A heavy silence settled over the group. The faint glow of their lanterns cast long, jagged shadows on the cellar walls. Dust floated in the air, stirred by their breath and movement.
Beren cracked his knuckles. "Well, if there's something inside, let's deal with it now."
Mira hesitated. "We should be careful. The skeletons were bad enough."
Tomas ran a hand over his face. "If something jumps out of that coffin, I swear I'm punching someone."
Leila tilted her head. "It's already half-rotted, though. Maybe it's just a corpse."
Arlan wasn't convinced.
Something about this crypt felt wrong—wrong in a way he could feel beneath his skin. It wasn't just the undead; it was something deeper, something old.
Still, they had come this far. If they turned back now, the questions would never leave his mind.
Beren placed both hands on the lid, glancing at the others. "On three."
"Wait," Mira said suddenly, reaching into her pouch. She pulled out a vial of clear liquid. "Holy water. Just in case."
Beren grunted in approval. "Alright. One… two…"
With a groan of protest, the ancient wood split as Beren wrenched the lid free.
The stench hit them first—thick, rotten, yet… strange. It wasn't just the usual decay of a corpse. It was old magic, something sour and lingering.
Inside lay a skeletal figure draped in the remnants of a dark robe, its bones unnaturally intact despite the centuries. Unlike the brittle skeletons they had fought earlier, this one had not been disturbed by time. It almost looked… preserved.
Arlan's fingers twitched inside his cloak, brushing against the amulet hidden in his pocket. A slow, pulsing warmth radiated from the metal, as if responding to the presence of the corpse.
He swallowed hard. He didn't like this.
"Gods…" Mira breathed. "This was no ordinary cellar."
Beren let out a low whistle. "Someone important, maybe? A noble?"
Leila frowned. "Then why would they be buried under a damn inn?"
Tomas, gripping his sword, glanced at the others. "Should we—should we check if there's anything valuable?"
Mira shot him a glare. "Looting a grave? Really?"
The moment stretched in silence.
Then the corpse moved.
A dry, rasping sound filled the chamber as its skeletal fingers twitched against the decayed fabric of its robes. Dust spilled from its unmoving jaw as its ribcage shifted, rising and falling like a breath that hadn't been taken in centuries.
Arlan's pulse roared in his ears.
That thing is waking up.
"Step back!" Mira hissed.
Too late.
The corpse lunged.
Beren barely yanked his axe up in time, blocking its sudden attack with the wooden haft. The force of the impact sent him stumbling back, cursing.
Tomas reacted instantly, slamming his shield forward. The skeleton reeled, but it didn't collapse like the others had. It moved with unnatural fluidity—not the slow, awkward shuffle of a mindless undead, but something aware.
Leila loosed an arrow. It struck the creature's ribs and stuck, but the thing didn't even flinch.
"Arlan!" Mira shouted. "Do something!"
His mind raced. What do they expect me to do?! His cover as a "Summoner" wouldn't help here. He had no holy magic, no fire—no way to pass this off as anything normal.
The skeleton turned toward him.
Its empty sockets locked onto his.
A sudden, overwhelming pressure crashed into Arlan's skull, like a thousand whispers scratching at the edges of his thoughts.
"You... are like me."
A shudder tore through him. He staggered back, barely keeping his balance. What was that?!
The skeleton lunged.
Instinct took over.
He didn't think. He didn't hesitate.
He reached.
A pulse of cold energy surged from somewhere deep inside him. It spread through the air, sinking into the ground, the bones, the darkness itself.
For a fraction of a second, the skeleton froze mid-strike.
Arlan's breath hitched.
The moment shattered.
Tomas drove his sword into the creature's spine, severing it with a powerful downward strike. The skeleton collapsed in a heap, bones scattering across the crypt floor.
Silence.
Arlan's hands trembled. He tucked them into his cloak to hide the shaking.
That had been close. Too close.
If the others had noticed—if they had seen that strange hesitation in the skeleton's movements—they didn't say anything.
Mira's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and calculating, but she said nothing.
Beren exhaled heavily. "Damn thing was fast."
Leila nudged the remains with her boot. "That was… not normal."
Tomas sheathed his sword, his jaw tight. "We should go. I don't want to find out what else is buried down here."
No one disagreed.
Arlan forced himself to move, to act normal, even as his head spun.
That thing had spoken to him. Not with words, but with something deeper—something cold and hungry.
And for a moment, just a flicker, it had recognized him.
He didn't know what he had done. He didn't know what the skeleton had seen in him.
But one thing was certain.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.