The city of Draemhollow pressed in around Seth as he followed the masked man deeper through its warped streets.
The crooked roads bent unnaturally, tilting as if the very earth had been twisted by unseen hands. Vendors hawked strange goods from crooked stalls—crystal bones that chimed like bells when tapped, bottles of shadows swirling inside their glass prisons, fruits that pulsed faintly as though they had beating hearts.
Seth's stomach knotted. 'This isn't a city… it's a nightmare dressed up as civilization.'
On the roadside, beggars slumped with glowing etchings burned into their skin. Some marks shimmered faintly like runes, others writhed and shifted as if alive. A child chased a set of floating stones, giggling as they orbited her like moons—until one cracked mid-air and released a hiss of violet smoke, forcing her to cough and retreat.
Everywhere they went, whispers followed.
The people's gazes lingered on Seth longer than he liked. They knew he was new. An outsider. His clothes didn't carry the stains of Draemhollow, his movements too stiff with unease. But what unnerved him more was the way they also looked at the masked man leading him—half in recognition, half in fear. It was as if the figure walking beside him was both familiar and utterly alien at the same time.
Seth finally swallowed his nerves and broke the silence. "Who are you? Why… why did you help me back there?"
The masked man didn't slow. His voice drifted out smoothly from behind the pale bone visage. "Questions are cheap, boy. Answers are not."
"That's not an answer," Seth muttered, his frustration pricking through.
"Exactly."
The exchange shut him down cold. Seth clenched his fists, but followed anyway.
They came upon a crooked stall draped in tattered red cloth. The vendor was a hunched man with scales peeling across his neck, his wares spread on cracked stone—trinkets that hummed faintly with energy, a dagger with a blade of frozen flame, coins that twitched like insects.
The masked man stopped. Then, without turning his head, he said: "Choose one."
Seth blinked. "What?"
"Pick. Anything."
The vendor's eyes glimmered with a predatory smile as Seth hesitated. His gaze swept across the table—half the objects looked cursed, the other half worse. But one thing caught his eye: a small shard of glass, dull on the edges, yet glowing faintly at the core with a gentle silver light. Unlike the others, it didn't hiss, twitch, or whisper.
Seth reached out, grabbed it, and held it up. "This."
The masked man studied him in silence. The pause stretched long enough that Seth regretted the choice, his throat going dry.
Then came the faintest murmur. "...Interesting."
The vendor cackled, clearly amused at some joke Seth didn't understand. The masked man moved on without another word, and Seth quickly dropped the shard back on the stall before hurrying after him.
They turned a corner, and Seth's eyes caught murals painted across the stone walls. Strange, curling designs—serpents entwined around broken crowns, black suns bleeding into seas of white flame, crimson masks painted over jagged symbols.
"What are these?" Seth asked.
"Marks," the masked man replied. His voice was quiet, but carried weight. "Factions. Draemhollow is not a city in unity—it is a den of predators. The Guilds. The Cult Houses. The Noble Clans. Each one staring at the others, waiting for weakness. Always waiting to bite."
Seth stared at the murals, unease twisting in his chest. The painted masks seemed to glare back at him, daring him to step wrong.
And in the corner of his mind, the System pinged softly—not with a mission, but a warning:
[Caution: Draemhollow. Threat Density: High. Survival Probability: Low.]
Seth's mouth went dry. Low probability? He swallowed hard, his footsteps faltering for a moment before forcing himself to keep pace with the masked man.
The masked man turned down a crooked alley where the noise of the markets dulled into an unnatural quiet. Buildings leaned too close here, their walls pressed together like conspirators whispering in secret.
At the alley's end stood a tavern. Its sign wasn't painted wood but a slab of stone carved with glowing runes, symbols Seth couldn't read. The walls seemed to pulse faintly, a low thrum rising from within, like a heartbeat buried in the stone.
The masked man pushed open the door, and Seth followed.
Inside, the tavern was dim but alive with low murmurs. Clients with odd mutations hunched over mugs of dark ale—one man's arms split at the elbow into three hands, another's eyes glowed faint green as he stared too long at Seth. At a corner table, a cloaked figure whispered to the blade of his dagger, and the dagger whispered back.
The smell was thick—smoke, blood, and something sweet and rotting.
Seth's chest tightened. This wasn't the kind of place he wanted to stand out in. And yet, every gaze still lingered on him, if only for a heartbeat, before slipping back to their drinks.
The masked man moved with ease, striding up to the counter. He spoke a few words to the barkeep—too quiet for Seth to catch—before sliding a coin across the wood. The coin wasn't metal but some kind of black crystal that pulsed faintly as it hit the surface. The barkeep's eyes widened slightly, then he nodded and gestured toward a staircase.
The masked man turned to Seth, raising a gloved hand in a silent gesture. Follow.
Seth obeyed.
They climbed to the second floor and entered a small private room. The door shut behind them with a heavy thud, runes flaring briefly along the frame before dimming again.
Finally, the masked man faced him directly.
For the first time since they'd met, Seth wasn't distracted by the strange city or the watching crowds. The mask's hollow eyes fixed him in place, holding him like prey beneath a predator's stare.
"You don't belong here," the masked man said.
Seth opened his mouth, but the man didn't let him speak.
"That makes you valuable." A pause. "And very, very hunted."
Seth's pulse quickened. "Valuable? Hunted? I don't even—"
The man cut him off with a raised hand. "Do not waste breath denying it. Your clothes, your tongue, your eyes… they don't fit. Draemhollow will notice. And when it does, it will devour you."
The words hit Seth like a hammer. He had no reply.
The masked man leaned closer, the pale bone visage filling Seth's vision. "So. I'll ask only once: are you ready to play the game of Draemhollow?"
Seth's mind spun. Game? What game? I can barely survive the day, let alone whatever this city is hiding. His lips parted, but no words came.
And then—
Ping!
The familiar System overlay flashed before his eyes.
[New Main Mission: Establish a foothold in Draemhollow.]
[Failure Condition: Enslavement.]
[Reward: ???]
Seth's breath caught in his throat. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he read the glowing message again and again.
Establish a foothold? Here? In this place?
He looked up, but the masked man was silent now, simply watching. Waiting.
Seth's hands curled into fists, trembling. Every fiber of him wanted to scream, to protest, to run. But the words Failure = Enslavement burned in his vision until all he could see was chains.
And for the first time since entering the Shattered Realms, Seth realized something chilling...
The forest, the bandits, even the mercenary Sylka… none of it compared.
Seth had to ask himself. "Am I ready?"