The streets of Mortelune twisted like the veins of a forgotten corpse, winding beneath a sky where the sun dared not linger. Fog ruled supreme, drowning the uneven cobblestones in a ghostly glow. Buildings too old to stand upright leaned shoulder to shoulder, whispering secrets to the bravest of passersby.
Here, nothing was truly alive, but nothing was quite dead either. Mortelune was trapped in eternal twilight, cradled by the distant chimes of a forgotten temple.
The heart of the city beat to the rhythm of dark cults thriving in its underbelly. Citizens kept their eyes down, walking briskly under the dim lanterns, avoiding the places where shadows danced without music. There were rumors—of children vanishing at dusk, of muffled screams swallowed by stone, and of bloody offerings laid beneath obsidian altars. But no one spoke of them aloud.
At the center of this labyrinth, where three nameless streets converged, stood The Cabinet of Whispers. A small, tarnished copper sign swayed gently in the breeze, engraved with symbols few could read. Passersby averted their gaze, as if their subconscious screamed not to linger.
Behind the heavy wooden door, a man sat alone.
He was neither old nor young. His eyes, a pale shade of gray, scanned worn documents. The ticking of an invisible clock dictated his solitude, a symphony that seemed to stretch into eternity. Silas never worried about time passing. Here, time was a tamed beast, serving his business.
A book slipped from his hand and thudded onto the desk. Silas leaned back in his leather chair, letting his mind drift. He knew Mortelune better than anyone. He knew its alleys where the air reeked of ash, and the ash smelled like death. But even this city still had secrets to keep from him.
A heavy knock shattered the silence.
Silas opened his eyes. He wasn't expecting anyone.
"Enter," he called out without rising.
The door creaked open, and a figure slipped into the room. Tall and slender, its skin shimmered faintly beneath the candlelight. Its face was a smooth, black mask, and behind that mask, Silas sensed eyes watching him.
"I seek a service," the intruder said, their voice echoing like something from another world.
Silas raised an eyebrow, his hand instinctively sliding toward the dagger hidden beneath the desk.
"This isn't a cabinet of curiosities," he replied.
"I am not an ordinary client."
The mask tilted forward slightly. The candlelight flickered, casting the shadow of two horns onto the wall behind him.
"I am a demon."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Silas's lips.
"This isn't a cabinet for the ordinary either."