The faint lights of the town flickered like fireflies in the distance, their glow eerie against the cold, empty streets. As Astrid, Lucien, and Ronan approached, the unnatural stillness set Astrid's nerves on edge. She glanced at Lucien, whose hand rested on the hilt of his sword. His stride was purposeful, his eyes scanning the shadows for unseen threats.
Astrid's mind wandered briefly to her previous life—how she'd once walked similar streets, though they had been bustling with noise and people. The memory of crowded marketplaces and laughing children felt like a distant dream now, and the stark contrast made this emptiness all the more unsettling.
"Let's find shelter," Lucien said, his tone decisive.
They stopped in front of a two-story inn with a faded sign that swung lazily in the breeze. The windows were lit faintly from within, though the place looked weathered and forgotten. Lucien pushed the door open cautiously, his sword half-drawn as he stepped inside.
The warm scent of stew filled the air, a surprising contrast to the lifeless streets outside. Behind the counter stood an elderly man with kind eyes, his back slightly hunched as he stirred a pot.
"Well, this is unexpected," Astrid murmured, her fingers still tingling with magic as she scanned the room for traps.
The man looked up, his expression calm but curious. "Travelers? At this hour? You've come far, I imagine."
Lucien studied him, his grip on his sword tightening. "Who are you?"
"Just an innkeeper," the man said with a gentle smile. "Name's Osric. Been running this place long before the shadows came."
Astrid narrowed her eyes. "And you stayed here? While the rest of the town fled?"
Osric chuckled softly, his laugh a soothing contrast to the tension in the air. "I didn't see the need to, so I stayed right here. The shadows don't bother me much."
Lucien's stance remained tense, but Astrid stepped forward, her gaze sharp. "Why don't they bother you?"
Osric's smile didn't waver. "Perhaps because I don't fear them. Fear feeds shadows, you see. Give them nothing, and they have no hold on you."
Despite their wariness, Osric insisted they sit, ladling bowls of stew for each of them. Astrid hesitated, her mind flashing to lessons learned in her past life. Trust was dangerous, and kindness often came with strings. But the warmth of the stew and the calmness of the old man's demeanor chipped away at her skepticism.
"You've faced the shadowbeasts, haven't you?" Osric asked as he poured them each a drink.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
Osric leaned on the counter, his gaze steady. "It's written all over you. The weariness, the tension. You carry it like armor."
Astrid stirred her stew, her thoughts racing. "If you know so much, then maybe you can tell us why this town is like this. What happened here?"
Osric's smile faded slightly. "The curse has roots here. Deep ones. The shadows you fight aren't the source. They're the symptom."
Ronan looked up, his voice hesitant. "Then what's the source?"
Osric's gaze grew distant, his voice soft. "The church at the heart of the town. It hides truths that were meant to stay buried. But the truth has a way of clawing its way back to the surface."
Astrid's grip on her spoon tightened as Osric's words stirred something deep within her—a memory from her previous life. She had once visited a small, forgotten town like this, searching for answers to questions she hadn't dared ask. The whispers of forbidden knowledge, the way people had looked at her with a mixture of pity and fear—it all came rushing back.
"This isn't the first time I've heard something like this," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the crackling of the fire.
Lucien glanced at her, his expression curious but wary. "What do you mean?"
Astrid shook her head, forcing the memory away. "Nothing. Just thinking aloud."
After the meal, the group were shown to their rooms for the night. However, to be on the safe side, they opted to share a room. The night passed in uneasy calm.
The morning, they woke up bright and early to continue their quest.
Osric handed them a small vial of silvery liquid. "For the road," he said, his tone gentle. "If the shadows grow too strong, this will buy you time. But only a little."
Astrid studied the vial, her instincts warring with her gratitude. "Why help us?"
Osric smiled faintly. "Perhaps I just like seeing people fight back. Or perhaps I see something in you—something the shadows fear."
Lucien accepted the vial, tucking it into his belt. "We'll see if you're right."
As they left the inn, the warmth of the fire faded quickly, replaced by the biting cold of the night.
The church rose before them like a jagged scar against the night sky, its spire reaching toward the stars. The rhythmic sound of bells echoed faintly, though no one could be seen within or around it.
Astrid's magic flickered faintly in her hands as they approached. "I don't like this," she said, her voice low.
Lucien moved ahead, his movements careful and deliberate. "Stay behind me. Watch the sides."
Ronan clutched his lute, his fingers trembling. "Do you think he was telling the truth? About what's in there?"
Astrid glanced at the musician, her smirk faint but reassuring. "We'll find out soon enough. Just be ready for anything."
As they stepped into the churchyard, the shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally long, wrapping around the group like unseen hands. The rhythmic bells grew louder, their tones deep and foreboding.
Lucien tightened his grip on his sword, his voice steady. "This is it".
The heavy wooden doors of the church groaned as Lucien pushed them open, the sound reverberating through the oppressive silence of the town. Inside, the air was cold and stale, carrying the faint scent of dust and decay. Flickering candles lined the walls, their dim light casting long shadows that seemed to shift with every movement.
Astrid stepped inside cautiously, her magic simmering just beneath the surface. The vast interior of the church felt cavernous, the high ceilings swallowed by darkness. Rows of wooden pews stretched toward the altar, where an ornate tapestry hung, its edges frayed with age.
"This place reeks of dark energy," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lucien's sword was already drawn as his gaze swept the room. "Keep your focus. Look for anything out of place."
Ronan followed closely, his lute strapped across his back. While the tension still tightened his jaw, he no longer hesitated. Instead, he kept his eyes on the walls and the carvings etched into the stone. "These patterns—don't they look like they're... alive?"
Astrid glanced at the carvings, her brow furrowing. "Alive isn't the word I'd use. But they're definitely active."
They moved carefully down the aisle, the eerie quiet amplifying every sound. Astrid's eyes lingered on the intricate carvings depicting shadowy figures bound in chains, surrounded by writhing darkness.
"Not your average house of worship," she remarked, tracing the outline of one figure. The stone beneath her fingers was warm, almost pulsing.
Lucien joined her, his gaze sharp. "What are we dealing with?"
Astrid frowned, her mind pulling on fragments of knowledge from her past life. "This isn't just a church. It's a siphon. Whatever's buried here... the whole building is feeding it."
Ronan knelt by a pew, picking up a torn hymnal. As he flipped through the brittle pages, a piece of parchment slipped free. He scanned it quickly, his voice steady as he read aloud. "May the shadows consume those unworthy, and the darkness cleanse the land."
Astrid snatched the parchment, her eyes narrowing. "That's not a prayer. It's a curse."
Lucien's expression darkened. "Then we're definitely in the right place."
At the front of the church, near the altar, Lucien motioned for them to join him. He stood near the edge of the dais, his boot nudging aside a tattered rug to reveal a faint outline in the stone—a trapdoor.
Astrid knelt beside him, brushing away dust to uncover the rusted iron handle. "Let me guess. Locked?"
Lucien smirked faintly. "Not for long."
Instead of waiting for her magic, Lucien jammed the tip of his sword into the edge of the mechanism, levering it with a sharp crack. The trapdoor creaked open, revealing a narrow spiral staircase descending into darkness.
Astrid shot him a look. "Subtle."
"Effective," Lucien replied, motioning for them to follow.
Ronan took a step forward, gripping his lute like a weapon. "At least it's not another shadowbeast. Yet."
"Don't jinx it," Astrid muttered, her magic flaring faintly as she descended.
The air grew colder as they moved deeper, the walls narrowing around them. The faint sound of dripping water echoed through the passage, growing louder with each step.
The staircase opened into a wide underground chamber, its walls lined with shelves holding ancient tomes and jars filled with strange, preserved substances. At the center of the room stood a massive stone altar, its surface glowing faintly with intricate runes.
Astrid moved toward the altar, her fingers tracing the edges of the markings. "This is old magic. Dangerous magic."
Lucien approached cautiously. "Can you disable it?"
"Not without consequences," Astrid admitted. "Whatever it's containing, it's feeding on the energy in this room. If I disrupt it—"
A low growl rumbled through the chamber, cutting her off. The shadows along the walls began to shift, coalescing into a massive form.
"Well, there it is," Astrid muttered, her magic flaring brighter.
The creature stepped into the faint light—a grotesque amalgamation of flesh and darkness, its glowing red eyes locking onto them.
Lucien moved first, his sword slicing through the air. "Ronan, focus the sound. Astrid, prepare for a reaction from the runes."
Ronan stepped forward, his lute already in his hands. "Got it," he said, his voice calm as he strummed a powerful chord. The resonance rippled through the room, disrupting the shadows and forcing the creature to falter.
Astrid seized the moment, pouring her magic into the runes. The glow intensified, sending waves of light pulsing through the chamber. The creature howled, lashing out at Lucien with jagged claws.
Lucien dodged with precision, his blade cutting deep into the creature's flank. "Astrid, how much longer?"
"Working on it!" she snapped, sweat beading on her forehead as the runes began to shift.
Ronan struck another chord, the vibrations stronger this time. "It's destabilizing!" he called, his confidence growing with each note.
The creature roared, its form flickering violently as Lucien delivered a final, calculated strike to its core. It dissolved into black mist, leaving the room eerily quiet.
As the mist cleared, Astrid collapsed to one knee, her hands trembling from the effort. Lucien helped her to her feet, his expression neutral but his grip firm.
"It's done," he said simply.
"Not yet," Astrid replied, turning her attention back to the altar. The runes had faded, revealing a hidden passage beneath the stone. The rhythmic dripping of water gave way to faint whispers, their source chillingly close.
"Another one?" Ronan asked, though his tone carried less fear and more grim determination.
Astrid smirked faintly, though her exhaustion was evident. "Welcome to the world of curses. There's always another one."
Lucien adjusted his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable. "Stay sharp. We don't know what's waiting down there."
The group descended into the newly revealed passage, the air growing colder with every step. The whispers grew louder, their tones incomprehensible but laced with menace.
At the end of the passage, they reached a massive iron door etched with the same glowing symbols as the altar. The whispers stopped abruptly, leaving an oppressive silence.
Astrid placed her hand on the door, her magic sparking faintly. "This is it," she said quietly. "The heart of the curse."
Lucien stood beside her, his sword raised. "We finish this. Together."
As Astrid pushed the door open, the shadows within seemed to reach out, pulling them into the unknown.