Rain clung to the rooftops like smoke. It ran down the slanted tiles, pooling at the edges before falling in steady drips that disappeared into the dark streets below.
The Yellow Moon hung low—hazy and dull behind the clouds, casting thin light over the city of Evervale. From up here, it looked dead. Streets swallowed by fog, windows shut tight, bonefire lamps humming with pale blue energy that never quite reached the corners.
That was the kind of night the beasts came out.
Quiet. Uncertain.
I moved fast across the rooftops, boots striking tile, every step echoing through the storm. The rain wasn't heavy, just enough to sting my face and make the roofs slick. My coat trailed behind me, soaked through at the edges. The air smelled like rust and smoke.
The trail was faint—barely there—but I could feel it. That sour pull in the chest, like the world itself pointing me where to go. Hunters call it the "call of the marrow." Whatever it was, it worked better than sight or sound.
The beast was ahead of me. I could hear it scraping metal, leaping between buildings, claws tearing at gutters as it ran. I stayed just close enough to keep pace.
It was fast. Smarter than most. But beasts don't think long-term. They move on instinct. And instinct always leads them into corners.
A shape flickered across the next rooftop—tall, hunched, limping slightly. I pushed harder, vaulting the gap. My boots landed with a wet crack, the tile splitting under the weight. The thing hissed, swinging its head toward me. For a moment, our eyes met—white, unfocused, and wrong.
Then it bolted.
I followed.
The rooftops blurred together—slate, brick, wood. I jumped a narrow alley, landed in a crouch, then sprinted again. The rain came down harder now, washing the scent into streaks across the stone. I could still track it, but I had to move quick before it faded.
A loud crash echoed ahead. The beast had gone through a window. Perfect.
I dropped down into the street, boots splashing into a puddle that smelled faintly of iron. The walls were tight on both sides—too narrow for anyone sane to live here. I walked forward slowly, one hand raised.
"Come on," I muttered. "Make it easy tonight."
The only answer was the sound of something breathing. Wet, uneven.
It came from the end of the alley.
When I turned the corner, I found it—back arched, skin stretched tight over its bones, gray eyes glowing under the dim light. The thing's mouth was wide, jaw split like it had never healed right. It twitched when it saw me, claws digging into the cobblestone.
A normal person would've run. But Hunters weren't normal.
I raised my hand, feeling the pull start from my chest—like something deep inside twisting, unraveling. The air rippled, bending light around my arm. A low hum filled the space as the rain slowed, drops hanging in the air for half a breath before falling again.
Then the weapon formed.
"Vireth"
A curved black blade, tall enough to tower over me. The handle shimmered faintly, veins of blue light pulsing through the metal. It always appeared the same way—silent, heavy, certain. Like it had been waiting for me to call.
The beast roared, charging forward on all fours.
I stepped back once, just enough to let its claws miss my throat, then swung.
The motion was clean. The scythe cut through the rain, slicing across its chest with a crack of sound sharp enough to drown out the storm. The thing staggered, stumbled, then collapsed into the puddles.
The creature's body crumbled into dust, bones clattering against the soaked stone before fading into faint blue light. The air smelled like burnt iron. I stood there for a second, watching the last bit of marrow dissolve in the rain.
Vireth hummed once in my hand before disappearing, the glow retracting back into my chest. The silence that followed was heavy—the kind that only existed after a kill.
Then came the footsteps.
Three sets, uneven, splashing through puddles. I didn't need to look to know who they were.
"Of course you got it first."
Rogan's voice carried before he did. Big man, bald, half his coat torn off from some old fight he still hadn't fixed. He came jogging down the alley, soaked head to toe, followed by Mara and Kale right behind him.
Mara let out a long sigh, brushing the rain from her face. "We've been chasing that damn thing since the start of the cycle, Dagian."
I turned toward them, hands in my coat pockets. "Should've been faster."
Kale bent over, catching his breath. "I nearly fell through a roof! You could've waited!"
"Then it would've escaped."
Rogan chuckled, his laugh deep and scratchy. "You're the worst team player I've ever met."
"I'm not on a team."
That earned a short laugh from Mara. "Yeah, we noticed."
The rain softened to a mist, running down the alley walls in quiet streams. The four of us stood around what used to be the beast—nothing left now but steam and faint residue on the cobblestone.
Rogan crouched, poking at the glowing residue with the butt of his halberd. "Big one. Probably worth a good few shards."
Kale perked up at that. "You splitting that, right?"
Rogan shot him a look. "You mean Dagian's splitting it? He did all the work."
I shrugged. "Keep it. I don't need it."
Mara frowned. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm covered for the week."
She gave me that small look—half grateful, half pity. I ignored it.
We started walking back toward the main street, our boots echoing against the walls. The alleys of Evervale were quiet now. Too quiet. The kind that meant the city was breathing again.
"Guilds could use someone like you," Rogan said after a moment. "You'd make triple what you're pulling now."
"Guilds have rules."
"And food," Kale added under his breath.
"I'm not hungry," I said.
That got a laugh out of all of them. Even me, a little.
The group walked together until the street widened, leading into the main market. The bonefire lamps flickered overhead, faint blue light running along wires that spiderwebbed across the walls. Merchants were locking their stands, rain dripping from torn awnings. The city was shifting into rest—if you could call it that.
Mara slowed beside me. "You heading home?"
"Yeah. Ma's probably up."
"She's still fighting the plague?"
I just nodded
Mara smiled softly. "Good. She's tough."
"Yeah."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just heavy with understanding. Every Hunter in Duskfall had someone they were trying to keep alive.
We reached the point where the road split, one path leading toward the barracks and the other toward the cliffs.
Rogan stopped, rolling his shoulders. "We're grabbing a drink before the shift ends. You should come by."
"Maybe next time."
"Next time," he repeated, smirking. "You say that every cycle."
"It'll be true eventually."
He laughed and started off down the other road. Mara followed, pulling her hood tighter. Kale hesitated for a second, then looked back at me.
"You know, one day you're gonna have to stop doing this alone."
"I'm fine alone." I said.
He grinned. "I know." Then he jogged to catch up with the others, their voices fading under the sound of the rain.
I stood there for a while, watching them disappear into the fog. The Yellow Moon was starting to fade now, bleeding into Gold, its light reflecting off the wet cobblestone. The cycle was ending.
I adjusted my coat and started walking toward home
Evervale was quiet under the Golden Moon. The rain softened, and the smell of bonefire and wet metal hung in the air. The city looked almost calm from here—like something worth saving.
I knew better.
The moonlight touched the rooftops like gold paint, but it didn't reach the alleys. Not really. Down there, the shadows stayed black. The cracks in the walls, the steam that rose from drains, the old stains that wouldn't wash off—none of it ever changed.
I passed a few late merchants closing up shop, heads low, faces tired. Some nodded. Most didn't. Hunters weren't the kind of people you stopped to thank. We were reminders. That monsters existed. That the city still depended on killing to keep its lights on.
My boots hit puddles as I walked, the sound mixing with the hum of the lamps overhead. Far in the distance, the outline of the Pit glowed faint red through the fog. Always there. Always breathing.
**
By the time I reached the cliffside roads, the Golden Moon was full, hanging over the city like a watchful eye.
Evervale stretched beneath me—miles of rooftops buried in fog, the faint hum of bonefire lamps glowing through the mist like dying stars.
The rain had thinned to a drizzle. The air still smelled of ash.
My house sat at the edge of the slope, small and crooked, built from the kind of stone that cracked faster than it held. The front lamp flickered, low on charge. I stepped up the stairs, pushed the door open, and let the warmth hit me.
The scent of herbs and bonefire wrapped around me instantly. It always did.
Inside, the air was soft—humid from steam, quiet except for the faint hum of the heat crystal in the corner.
"Ma?" I called out, kicking off my boots.
"In here," came her voice—steady, though a little rough.
She was sweeping when I found her. The broom scratched gently against the floorboards, moving slow but deliberate. The light from the lamp caught the faint color in her hair—brown fading to gray, pulled into a messy bun.
Marissa, my mother. Still too stubborn to rest, even when the plague had already stolen most of her strength.
She looked up with a half-smile. "You're back early."
"Got lucky," I said, hanging my coat near the stove. "Beast cornered itself."
She smirked. "No plague's stopping me from keeping this house clean, you know."
"Didn't say it was."
"You were thinking it."
"Maybe."
She chuckled softly, then leaned on the broom handle, catching her breath. Her skin looked pale in the lamplight, but her eyes still carried that same warmth that somehow survived everything this city took from her.
"Did you eat yet?" she asked.
"Not hungry."
She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile there. "Sit down. You look like hell."
I sank into the chair near the table. The wood creaked under me. It was the same chair my father used to sit in. The same spot where he'd clean his gloves, talk about the hunts, tell me stories that made the world outside sound smaller than it was.
Ma noticed me staring and spoke quietly. "You still thinking about him?"
"Not really."
"Liar."
I looked away. "He's been gone twelve years, Ma."
"He's not gone. He's above."
"That's the same thing."
She gave a small sigh, setting the broom aside. "He didn't leave us, Dagian. He was chosen. The Third Layer doesn't pick just anyone."
"I know."
Her eyes softened. "Then why do you still sound angry when you say it?"
I didn't answer. There was no point. The truth was simple—I wasn't angry at him for leaving. I was angry that he could.
She moved toward the stove, pouring water into a pot. The faint hiss of steam filled the silence."You're still out there every night," she said quietly. "Still chasing those things."
"It's my job."
"It's going to get you killed."
"Probably."
She turned, glaring lightly. "That's not funny."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Marissa sighed, rubbing her temple. "You sound more like your father every day."
"I'm not him."
"No," she said softly, "but you're his son. And that means you're going to carry his weight whether you like it or not."
The sound of the rain grew heavier against the window. She ladled a bit of soup into a cup and placed it in front of me.
"Drink," she said. "You look half-dead."
I raised a brow. "You made this?"
She smirked. "You think the plague stops me from cooking too?"
I took a sip. It was bitter, but warm. Probably herbs she couldn't afford but bought anyway.
"Don't waste your credits on me," she said suddenly. "You need them for yourself."
I set the cup down. "I don't."
"Dagian—"
"I said I don't, Ma."
Her lips pressed together. The quiet between us felt heavier than before.
I reached into my coat and pulled out a small vial, the glass glowing faintly green. I set it on the table. "New medicine. Helps with breathing. Should make it easier to sleep."
Her gaze lingered on it for a moment before softening. "You shouldn't have."
"Yeah, well," I said, leaning back, "I did."
She smiled. "You're impossible."
"Runs in the family."
She chuckled, though it broke into a small cough halfway through. She waved me off before I could move. "Don't start fussing."
"I wasn't."
"Good. I don't need another nurse."
"Never said you did."
Her laugh came softer this time. The sound filled the small house like warmth you didn't realize you missed.
For a while, we just sat there in the glow of the bonefire lamp—the only light strong enough to fight the dark that clung to the walls.
The rain slowed. The world outside felt distant again.
"You should rest," I said finally.
She nodded, taking the vial and setting it beside her herbs. "You too. You've been up since the Blue."
"I'll manage."
"You always say that too."
"And I'm always right."
Her smile lingered as she left the room. I watched her go, listening to the faint creak of the floorboards. When the door shut, the house felt too quiet.
I leaned back in the chair, staring at the flickering lamp. The Golden Moon shone through the window, soft light spilling across the floor. It made the cracks in the walls look smaller, the dust less noticeable.
By the time I made it to my room, the house had gone still.
The rain had stopped, leaving only the faint hum of the bonefire lamp in the corner and the occasional groan of the wooden walls. I pulled off my coat, set it across the chair, and sat on the edge of the bed.
The scythe mark on my hand pulsed faintly—just a dull blue light under the skin, fading with each breath. It always did that after a hunt, like Vireth reminding me it was still there.
I leaned back against the wall, staring at the cracked ceiling. The moonlight came through the window in thin gold lines, painting the room in quiet shades. Outside, I could hear the distant voices of hunters heading home, boots echoing against wet stone.
For a moment, I let myself breathe.
Tomorrow would just be another patrol. Another task. Another few credits closer to nothing.
I laid back, eyes tracing the flickering light on the wall until the sound of rain returned—soft, steady, like a heartbeat. My body gave in before my mind did.
**
When I woke, the Blue Moon had already risen. Its light filtered through the fog outside, giving everything that pale, cold hue that made the city look carved from glass.
The air was still. No rain yet—just the heavy quiet that always came before it started again.
I grabbed my coat, gloves, and the folded paper waiting on the table. The wax seal was already cracked, meaning it came overnight. The Hunters' relay was faster than people gave it credit for.
The note read:
Task: Exterminate Level 2 Beast – Northern Region of EvervaleCycle Window:Blue to Yellow
I read it twice before tucking it into my pocket. Level 2 meant nothing special—strong enough to make a mess, weak enough for a solo dispatch. Routine.
I adjusted my scarf, opened the door, and stepped out into the early mist. The cold hit immediately. The streets were quieter than usual—shops just opening, people hurrying past with hoods drawn tight. Bonefire lamps flickered dimly, drawing power from the night's remains.
l The smell of wet earth and bone dust hung in the air. It never really went away.
As I walked through the main street, a few familiar voices called out.
"Dagian!"
I turned slightly. A pair of younger hunters were leaning against a cart, their coats still new enough to shine. Both looked too awake for this early in the cycle.
"You heading to the citadel later?" one of them asked.
"Why?"
"The gathering. Word is half the guilds are showing up—something about changes in the rotation. Big night."
"I'll think about it," I said.
They grinned. "That's what you said last time."
"And I meant it last time too."
They laughed as I kept walking. The streets of Evervale were easy to read—gray, narrow, cracked from age. Most buildings leaned in toward the center, as if the city itself was tired of standing straight.
The further north I went, the quieter it got. The merchants here sold scraps and rations, not luxuries. No kids running around. Just men and women trying not to be noticed.
I passed the edge of the district and followed the worn path that curved up toward the northern quarter. The smell changed the further I went—less smoke, more decay. Even the lamps grew sparse here, half of them burned out or flickering weakly.
It took an hour, maybe two, before I reached the outskirts. The mist had thickened by then, curling around the broken fences and leaning homes. Most people who lived here couldn't afford proper wards or guards. When something slipped through from the Pit, this was usually where it started.
The note said "northern region." That could mean anywhere between twenty houses and a half-mile of empty road. Not ideal.
I stopped near an old stone bridge, scanning the surroundings. The mud carried faint tracks—beast prints, dragging lines, something large moving on all fours.
Level 2, alright. Recent, too.
I crouched down, pressing my hand against the dirt. The air here was colder. Thinner. The kind that stung when you breathed too deep.
The smell hit me then—faint at first, then sharp enough to burn.
Rot.
Not just blood, not the usual metallic scent of marrow. This was heavier, almost… human.
My head turned toward the source before I realized I was moving. A small cluster of houses stood to my left, half-collapsed from age, wooden beams dark with rain. One of them had its door slightly open, swinging gently with each gust of wind.
That's where the smell came from.
I stood still, listening. No sound. No movement. Just the low creak of the door.
"Level 2, huh," I muttered. "Sure doesn't smell like it."
I took a slow step forward. The boards under my boots groaned, but I kept my weight even. My hand drifted toward my side, ready to call Vireth if I needed to.
Hunters weren't supposed to act alone in residential areas, but no one would care. The northern quarter was too far out for regulation.
The air inside the doorway shimmered faintly, heat clinging to it despite the cold. That wasn't natural.
I stepped closer.
The smell grew worse—so thick it made my eyes sting. Something wet dripped from the doorway, disappearing into the mud.
I crouched again, brushing my fingers through it. Warm. Sticky.
Blood.
Fresh.
The wind shifted behind me, carrying the faint sound of something moving inside—slow, dragging.
Vireth pulsed faintly under my skin.
I didn't draw it yet. Not until I saw what I was dealing with.
The Blue Moon's light touched the ground through the fog, pale and cold. The doorway stood open, black beyond the threshold. I could hear something breathing in there.
Steady. Wet.
I tightened my grip.
"Alright," I whispered, voice low. "Let's see what you are."
The door creaked when I touched it.
Not loud, but enough to remind me that sound carried differently in silence like this. The air inside was thick—warm, wet, and heavy.
I stepped through the doorway.
The smell hit instantly.
Rotting flesh. Dried blood. The sour tang of marrow gone bad. It clung to the back of my throat, thick enough to taste.
The floorboards moaned under my boots as I moved further in. The only light came from the Blue Moon, spilling through cracks in the roof. It painted the room in long streaks of pale color, the kind that made shadows stretch into shapes that didn't belong.
I reached out a hand, and the air shimmered. A faint hum followed, soft enough that only I could hear it.
Vireth formed in my grip. No sound, no flash—just a cold pulse as the scythe solidified, the faint blue veins along its surface fading into the dark.
The weapon felt heavier here.
The first room was empty. Broken furniture. A few dishes left on a table, still damp with rain from a leak in the ceiling. There was a photo frame on the counter, face-down in the dust. I didn't turn it over.
The silence wasn't right. It wasn't the stillness of a dead home. It was something else.The kind where every creak, every breath, felt like it came from behind you.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps. Light. Slow. Coming from above.
I looked toward the stairs. They leaned slightly, wood dark with moisture, steps warped from age. The sound came again—a faint drag, like something walking barefoot over wet stone.
I tightened my grip on Vireth and began to climb.
Each step let out a soft groan beneath me. The air got thicker the higher I went, the smell stronger—metallic and sweet, like blood left out in the rain.
Halfway up, the noise stopped.
I froze, listening. Nothing. No wind, no movement, just my own breathing and the faint hum of the scythe.
Then something dripped. A slow patter from the landing above.
I reached the top step and stepped forward—right into a pool of it.
Warm. Thick. Blood.
It spread across the warped boards in streaks, trailing from the hallway into the last room at the end.
The walls were dark. The only light came from a broken window where the moonlight cut through the fog outside.
I followed the trail.
The closer I got, the louder the sound became—wet, rhythmic, like flesh being torn apart.
When I reached the doorway, I stopped.
The smell was unbearable now. It crawled into my head and made everything feel slower.
Inside the room, an old man lay slumped against the wall, chest torn open. His eyes were glassy, still staring at nothing.
And crouched over him—feeding—was the creature.
It wasn't large. About the size of a man.
But its body was wrong—too thin in some places, too swollen in others, like the bones underneath were trying to rearrange themselves.Its fingers were long, hooked like claws, and they sank into the old man's chest with each pull of flesh.
I didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Vireth hummed quietly in my hands, sensing it too.
Then the creature froze.
Its head twisted toward me, joints cracking, eyes gleaming faint white under the moonlight.It let out a noise I'd never heard before—a sound that wasn't quite a scream, not quite a roar.
More like metal bending.
The walls shook. My vision blurred for half a second, the noise rattling straight through my skull.
Then it lunged.
Not at me—through me.
It smashed through the window in a burst of glass and wind, the force sending shards raining down over the floor. The creature hit the ground outside hard, rolled, and took off into the fog.
For a few seconds, I couldn't move. My body felt locked, ears ringing, blood pounding in my head.
The scythe flickered in and out of form, reacting to the distortion in my focus.
I blinked, shaking my head until the ringing faded. The old man's body slumped over completely, falling with a dull thud.
"Damn it…"
I pushed off the wall and stepped toward the window. The cold air hit me immediately, carrying the stench of blood out into the night.
Down below, footprints—dark, wet—cut through the mud, leading toward the forested edge of the district.
The thing was fast, but not gone.
I climbed out the window, boots crunching against the scattered glass. The air outside was sharp, wind cutting across the rooftops.
The Blue Moon hung low, half-hidden behind the clouds. The fog pulsed faintly with each gust, swallowing the houses one by one.
I landed on the next roof and ran.
Every instinct kicked in at once—the steady rhythm of steps, the burn in my chest, the faint vibration under my skin that told me the hunt wasn't over.
Vireth reformed fully, blade shimmering faintly with light. The hum cut through the wind like a heartbeat.
I could still smell it.
That same rot, that same decay. Stronger now.
The creature darted through the mist ahead—fast, low, almost crawling. Its movements were erratic, desperate. It glanced back once, eyes flashing white in the moonlight.
It screamed again, that same metallic sound. The shockwave rippled through the fog, rattling the street lamps below.
I gritted my teeth, forcing my balance as I jumped another gap.
The rooftops blurred.
The world narrowed to nothing but motion—the pulse of blood in my ears, the hiss of the wind, the glow of Vireth's blade in my hand.
It wasn't fear that pushed me forward. It was instinct.
The thing had killed someone in my city. In my layer. That meant it didn't leave alive.
The fog swallowed its shape again as it turned a corner.
I didn't slow
The rooftops blurred beneath me as I ran. The creature's claws scraped against the tile ahead, each movement a frantic blur through the fog. It was hurt—limping slightly—but still fast enough to make me work for it.
The Blue Moon hung low over Evervale, throwing pale light through the mist. The entire city felt distant now, reduced to outlines and echoes. Every sound was sharper. Every breath burned.
I closed the gap, boots slamming against wet stone. The beast turned sharply, climbing the side of an old clock tower, its claws tearing grooves into the wall.
"Not this time," I muttered.
Vireth pulsed in my hands, responding to my focus. The veins along the blade flared faintly as I leapt after it, grabbing the ledge, pulling myself up. Rain whipped against my face as I climbed, each pull bringing me closer to the thing that should've died an hour ago.
The creature reached the top and spun, eyes glowing white in the moonlight. It let out a distorted screech, shaking loose the water pooled on the roof tiles.
I steadied my breath, tightening my grip on the scythe. "End of the line."
I lunged.
The blade cut through air—perfect, precise—aimed for its neck.
But before it connected, the world broke.
A deep, splitting sound tore through the night, sharp enough to stop my heart mid-beat. The sky above cracked open—a single rift spreading across the clouds like shattered glass.
Light poured through it. Not moonlight—something else. Something alive.
It shimmered with color, shifting between blues, violets, and silvers so bright it painted the world beneath in waves. Every surface glowed, every shadow dissolved. Even the fog looked like it was burning away.
The creature froze, body trembling, head tilted toward the light. Then it screamed—louder, more human than before—and bolted.
But I wasn't looking at it anymore.
The rift widened.
Something—someone—fell through.
A figure, weightless, tumbling from the heart of that impossible light. Her silhouette cut through the glow like the last fragment of a dream slipping into reality.
For a second, I thought I was imagining it.
Then instinct took over.
I dropped Vireth. The weapon shattered into light as I ran for the edge of the rooftop. The air roared around me, the force of the rift pulling at my coat as I leapt into the open.
The wind hit hard. My body twisted midair, every muscle screaming as I forced my momentum upward—high enough to reach her before the ground did.
My hand caught fabric—soft, cold—and I pulled her in close. The world spun.
The impact came a second later. My back hit the cobblestone first, the air leaving my lungs in a single, rough exhale. The girl's weight stayed against me, unmoving.
The light above faded. The rift sealed itself like nothing had ever been there.
Only the Blue Moon remained, quiet and uncaring.
I blinked through the haze, my chest still burning from the fall.
She was real.
A girl—seventeen, maybe. Her hair spilled across her face, a soft silver-blonde that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Her clothes were strange—clean, thin fabric I'd never seen before.
Her face was calm, almost peaceful, even as the dust settled around us.
I looked up at the sky where the rift had been, still half-expecting it to split open again. Nothing. Just the quiet, and the faint echo of that sound still trapped in my head.
My arms tightened slightly around her as I stood, every muscle aching from the jump.
"Who the hell…" I whispered, staring down at her. "…are you?"
The wind passed through the streets again, carrying away the last of the glowing dust.
And just like that, the world was quiet again.