The city of Eldrath was not a place that ever truly slept, but as the hours stretched deep into the night, the streets became quieter, more sinister. The city's upper levels remained alight with the hum of noble districts and grand estates, but below, in the underbelly where Aran thrived, shadows grew long and secrets festered like wounds left untreated.
Aran moved silently through the darkened alleyways, Alara trailing a few steps behind him, her presence more a shadow than a companion. The rest of the team was busy following leads, searching for the mysterious figure that had been guiding Nera's hand. But Aran had a different approach in mind tonight. If they were going to find out who—or what—was pulling the strings, he needed to speak to someone who understood the darker aspects of Eldrath's power dynamics.
There were figures in Eldrath that moved between the cracks, unseen by the ruling elite but powerful in their own right. One of those was Maros, a man with his fingers in every forbidden art and black market trade the city had to offer. If anyone had knowledge of ancient magic, or worse, Maros would.
The alley they were in led to a nondescript building, old and half-crumbling, wedged between two taller structures as if forgotten by time. A faded symbol was carved above the doorway, an arcane mark that only those in the know could recognize—a mark indicating that this place dealt in forbidden knowledge.
Aran pushed the door open without hesitation. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with artifacts and relics, each one more dangerous than the last. At the far end of the room, a figure sat hunched over a table, peering through a lens at something small and delicate in his hands.
Maros didn't look up as they entered, but his raspy voice filled the room. "You're late, Aran. I've been expecting you."
Aran raised an eyebrow, though he wasn't entirely surprised. Maros had a way of knowing things before anyone else did, a trait that made him both valuable and dangerous.
"Then you know why I'm here," Aran replied, stepping further into the room, his eyes scanning the various objects on the shelves.
Maros finally looked up, his eyes sharp and beady behind his magnifying lens. His face was thin, almost skeletal, but his gaze was alive with intelligence. "I know you're chasing something bigger than your usual fare. Something dark."
He leaned back in his chair, folding his spindly fingers together. "But the question is, what are you willing to pay for the answers?"
Alara shifted beside Aran, her hand instinctively moving toward her hidden dagger. Maros noticed, a thin smile creeping onto his face.
"You won't need that, girl. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have walked in here."
Alara's gaze hardened, but she didn't respond. She trusted Aran's instincts, even if every part of her was screaming to be on guard around someone like Maros.
Aran remained calm. "I'm not here to bargain, Maros. This isn't a game. I need information about a man—someone powerful, possibly from another realm. He's been giving people like Nera access to magic that shouldn't exist."
Maros's expression didn't change, but his eyes flickered with recognition. "Ah, you've stepped into something much deeper than I thought. The man you're asking about… he's no ordinary player in this game."
"Who is he?" Aran asked, his voice even.
Maros chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You won't like the answer."
"I don't care if I like it," Aran said, his tone sharpening. "Tell me what you know."
The room fell into a tense silence. Maros studied Aran for a long moment before he finally spoke. "They call him the Pale King. He's not from this world—at least, not originally. He's older than most of the magic you know. Some say he was banished here, locked out of whatever realm he came from, but he found ways to seep back in, little by little."
"The Pale King…" Alara whispered, the name sending a chill down her spine.
Maros nodded. "He deals in power. Offers it to those who are desperate enough to take it, but it always comes at a cost. Once you've accepted his gift, you're bound to him. That creature Nera summoned? It's just a fragment of the things he can conjure."
Aran's jaw tightened. "What does he want?"
"Control," Maros said simply. "And chaos. He thrives on disorder, on feeding the hunger for power that lies in the hearts of men. He lets them destroy themselves, and when the dust settles, he's the one left standing."
Aran felt a knot form in his stomach. This was worse than he had anticipated. The Pale King wasn't just a man playing with forbidden magic—he was something far darker, far more ancient. And if he had his sights set on Eldrath, it meant the city itself was in grave danger.
"Where can we find him?" Aran asked.
Maros shook his head. "You don't find the Pale King. He finds you. But if you really want to draw him out, you'll need to make a move that forces his hand."
Aran frowned. "And what would that be?"
Maros's eyes gleamed with a wicked light. "You'll need to steal his most valuable asset."
A silence fell over the room as Aran and Alara processed the information. The Pale King's most valuable asset… whatever that was, it wouldn't be easy to get to, and it would likely paint an even larger target on their backs.
"What is it?" Alara finally asked.
Maros leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Pale King has a network of followers, spread throughout the city. But at the center of it all, there's something he protects—an artifact, one that allows him to maintain his connection to his realm. Without it, he's weakened, vulnerable."
Aran's mind raced. This was the break they needed. If they could get their hands on this artifact, it might give them the leverage to fight back against the Pale King's influence.
"Where is it?" Aran asked.
Maros's smile widened, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "I can't give you the exact location, but I can point you in the right direction. There's a man in the lower districts, a former follower of the Pale King. He managed to escape the King's grasp, but he knows more about the artifact than anyone else. His name is Karo."
Aran rose from his seat. "Where can we find him?"
Maros scribbled something on a piece of parchment and slid it across the table. "He's hiding in the sewers beneath the east quarter. But be careful, Aran. Karo's paranoid, and for good reason. He won't trust you easily."
Aran took the parchment and nodded. "I'll deal with him."
As Aran and Alara turned to leave, Maros's voice called after them, a final warning laced with dark amusement. "Be careful, Aran. The Pale King doesn't play by the same rules as the rest of us. If you make a move against him, you'd better be ready to face the consequences."
---
In the Sewers
The smell hit them first—thick, putrid, and overwhelming. The sewers beneath Eldrath were a maze of twisting tunnels, each one more foul than the last. Alara gagged as they descended the ladder into the darkness, but Aran moved forward without hesitation. He had been in worse places, and the stench was the least of his concerns.
The sound of water dripping echoed through the narrow passageways, but it was the occasional scurrying of rats and the distant clank of metal that kept them on edge. Karo was somewhere down here, hiding from the Pale King's reach, but whether he would help them was another matter entirely.
After what felt like an eternity of navigating the labyrinthine sewers, they reached a small chamber, partially collapsed and hidden from the main paths. A single candle flickered inside, illuminating a hunched figure crouched over a pile of papers and old books.
"Karo," Aran called out softly, stepping into the dim light.
The man spun around, his eyes wide with terror. He was gaunt, his clothes ragged, and his skin pale from years spent in hiding. "Who—who are you? How did you find me?"
Aran held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "We're not here to harm you. We need your help."
Karo's eyes darted between Aran and Alara, his hands trembling. "Help? No, no, no… I don't help anyone anymore. Not after what I've seen."
"We're not with the Pale King," Aran said firmly. "We're trying to stop him."
Karo's face twisted in fear and anger. "Stop him? You can't stop him! He's everywhere! He's in the shadows, in your mind, in the very air you breathe!"
Alara stepped forward, her voice calm but insistent. "We know about the artifact. The one he protects."
At the mention of the artifact, Karo froze. His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, a spark of recognition flashed across his face.
"You… you think you can take it?" he whispered, his voice low and conspiratorial
.
Aran nodded. "We have to. It's the only way to weaken him."
Karo let out a bitter laugh. "You're fools. The Pale King won't let you get close to it. You'll die before you even see it."
"Then tell us where it is," Aran pressed. "If we fail, at least you'll know we tried."
Karo hesitated, his mind clearly torn between fear and the faintest glimmer of hope. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly.
"There's a place," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "A temple… hidden deep beneath the city. It's older than Eldrath itself. That's where he keeps it."
Aran's pulse quickened. "Where is this temple?"
Karo gestured to a faded map on the wall, its edges torn and worn. "It's marked here. But be careful. The Pale King has followers guarding it—fanatics who would die to protect him."
Aran took a step closer to the map, memorizing the location. "Thank you."
As they turned to leave, Karo's voice called after them, trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "If you fail… if you don't destroy it… he'll come for all of us."
---