They arrived at dusk.
The sky was dipped in bruised purple, bleeding into the horizon like an old wound. Fog crept over the hills, slithering between crooked trees and broken fences. The wind had died an hour ago, and now, even the forest seemed to hold its breath.
Chris didn't like it.
"Tell me again why we're stopping here?" he asked, gripping the hilt of his sword.
Damian adjusted his cloak. "Because we've been walking for twelve hours and your left leg is about to give out."
"It is not."
"You're limping like someone stabbed you with a loaf of bread."
Chris opened his mouth, then paused. "That doesn't even—ugh. Fine."
The "town" ahead was little more than a cluster of crumbling stone buildings and crooked lamp posts. No lights, no movement. Just silence. And fog.
"This place looks like it's been dead for years," Chris muttered, stepping over a fallen sign that read:
W E L C O M E T O G R A Y H O L L O W
"Technically," Damian said, "it has."
Chris stopped walking. "Come again?"
"It's cursed."
"I'm sorry—"
"Only lightly. Mostly just haunted. People pass through. No one stays."
Chris stared at him. "And you didn't think to mention that earlier?"
"I didn't want you to panic."
"I'm not panicking," Chris snapped. "I'm just... very loudly concerned."
Damian smirked. "You snore. That's louder."
Chris groaned and trudged after him. "If I get dragged into the netherworld by some vengeful potato farmer, I swear—"
"No one's died from this curse. Recently."
"That is not comforting!"
---
They found shelter in an abandoned inn near the center of town. Dust coated every surface like snowfall. The wooden beams creaked with each step, and the fireplace sat cold and cracked, half-choked with soot.
Chris dropped his pack by the wall and looked around. "Well, it's not murder-y at all."
Damian ran a hand along the bar counter, then wiped his fingers on his cloak. "It'll do. The roof's intact."
Chris lit a lantern and placed it on the table. Shadows danced across the walls.
"Do you think we're safe here?" he asked.
Damian didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was low. "I've stayed here before. The ghosts don't like noise. Or light. Or company, really. But if we stay quiet, they leave us alone."
Chris sat heavily on the edge of a broken couch. "Fantastic. A cursed inn with social anxiety."
---
They ate in silence.
Damian chewed dried jerky with surgical focus. Chris picked at a biscuit he'd half-burned over the fire earlier. Neither spoke much, and when the lantern started to flicker, they didn't relight it.
Eventually, Chris leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "Y'know," he said, voice hushed, "this isn't the worst place I've ever slept."
Damian raised a brow. "Do I want to know what is?"
Chris grinned. "Once fell asleep inside a broken chicken cart during a sandstorm. Woke up with a beak in my mouth."
Damian actually snorted. "Impressive."
Chris smiled at the sound.
Damian rarely laughed, and when he did, it was soft — as if he didn't want to get caught enjoying anything.
---
Night fell fast.
The fog outside thickened into a wall. The inn groaned with age and wind. Damian set magical wards near the doors and windows — shadows curling and sticking like ink across stone. Chris watched, fascinated.
"You never really explain your magic," he said.
Damian didn't look at him. "There's not much to explain."
"You control shadows. That's not normal."
"I'm not normal."
Chris frowned. "I didn't mean it like that."
Damian paused, then gave a slow nod. "I know."
They rolled out their bedrolls a few feet apart on the creaky inn floor. Chris laid on his side, facing Damian. "So... What happens if the ghosts don't like us?"
Damian smirked in the dark. "Then you'll scream like you did when that tree spider landed on your arm."
Chris gasped. "That thing was huge!"
"It was the size of a copper coin."
"I still have nightmares."
Damian chuckled under his breath. Chris felt oddly proud of making him laugh twice in one day.
They eventually drifted off — Damian with one eye open, Chris with a blade near his hand, just in case.
---
Hours later...
Chris awoke to the sound of breathing.
Not his. Not Damian's.
Slow, wet, and ragged — like lungs filled with swamp water.
He sat up, heart pounding. The air was freezing. His breath misted.
"...Damian?" he whispered.
No response.
The lantern was out. The fire had died. The room was almost pitch black — except for a faint, sickly green glow coming from the far corner.
Chris's hand inched toward his sword.
The glow grew stronger.
A shape materialized in the corner — tall, draped in shadow. Its head lolled to the side. Its arms hung too long, fingers brushing the floor. Where eyes should be, there were hollow pits.
It stepped forward without sound.
Chris scrambled to his feet, drawing his sword in one motion.
"Stay back," he warned. "I mean it."
The ghost tilted its head.
Then lunged.
Chris swung. The blade passed straight through.
The ghost shrieked — high-pitched and furious — and surged forward, passing through him. Ice shot through Chris's chest. He stumbled back, gasping, teeth chattering. His limbs felt frozen.
"D-Damian—!"
The ghost rose again, snarling.
Suddenly, a hand gripped Chris's arm and yanked him back.
Damian stepped in front of him, one hand raised. "Don't. Touch. Him."
The ghost shrieked again.
Damian's shadow magic exploded outward like black fire, curling around the room. The ghost screamed as the shadows slammed into it, pushing it back, warping the space around it until it vanished in a cloud of mist.
Silence returned.
The shadows receded.
Chris collapsed to one knee, gasping. "What the hell was that?!"
Damian turned, his eyes glowing faintly. "It was drawn to your energy. Your magic flares in your sleep. You attract things."
Chris blinked. "I have magic?"
Damian didn't answer. Instead, he crouched beside him, reaching out.
Chris flinched — but Damian only rested a hand gently against his chest, sending a pulse of warm energy through him. The cold in Chris's limbs began to fade.
Chris stared at him.
"You saved me."
Damian shrugged. "You saved me first."
Chris gave a weak laugh. "That's not how debts work."
"It is for me."
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then Chris, voice low, asked, "Why did your eyes glow?"
Damian hesitated. "Shadow mages… aren't supposed to exist anymore. My magic's tied to something ancient. Dangerous."
Chris studied him. "You could've let it take me. Let it solve your problems."
Damian's jaw tightened. "I don't solve problems that way."
Chris smiled softly. "Good."
---
The rest of the night passed without incident.
They slept back-to-back this time — not for mistrust, but comfort.
By morning, the fog had lifted. The town looked less haunted and more... lonely. Like a place that had forgotten how to be alive.
They left in silence, but before crossing the town's edge, Chris stopped and looked back.
Then looked at Damian.
"Thanks," he said simply.
Damian gave him a rare, genuine smile. "Anytime."
~Arthur Notes:
"Thanks for reading! New chapters will come out every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7 PM. Can't wait to share more of the story with you!"