The guild hall bustled with the usual morning crowd—adventurers checking quests, bragging about recent dungeon expeditions, or simply enjoying their breakfasts. Arlan followed Mira and Leila inside, pulling his cloak tighter around him. The amulet in his pocket felt heavier than before, as if the entity within was watching through the thin layer of cloth.
Bones remained hidden, curled up in the folds of his cloak, quiet but alert.
Tomas and Beren were already at their usual table near the quest board. Tomas had a mug of cheap ale in hand—ridiculous for this early in the morning—and was grinning as he scanned the list of available jobs. Beren, as usual, was chewing on a piece of dried meat while leaning over the table.
"Ah, the sleeper awakens," Tomas greeted when he saw Arlan. "Rough night?"
"You could say that," Arlan muttered.
Leila smirked, flopping into a chair. "He was probably too busy talking to his creepy rat."
Mira shot her a look. "Leave him alone, Leila."
Arlan forced a chuckle, playing along. "Bones is a great listener, actually. Unlike you lot."
Tomas laughed. "Fair. Alright, so—we have options today. We could go back into the dungeon for more loot, or we could take a simple job in town." He tapped the board. "There's one about missing cargo from a merchant's shipment. Could be bandits, could be monsters."
Mira wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather fight slimes than deal with people trying to kill us."
Leila scanned the board, her fingers tracing over the quest sheets. "What about this one? 'Ruined Cellar Investigation'? Apparently, some old wine cellar collapsed beneath an inn and something's been making noises down there."
Beren snorted. "Rats again?"
Arlan stiffened slightly. A collapsed cellar, strange noises… that sounded like something unnatural.
Mira leaned in. "It says an innkeeper reported seeing shadows moving under the wreckage."
Now that got Arlan's attention.
"I say we take it," he spoke up before he could second-guess himself. "It's in town, so it should be safer than the dungeon. And if something's really down there, it's better we deal with it before it becomes a problem."
Leila folded her arms. "You just want to avpid going back to the dungeon, don't you?"
Arlan gave her his best innocent look. "Maybe."
Tomas shrugged. "Alright, let's do it. Easy coin, and we get to keep whatever we find."
The group took the quest slip to the front desk, where Gareth—ever the grumpy guild clerk—sighed and stamped their papers. "Old Thorne's inn, down by the docks. He's been whining about this for a week. You lot are the fourth team to take a look—hope you actually do something about it."
Arlan frowned. "Other teams already tried?"
Gareth nodded. "First one said the cellar was empty. Second said they heard something but didn't go deeper. Third team refused to talk about it." He glanced at them. "Be careful"
That did not bode well.
Old Thorne's Inn
The inn sat near the docks, a squat building with faded wooden shingles and salt-stained walls. It smelled of brine, old ale, and damp wood.
Old Thorne himself—a burly man with thick arms and a graying beard—greeted them with an unimpressed grunt.
"You the latest kids to poke at my damned cellar?" he asked.
Tomas crossed his arms. "We're adventurers."
"You're kids."
Leila rolled her eyes. "We'll still solve your problem. Show us the cellar."
Grumbling, Thorne led them through the back of the inn to a storage room. Barrels of stale ale and rotting sacks of grain lined the walls. A large wooden trapdoor sat at the center, dusted with debris. The planks around it were cracked, as if something had broken through from below.
Thorne kicked the trapdoor. "Was a wine cellar once. Couple months ago, part of the floor gave in. Ever since, my staff's been hearing things—knocking, whispers. I even saw a shape moving down there."
Arlan felt the amulet pulse faintly in his pocket. He clenched his jaw.
"What happened to the other teams?" Mira asked.
"First bunch saw nothing. Second claimed they saw bones sticking out of the dirt but ran off before checking. The third?" Thorne hesitated. "They went down. Came back pale as death. Wouldn't say a word about what they saw."
Arlan exchanged glances with the others. This was definitely not just a rat problem.
"Well," Tomas said, drawing his sword. "Let's take a look."
The trapdoor creaked as it was pried open. A draft of stale, cold air wafted up from below, carrying the scent of damp earth and something… older.
They descended one by one, their lantern casting long shadows against the crumbling stone walls. The cellar was larger than expected—a series of narrow corridors stretching beneath the inn, old storage racks still lined with dusty bottles.
But something was wrong.
The air was thick, almost heavy. It smelled of decay, but not fresh rot—something ancient, lingering. The dust on the floor had been disturbed recently, footprints leading deeper into the ruins.
"Someone's been here," Leila whispered.
"Or something," Beren muttered.
Bones, hidden in Arlan's cloak, stirred uneasily. Arlan felt it too—that prickling sensation at the back of his neck, the one that told him he wasn't alone.
Then, they heard it.
A faint scraping sound, like nails dragging across stone.
Mira clutched her staff tighter. "That's not a rat."
"No," Arlan murmured, his fingers drifting toward his pocket. "It's something else."
From the shadows beyond the collapsed tunnel, a shape stirred.
A skeletal figure emerged—its bones blackened with age, empty sockets flickering with a dim, eerie light. More shapes followed.
Undead.
Arlan's pulse pounded. This wasn't just some abandoned cellar—something had woken the dead.
Tomas swore under his breath. "Weapons ready."
Arlan inhaled deeply, gripping the amulet hidden in his cloak. The voice from last night stirred again in his mind, amused.
"Well now, this is interesting."
The skeletons moved closer.
Arlan had a choice to make.
Would he reveal his true magic? Or would he risk his friends dying to keep his secret?
Either way, this battle was about to change everything.
And there was no turning back.