The night was colder than usual, carrying with it a stillness that pressed against the walls of the resistance hideout. The fire in the center crackled weakly, throwing long shadows across stone walls that seemed older than the rebellion itself. Everyone had gone quiet after the day's planning. The air hung heavy with the weight of unspoken words, fears, and the haunting memory of the last battle.
Aric sat apart from the others, his back against the rough wall, eyes half-shut, trying to ignore the voice that had become both his torment and his companion.
You're wasting time, the Watcher whispered, a low rasp that seemed to come from beneath the earth itself. They plan. They whisper. They breathe. But none of them can save you. Only I can. Only the sorrow will give you the strength to crush them all.
Aric clenched his fists. "Not now," he muttered under his breath, low enough that no one else heard. His body was weary from days of near-constant travel, skirmishes, and the gnawing hunger that never seemed to leave since he had taken in the demon's manifested soul. The Sorrow System fed him power, yes, but it also devoured pieces of him, fragments he wasn't sure he would ever recover.
Across the fire, Jorah, the scarred veteran, caught Aric's gaze and gave him a questioning look. Aric shook his head quickly, pretending it was nothing. Jorah returned his attention to the map sprawled before him, but Aric knew suspicion simmered in the man's mind.
Talia, the resistance's healer, moved quietly between the rebels, checking wounds and handing out herbs. She stopped briefly beside Aric, her hand brushing against his as she passed him a cup of bitter-smelling tea.
"You look worse every day," she whispered, voice soft enough to stay private. "Drink. You'll need it."
Aric forced a smile. "Thanks."
She lingered, her eyes searching his face as if she could peel back the mask he wore for everyone else. There was no judgment in her gaze, only concern. But that concern burned worse than anger—it reminded him of the humanity he was desperately trying not to lose.
She watches you, the Watcher hissed. She fears you. Soon, even she will betray you. Better to let go before her sorrow poisons you. Better to take it for yourself.
Aric's grip tightened on the cup until the clay creaked. He breathed through his nose, slow and deliberate, fighting down the whisper. The bitter tea hit his tongue, grounding him, even if only for a moment.
The night stretched on. Plans were made, routes plotted, supplies counted. One by one, the rebels drifted off to rest. Only a handful remained awake, including Jorah and Talia. Aric stood and slipped outside, needing the cold air more than he needed company.
The ruins of the old city stretched beyond the hideout, broken towers stabbing upward like skeletal fingers. Moonlight filtered through clouds, pale and distant, as if even the heavens were ashamed to look upon this world.
Aric walked until the whispers of the camp faded. Only then did he allow the weight of his mask to drop. His hands trembled, and he pressed them to his face.
"Why me?" he whispered to the night. "Why this system?"
The Watcher answered instantly.
Because you chose. You devoured the sorrow of a demon's soul. You opened the door. And now you are mine.
Aric staggered back as the shadows thickened around him, stretching unnaturally, shifting as though alive. A silhouette rose from them—tall, twisted, with no face save for the endless void where eyes should be. The Watcher.
"You're not real," Aric spat, though his voice lacked conviction.
I am as real as the sorrow you feed upon. Deny me if you wish, but the system is mine, and through it, so are you.
Rage flared in Aric's chest, burning away fear for just a heartbeat. "No. I'll use you. I'll use this system to destroy the demons, to destroy the Demon King himself. You think you've bound me? You're nothing but a tool."
The Watcher's faceless head tilted, and for a terrifying moment, silence reigned. Then came a laugh—a sound that scraped against Aric's soul like rusted chains.
We'll see.
The shadow melted back into the earth, leaving only the whisper of wind.
Aric's legs nearly gave out, but he forced himself upright. He couldn't afford weakness. Not now. Not when eyes were already turning toward him with suspicion.
He didn't realize until too late that someone had followed him. A figure stepped from behind the ruins, the moonlight revealing Jorah's scarred face.
"You talk to shadows now?" Jorah's voice was calm, but sharp as a blade.
Aric's heart froze. He searched for an excuse, a lie, but Jorah's gaze pinned him in place.
"Whatever you're hiding, boy," Jorah continued, "it's going to drag us all into the grave if you're not careful."
Aric opened his mouth, but no words came.
Jorah stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I don't know what you are, or what you've done, but I've seen men consumed before. Power like that doesn't come free. One day, we'll all pay the price. Question is—will you make us pay with you?"
Aric's fists trembled. He wanted to scream that he wasn't the enemy, that everything he carried was for the sake of the fight against the demons. But the Watcher's whisper slithered back into his ears, mocking him.
He doesn't trust you. None of them do. Better to cut him down now. One life for your secret. His sorrow would make you stronger.
"No," Aric muttered, shaking his head.
Jorah frowned. "No?"
Aric swallowed hard. "No one else dies because of me. Not you. Not anyone."
The scarred man studied him for a long, heavy moment. Finally, he gave a small grunt and stepped back.
"Then prove it," Jorah said. "Prove that whatever you are, you're still fighting for us. Because if you can't…" His hand drifted toward the hilt of his blade. "…then I'll put you down myself."
The words hung between them like a blade. Jorah turned and disappeared into the ruins, leaving Aric alone with the night, the whispers, and the gnawing fear that he had already lost more of himself than he realized.
When Aric returned to the hideout, the others were asleep. Only Talia remained awake, her eyes immediately finding his. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped, sensing the storm inside him.
Instead, she simply said, "Get some rest."
Aric nodded, though he knew sleep would not come. The Watcher never let him rest for long.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of quiet breathing around him. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine a life without the system, without sorrow, without demons. A life where he could just be a man among others, not a vessel for shadows.
But the Watcher's final whisper of the night shattered that fragile dream:
The sorrow will consume them all, Aric. And when it does, you will stand alone.
Aric closed his eyes, a single thought burning in his mind.
He would not let that happen.
No matter what it cost.