The fire had thinned to a whisper.
Renric lay beneath a folded cloak, head buried in his arms, breath shallow but steady. The heat from the coals did little to fight the chill creeping in from the tunnel's mouth. Still, for once, his bones weren't rattling with hunger or fear.
Until it came.
It didn't roar. It didn't screech like the horrors that wandered at night.
It scraped.
A low, dragging sound — like wet metal chains over broken stone. No rhythm. No breath. Just purpose.
The Pathfinder was already standing.
"Don't move," he said.
Renric didn't need telling twice. He slid behind the stack of bone crates, lowering his breath, eyes just peeking through the cracks.
The thing slithered into the alcove. It moved wrong — like it wasn't meant to crawl. A centipede shape, too long, its ribs pushing against translucent skin. Limbs folded over each other like spears made of wet bone. No mouth. No eyes. Just twitching antennae, flicking with razor precision.
It crept closer to the fire, then paused. The heat made its skin bubble.
The Pathfinder didn't draw his blade. His chains didn't budge.
He raised a hand.
And the shadows peeled off the walls.
Not cast — peeled. Like paint curling off heat. They dripped from the ceiling, pooled at his feet, then rose like tendrils made of ink and instinct.
The creature sensed it too late.
The tendrils struck without sound. They threaded through the creature's ribs, wrapped around its limbs, and froze it mid-motion.
Suspended.
The shadows twisted once.
Crack.
Its spine split. The thing dropped in silence.
The shadows hissed as they retreated — not back into the walls, but into the Pathfinder himself.
"You can come out."
Renric emerged, slowly.
He walked past the twitching corpse, eyes wide, pulse steady.
"You didn't even touch it."
"I didn't need to," the Pathfinder replied.
Renric was quiet.
"…That was an attunement?"
The man turned his helm toward him.
"Shadowcast."
Renric nodded slowly.
"I've heard of Thundercall," he muttered. "Flamecharmers. Galebreathers. Even Frostdraws. But… I've never seen that."
The Pathfinder's voice was flat. "Because most who use it don't live long enough to show anyone."
Renric didn't flinch.
"I want to learn it."
That made the man pause.
"You want to learn to bind shadows while you can't even hold a dagger straight."
Renric stepped closer. "I've survived this long. That has to count."
The Pathfinder was still.
Then he reached down into his cloak, pulling out a small, black stone. Polished. Smooth. Heavy. He tossed it to Renric.
Renric caught it. The moment his skin touched the surface, something shifted.
The air bent.
The stone didn't feel warm or cold. It felt aware.
The Pathfinder crouched beside him.
"Hold it every night. Listen. Don't speak. Don't think. Just let it sit."
"And when it speaks?"
The man's voice dropped lower.
"Then it's looking at you too."
He stood, returning to the fire. The corpse had already begun to collapse in on itself — shadows eating shadows.
"You don't cast until you understand the thing watching back. Shadow doesn't give power. It lends it."
Renric gripped the stone tighter.
The fire cracked behind him.
And somewhere inside the stone's silence… something waited.
End of Chapter 4.