Part 1: The Unseen WatchersAedric stood frozen as the hooded figure took a step closer. The mist curled unnaturally around its form, distorting the space between them. His instincts screamed at him to move, to run, but something rooted him in place. It was not fear, not entirely—something deeper, something buried within his mind, kept him still.
The figure raised its hand, fingers barely visible beneath tattered sleeves. Aedric's breath came shallow, his heart pounding in his chest. The whispers in the air grew louder, merging into an indistinct hum, pressing against his skull, weaving themselves into thoughts that were not his own.
Then, just as the figure took another step forward, the mist thickened—shrouding everything in an impenetrable veil. Aedric blinked, and in the span of a heartbeat, the figure was gone.
A chill ran down his spine. He had not imagined it. Something—or someone—was watching him.
A gust of wind swept through the streets, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and something else—something metallic, something old. It filled his lungs, a scent that stirred something unplaceable within him. He turned sharply, scanning the alleys, the rooftops, the crumbling remains of what had once been homes. Empty, silent.
No. Not silent. The whispers had faded, but something else remained in their place—a presence.
Aedric exhaled sharply. He needed to move, needed to find shelter before the whispers returned.
Part 2: The Hollow StreetsThe streets of Ravengarde stretched before him like the bones of a forgotten beast, empty and lifeless. Lanterns flickered weakly, their dim glow doing little to dispel the oppressive darkness that clung to the city. Buildings leaned into the streets, their facades cracked, their windows dark like empty sockets staring into nothing.Aedric walked cautiously, his boots echoing too loudly in the silence. The rhythm of his steps was off, disjointed, as if the ground beneath him resisted the weight of his presence. He searched the deserted buildings, peering into shattered windows and broken doorways. Dust and time had claimed this place, yet he could feel the weight of unseen eyes following him.
He turned a corner and froze. A figure—a man—stood slumped against a crumbling wall, motionless. Aedric hesitated before approaching, his hand reaching for a weapon that was no longer at his side.
"Hello?" His voice was rough, unused, barely more than a whisper.
No response.
He stepped closer. The figure's head lolled forward, revealing hollowed eyes and sunken features. The skin was stretched too tightly over bones, the lips parted slightly as if caught in a final, unfinished breath. Aedric recoiled, instinctively stepping back.
The man was dead.
And yet, as Aedric watched, the body shifted—just slightly, just enough to be impossible. A breathless movement, a twitch of a limb that should not have been able to move.
His hands clenched into fists, his pulse hammering against his ribs. The whispers returned, slithering through the fog like unseen serpents, filling the air with fragmented murmurs.
And then—
The dead man turned his head.
Part 3: The Doors That Should Not OpenAedric forced himself to move. The corpse remained still, but he could not shake the feeling that it was merely waiting. That it was aware of him in some terrible, incomprehensible way.
He turned away, pressing forward through the thickening mist, his breath uneven. The air was colder now, heavy with something unseen pressing down on him. His thoughts raced, disjointed, disconnected from any certainty.
Ahead, an old inn stood defiantly against the weight of time, its wooden frame warped and splintered. The sign above its door swung listlessly in the unseen wind, the name long faded. It was the first intact building he had seen, a structure that still held shape against the ruin surrounding it.
He reached for the door, hesitated. The silence stretched.
Then, from within, he heard it.
A chair scraping against the floor.
Aedric's pulse quickened. He pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges splitting the stillness like a wound being torn open.
The inn was empty.
Dust hung heavy in the air, the tables and chairs untouched. Yet the disturbance was undeniable. Someone—or something—had moved. He stepped cautiously inside, the wooden floorboards groaning beneath his weight. His breath was steady, controlled, but his fingers twitched at his sides, ready for something, anything.
The door creaked as it swung shut behind him. Aedric took another step forward, his eyes scanning every shadowed corner. The whispers had ceased, replaced by something far worse.
A single breath, drawn slow and deliberate, from somewhere just beyond the edge of sight.
The floor above him creaked.