The underground camp was never truly quiet. Even at night, hammers rang faintly against steel, voices carried low over the crackling of fires, and the restless shifting of people betrayed a world that couldn't afford to sleep deeply.
Aric lay on the thin bedding they'd given him, staring up at the ceiling where smoke trailed lazily into cracks of broken stone. His body was sore, but it wasn't the wounds that kept him awake—it was the memory of that shadowy figure. Watching. Waiting.
Beside him, Lyra had finally drifted into shallow sleep. Her hand still rested on the dagger at her side, even in dreams. He envied that kind of instinct.
Aric sat up quietly, listening. There were footsteps, faint but deliberate, echoing from the deeper tunnels.
"Can't sleep?"
He turned. Commander Darius stood there, arms folded, his scar catching the glow of the firelight. The man had the air of someone who never rested, someone who carried the weight of every death like an iron chain.
"Not really," Aric admitted.
Darius studied him in silence for a long moment. "The people are talking. Some think you're a blessing. Others think you're cursed. Either way, they're watching you."
Aric looked down at his hands. The faint pulse of the system still lingered beneath his skin, like a second heartbeat he couldn't silence. "Let them watch."
Darius snorted softly, though there was no humor in it. "You fight like a man who's lost everything. That makes you dangerous. To demons… and to us."
Before Aric could answer, a cry echoed from the far side of the cavern. Shouts followed.
Darius was already moving, barking orders as soldiers scrambled to arms. Aric grabbed his blade and sprinted after him.
The camp's outer barricade was under attack. Not demons this time—but something stranger.
Figures cloaked in ash and smoke had slipped through the tunnels, moving like shadows given flesh. Their blades shimmered faintly, as though made of something not entirely of this world. They fought silently, without the guttural howls of demons or the shouts of men.
Aric's heart lurched. He recognized them. They weren't demons, not fully—but neither were they human. Something in between. Like the watcher from before.
"Shades!" someone shouted. Panic spread through the camp.
The resistance clashed with them, steel ringing against otherworldly blades. Sparks flew, men and women cried out, and in the chaos, Aric felt that hunger inside him roar to life.
He hesitated. If he unleashed too much, they would see. They would know.
But the Shades were fast—inhumanly so. One darted through the defense, blade raised for Lyra.
Aric didn't think. He moved. The sorrow surged through him, flooding his veins, twisting his speed and strength into something more than human. His blade caught the Shade mid-strike, cutting deep into its chest. The creature hissed, dissolving into black smoke before it even hit the ground.
Gasps rose around him. He had been too fast. Too precise. Too… unnatural.
Darius saw it. Aric knew he did. Their eyes met across the chaos, and in that instant, Aric understood—the commander's suspicion had just deepened.
But there was no time. More Shades were flooding in, their blades flashing in the firelight, their eyes glowing with that same unnatural glimmer.
Aric tightened his grip, forcing down the fear of exposure. If he held back, they would all die. If he unleashed himself, the truth would come out.
Either way, the shadows were closing in.
And somewhere, in the smoke above the battle, that same watcher lingered—still and silent, its glowing eyes fixed on Aric alone.