Chapter 3

The fog wrapped around Valerian like a thick, damp blanket as he made his way through the streets of Whitechapel. Each step seemed to pull him deeper into the mist, and the sounds of the city faded behind him. The only thing that broke the eerie silence was the faint echo of his own footsteps.

Ahead, the shape of an old church came into view. Its tall spires reached into the cloudy sky, dark and worn by time. The wooden doors were cracked and heavy, barely hanging onto their rusted hinges. Valerian hesitated for a moment, a chill running down his spine, but he stepped forward, pushing one of the doors open.

The inside was worse than he imagined. Dust hung in the air like a fine mist, and the pews were rotting away. The stained-glass windows, once beautiful, were now broken and dirty, casting strange shadows on the floor. At the front of the church, near the altar, a lone figure knelt, their face hidden beneath a dark hood.

Valerian's heart pounded in his chest. The stillness in the air made it feel like he was walking into something he wasn't ready for. His hand hovered over his dagger, fingers brushing the hilt, but he didn't draw it. Not yet.

He moved closer, the sound of his steps muffled on the stone floor. "Are you with the Raven Guild?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The figure didn't move. For a moment, Valerian thought they hadn't heard him, but then the person slowly turned. Their face was pale, almost ghostly, and their eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. When they spoke, their voice was soft, yet it carried through the empty church like a cold wind.

"Do you seek the Raven Guild, or do you seek something... more?"

Valerian felt his mouth go dry. His grip on the dagger tightened, though he knew it wouldn't help if things went wrong. "I need information. I was told the Raven Guild knows about the artifacts in Whitechapel."

The figure rose slowly, the heavy cloak dragging across the floor as they stood. "Artifacts... dangerous things, twisted by dark forces. You are not the first to search for them."

Valerian swallowed hard, his nerves on edge. He felt like the shadows in the room were closing in around him. "What do you know?" he asked, trying to sound braver than he felt.

The figure stared at him for a long moment, their glowing eyes piercing into his. Then, without a word, they reached into their cloak and pulled out a scroll. It looked ancient, the edges torn and worn. With a slow, deliberate movement, they held it out to him.

Valerian hesitated but took the scroll. As his fingers touched the parchment, a new message appeared before his eyes.

**New Objective: Accept your first quest.**

His heart pounded in his ears as he unrolled the scroll. The writing on it seemed to squirm and shift, making it hard to read. But after a few moments, the text became clear.

**Quest: Shroud of Whitechapel**

*Three cursed relics hide within Whitechapel. Find them, but beware: others are hunting them too. The relics carry ancient power, but they are not for the weak.*

Valerian stared at the words, the weight of the task sinking in. Three relics. Three pieces of a mystery that was far bigger than he could grasp right now.

"I'll take the quest," he said, folding the scroll and slipping it into his bag.

The figure's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Very well. But remember this—Whitechapel is a place of shadows. Many enter its depths, but few return whole."

With that, the figure stepped back into the gloom, their form dissolving like smoke into the air. Valerian blinked, and they were gone.

He stood there for a moment, his breath shallow, the silence of the church pressing down on him. His heart was still racing, but there was no turning back now. He had taken the first step into something dangerous, something unknown.

**New Objective: Find the first relic.**

Valerian left the church, stepping back out into the fog. The gas lamps lining the streets flickered weakly, barely cutting through the thick mist. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a low growl, the sound too far away to be a threat—but close enough to remind him that danger was everywhere in this city.

He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and started down the cobblestone street. Every step felt heavier, like the city itself was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake.

The game had only just begun, but already, it felt like the stakes were higher than he had imagined.

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