediately, her gaze distant. "Time doesn't pass the same way here. But… years, I think. I stopped counting after I lost my name."
"Lost?" Kael frowned.
"In the deeper layers, the Realm takes things. Names. Faces. Memories. That's how it feeds."
Kael leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He remembered his name, his father's face, his sister's laughter, the rose gardens' scent. But already, those memories felt distant, slipping through his grasp. "Why was I framed?" he asked quietly.
Seris looked at him, her silver eyes reflecting the fire's glow. "You said others were like me. Chosen. Condemned. Why?"
She stood, walking to the doorway. "I don't know. But if you were given a system… someone feared you. Or wanted to control you."
Kael's voice hardened. "Or both."
A long silence followed. Then Seris said, "Rest. We'll need to move again tomorrow."
Kael watched the fire, its purple flames dancing like ghosts. He didn't sleep, his mind replaying Malrik's face, the black sun, the whispers. Later, when the others dozed, he stepped outside. The courtyard was overgrown with silver weeds and bones, a graveyard of forgotten souls.
A flicker of movement caught his eye—a shadow, too large to be his own. He spun, eyes narrowing. Nothing. *[System Alert: Host essence nearing instability. Recommended Action: Devour shadow entity to stabilize.]* He hadn't triggered any skills, hadn't sensed anything. But the system saw it.
A hunt.
He stepped into the ruins, following instinct. The corridor darkened, walls pulsing with faint red veins. Then it appeared—a hound-shaped creature, smoke and hate, eyes like burning coals, teeth too long for its skull. It charged, and Kael waited, activating Phantom Step at the last second. He blinked left, reappeared behind it, and drove his looted blade into its spine. The blow passed through, but the beast staggered.
Kael ducked a claw swipe, striking again. *[Devour? Y/N]* "Yes!" The beast dissolved, its essence pouring into him. *[+1 Essence Point. Skill Available: Echo Scent. Acquire? Y/N]* "What is it?" *[Skill: Echo Scent – Track residual emotional imprints within a 30-meter radius.]* Useful. "Yes."
The knowledge flooded him, a cold river of instinct. He closed his eyes, reaching out. A trail lit up—rage, guilt, fear. The strongest scent came from the north. He returned to camp in silence.
Morning—if it existed—came with wind. They moved again, toward a fissure Seris claimed led deeper. Kael used Echo Scent twice, feeling echoes from his world—people, places. He didn't tell the others.
They stopped near a lake of obsidian glass. There, they found a corpse—human, robes scorched, skin melted. On his wrist, a gold sigil: the Emblem of the Veiled Order, an imperial intelligence faction denied by the crown. Kael's heart pounded. He'd seen it once, in a forbidden ledger.
"What was a Veiled Order agent doing here?" he muttered.
Seris knelt beside the body. "Another exile?"
"No," Kael said. "A spy."
He turned to her. "Someone in the Empire knew about this place. Maybe they created the systems. Maybe they're testing something. And I… I saw something I shouldn't have."
Seris didn't deny it. They burned the body—or tried. It unraveled into shadow and ash. Kael kept the sigil.
Later, by the fire, Leren spoke. "I saw your execution in a mirror pool. You were shouting. Accusing the court. And… a man in black. No face. Just presence."
Kael's fingers tightened around the sigil. The fire went out. Darkness fell. A whisper echoed: "You are not the only one condemned."