The Shadow's Bargain (Expanded)
The thing took one slow, deliberate step forward, and the sound was wrong—too heavy for the thinness of its legs, as if each step carried the weight of mountains.
Elara's instinct screamed at her to run, but her feet refused to obey. It was as though the cold in the air had sunk into her bones, rooting her in place.
The silver threads glinted again as it moved, drawing her eyes despite her fear. They weren't sewn into flesh—they pierced through it, vanishing into the shadows that clung to its form.
When it stopped just a few paces away, the silence became unbearable. And then—
a voice.
It did not come from the creature's mouth, for it had none. Instead, it poured directly into her skull, low and resonant, like the deep toll of a funeral bell.
"You came… following the call, didn't you?"
Elara's fingers found the hilt of the dagger hidden inside her cloak, pressing so tightly her knuckles ached. She had no idea what it meant by the call, but she refused to answer. Her silence felt like the only weapon she could hold onto.
The thing tilted its head, the motion both curious and predatory. Slowly, one arm extended forward, impossibly long, ending in a hand that seemed carved from black stone. In its palm lay a pendant—a small disc of onyx, carved with ancient, curling lines that seemed to shift when she tried to focus on them.
Her breath caught. She had seen that pattern before—etched faintly in the margins of forbidden manuscripts, always accompanied by warnings that no one could truly explain.
The voice returned, colder now.
"Take it."
Elara hesitated, the air around her thickening until every inhale felt like swallowing water. But her hand, as if guided by something beyond her will, reached out.
The moment her skin touched the pendant, a shock of freezing energy surged up her arm, flooding her chest, stabbing straight into her mind.
And that was when the visions began—
a burning city under a broken sky, the ground split wide as shadowy creatures poured through. People screamed. The air was full of the smell of ash and blood.
Elara stumbled back, gasping, her free hand clawing at the wall for balance. The thing stood unmoving, eyes still fixed on her, as if waiting for her to understand something she didn't yet know.
"You are the inheritor of the pact," the voice said.
And before she could demand an explanation, its entire form unraveled into threads of silver light—
and was gone.