The surroundings were eerily quiet. Shade, seeing no one around, approached the sofa, though he did not sit down, keeping himself ready to leave at any moment.
His eyes, however, once again fell on the brass-colored gear box sitting on the coffee table. Ordinarily, Shade would never willingly interact with an unknown object. But as he drew closer, he noticed something more than just the gears and knobs adorning the brass cube's surface. The face turned upwards displayed a row of twisted symbols, almost like musical notes.
Although Shade had never seen these characters before, he could still understand their meaning:
"I am watching you in the dark."
Then, a whisper echoed in his mind, reminding him:
[You've encountered a 'Whisper.']
"What? Is this a relic?" Shade muttered in surprise. At that very moment, the room's once-bright gas lamps and crystal chandeliers began to dim.
A chilling sense of dread washed over him as he stared down at the brass gear box. It had silently opened. The lid was now slightly ajar.
As the light in the room grew even dimmer, thick black fog poured from the box, rolling out like waves crashing onto the shore.
"This feels like a horror novel... but this is..." Shade's voice trailed off.
[Relic containment failure.]
Before he could fully react, the surging black fog extinguished every light in the room. Darkness enveloped everything, as though the air itself had been painted with black ink. In the overwhelming void, a primal fear gripped Shade's body, causing him to tremble instinctively.
With the descent of this impenetrable darkness, Shade lost all sense of direction. It felt like he was plunging into an abyss, the terror gnawing at both his body and soul. For a brief moment, he was convinced that an enormous, indescribable entity was watching him from within the blackness.
The intense fear almost made him scream, but the foreigner quickly regained his composure, understanding that panic was not the right response.
In this pitch-black space, a battle raged between reason and emotion. This fear wasn't something he could control; it was a visceral, instinctive response. As the terror mounted, a whisper reached his ears from within the darkness.
This wasn't the pleasant female voice he was used to. No, this whisper was layered with the voices of countless individuals, dripping with hatred and resentment. The sound crawled into his ears like wriggling white worms, and he felt the hairs on his exposed hands stand on end.
"Huh? Why can I see my own hand?" he thought, startled.
He looked down at his hands, now faintly illuminated by a silver glow, which kept his body from being entirely swallowed by the darkness.
"That's right," he reminded himself. "I'm not an ordinary person anymore. I'm a ring warlock."
Forcing himself to stay calm despite the terror, Shade focused on the dim silver light covering his hands. He could feel the slow, steady rotation of his brass life ring deep within his soul. With a silent command, he summoned it forth.
Bell toll!
Behind him, the white steam in the darkness shimmered with a silver glow, resonating with the light that now encased his body.
Steam whistle!
A distant, high-pitched wail reverberated through time and space, shaking the surrounding shadows.
Hammer strike!
Out of the fog and blackness came a massive hammer blow. Sparks flew in all directions as the brass life ring behind Shade spun at an incredible speed, sending a spray of fire into the dark void.
"Silver Moon!" Shade cried out. Though he hadn't yet mastered any spells related to the Silver Moon, he instinctively raised his right hand as he shouted, channeling his will into action.
The life ring had fully manifested, revealing the warlock's ultimate form. The sparking brass ring responded to its master's call, its core rune glowing with the power of the Silver Moon.
Shade thought he heard a soft woman's laughter in his ear. Then, from his raised right index finger, a brilliant silver light burst forth, radiant as the sun.
The moonlight began to expand, pushing back the surrounding darkness as if time itself were reversing. The black shroud retreated, revealing the sitting room once more.
At that moment, Shade noticed the faint outline of a woman seated before him, outlined in golden light. Her presence, too, seemed to dispel the nightmarish black fog brought forth by the relic's containment failure.
"So, this is the person who wanted to meet me..." Shade mused, watching as the light drove back the darkness and restored the room to its original state.
The darkness retreated, unwilling to let go of Shade, but it couldn't approach the silvery glow of the moonlight. The whispers of malice still cursed those bathed in light. The overlapping voices became nearly indecipherable, but Shade caught a few words, ones not intended for him, but for the broader, sinister entities lurking in the shadows.
Among the chaotic whispers, Shade understood the phrase:
"Old Gods! You wretched thieves... The Thirteen..."
With that final murmur, the darkness was completely driven away, and the silver light at Shade's fingertips gradually faded. Yet he knew he could summon it again if needed. This newly acquired ability, the Silver Moon's Light, could very well be his first true spell.
Though, he thought to himself, it didn't seem particularly useful at the moment.
The final whispers lingered in his ears. Shade was astonished by what he had overheard, though he wasn't sure whether to believe it. Information gleaned from a failed relic containment was rarely trustworthy.
Looking down, the brass cube on the coffee table had closed, as if the dark fog and the chaos it had caused were nothing more than an illusion.
Raising his eyes to where the golden outline of the woman had been, Shade now saw only the wall lined with bookshelves. In the bottom-right corner of the large bookshelf was a wooden door, slightly ajar.
The handle was pure gold, blending seamlessly with the surrounding woodwork. Shade realized that, when he had first entered the room and stepped onto the narrow strip of red woolen carpet, he had overlooked the door entirely.
Instinctively, he understood that the woman who wanted to meet him—the golden figure from earlier—was waiting behind that door.
The room felt unnaturally cool compared to the hallway, which itself was colder than the summer night outside. The temperature in here was more akin to a late autumn evening.
"The temperature seems off. I remember it being normal at first. Is this still part of the relic's effects?" Shade asked, his voice betraying his unease.
[A high-ring warlock can alter the environment. She's probably angry.]
"A high-ring warlock? Nine rings or more? Wait, how do you know that? And why is she angry? Shouldn't I be the one who's upset?" Shade muttered, startled. Just then, a voice called out from behind the door:
"Young man, do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused? A Poet-level relic like the Box of Darkness only goes out of control when the right activation incantation is spoken, combined with possessing light or celestial-themed sigils. I only wanted to meet with you. Why did you have to go and do that? This incident once again proves my point—relics should never be left lying around carelessly. Who knows what kind of people might stumble upon them?"
Her voice was slow and deliberate, tinged with a northern accent. Shade guessed her to be in her late twenties, though she might have been just over twenty. Her tone was elegant, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of anger.
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't know... I'm not trying to shift the blame, but... May I ask what it is you want from me?" Shade stammered, unsure how to explain himself. The woman behind the door likely had no idea her guest could easily read the ancient script and possessed celestial sigils, so the incident was indeed Shade's fault.
He thought about offering compensation, but given the woman's status as a high-ring warlock, he realized that wasn't a feasible option. All he could do was ask what she wanted.
Both he and the woman had used warlock powers just now, and the fact that she wasn't surprised by this meant she already knew about his identity as a ring warlock when she invited him upstairs.
This left Shade deeply puzzled. He had only been a warlock for one day—how could anyone have already uncovered his secret?
But at least the woman behind the door wasn't Madame Rasoya. Even though Shade had never heard Rasoya speak, he was certain that the mysterious figure, with her elegant, calm voice, couldn't be the same person.
"Young man, what is your name?" the woman behind the door asked.
Shade couldn't see through the wooden door to her, but he had the distinct feeling she could see him. He imagined her sitting at a desk, conversing with him from behind the door.