The crypt's heavy silence lingered as they made their way out, each step crunching over brittle bones and loose stone. The flickering lantern barely illuminated the narrow passage ahead, and the cold that clung to Arlan's skin refused to fade.
His mind was still reeling.
That skeleton—it hadn't just been another mindless undead. It had seen him. It had spoken to him, even if no one else had heard it.
"You... are like me."
What did that mean? Arlan knew almost nothing about necromancy—how it worked, how it felt. But that moment of instinct, that pull he had felt—he had stopped it. Even if just for a second.
And the amulet…
His fingers brushed against the concealed artifact in his pocket. It had pulsed at the same time the skeleton had reached for him.
Coincidence? Or something more?
"Arlan."
Mira's voice pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced at her. She was watching him again. Too closely.
"You alright?" she asked.
Leila snorted. "I don't blame him if he's not. That was the creepiest thing we've ever dealt with."
Arlan forced a chuckle, trying to sound like himself. "Yeah. Just… didn't expect that thing to move like that."
Tomas groaned, rubbing his shoulder. "It nearly ripped my arm off."
Beren nodded, his brow furrowed. "That wasn't just a skeleton. That was something worse."
Mira folded her arms. "And we still don't know why it was buried down here."
They all looked back at the ruined coffin, its occupant now little more than scattered bones and dust. It felt wrong leaving it like this, but no one suggested staying.
"Doesn't matter," Tomas said. "Whatever it was, it's dead for good now."
Arlan wasn't so sure.
As they climbed out of the cellar, blinking against the dim morning light spilling into the storeroom, Old Thorne was waiting.
"Well?" the innkeeper grumbled, arms crossed.
Leila made a face. "Your 'cellar problem' was a lot worse than slimes."
Tomas dropped a single bone onto the counter. "Ever seen anything like this before?"
Thorne paled at the sight, eyes darting between them. "Gods… you actually found something."
Mira narrowed her eyes. "You knew!?."
The innkeeper hesitated. Then, with a defeated sigh, he rubbed a hand down his face. "I—maybe. But not about the… bones. I knew this place was old, but—" He gestured toward the ruined cellar below. "I didn't know people were buried under there."
Tomas wasn't convinced. "You didn't think it was odd that your cellar collapsed into a crypt?"
Thorne huffed. "Look, I inherited this damn inn from my grandfather, and he got it from his father before him. Nobody ever told me there was a damned grave under the place."
Mira studied him for a moment before sighing. "Fine. But whatever that thing was, it's gone now."
Beren stretched. "And we expect a bonus to the payment."
Thorne scoffed but tossed them a small pouch of coins anyway. "Yeah, yeah. You lot are crazy enough to deserve it."
Leila peeked into the bag. "Could've been more, considering we nearly died."
Thorne grunted. "You want more? Buy a drink. I'll even knock off a few coppers."
Leila groaned but didn't argue.
With the job done, they left the inn behind, stepping onto the cobbled streets of Duskhaven. Morning mist still clung to the air, mixing with the distant scent of baking bread and the salty tang of the docks.
"Well, that's another quest done," Tomas said, stretching his arms behind his head. "I say we take the rest of the day off."
Leila nodded. "For once, I agree."
Mira exhaled, still deep in thought. "Something's still bothering me about that crypt."
Arlan tensed. "What do you mean?"
She glanced at him. "That skeleton wasn't random. It moved with purpose."
"Most undead do try to kill people," Beren pointed out.
Mira shook her head. "Not like that. And did you see how the bones in the cellar were old and whitered, but that one was still intact? Like something was preserving it?"
Arlan fought to keep his expression neutral. "Could just be old magic."
Mira gave him another look. "Maybe."
But she didn't seem convinced.
Arlan changed the subject. "Are we really taking the day off, then?"
Tomas laughed. "You in a rush to dive into another death trap?"
Arlan forced a smile. "No, just—" Need to figure out what the hell just happened.
Leila patted his shoulder. "Relax, Arlan. You survived, we got paid, and we didn't die horribly. That's a win in my book."
Beren cracked his knuckles. "I could go for food."
The others agreed, and soon, they were making their way toward the guild tavern.
Arlan followed, keeping pace, keeping his breathing even.
But his mind was racing.
That skeleton had been waiting for something. Maybe for him. The voice that had whispered to him—it knew what he was.
And worst of all?
He had felt something, too.
Something familiar.
Something hungry.
As his friends laughed and chatted ahead of him, Arlan glanced down at his hand. His fingers still tingled from the cold pulse of magic he had used.
He didn't know what he was becoming.
But he was starting to realize something terrifying.
He wasn't alone anymore.
And whatever was out there in the dark?
It knew him.
It was watching him.
And sooner or later, it would come looking.