Chapter 3: Revenants of the Past

Part 1: The Breath of the Forgotten

Aedric remained still, his pulse steady but sharp, his body coiled with a readiness he did not remember training for. The breath—the deliberate, drawn-in sound—came again, this time from the shadows near the staircase at the far end of the inn.

The silence that followed was worse, thick with an expectation that made his skin crawl. It was not the silence of emptiness, nor the quiet of an abandoned place, but something else—something waiting.

Aedric's fingers itched for a blade, but his belt remained empty. He had no weapon, no armor—only instinct and the weight of a name that felt heavier than it should.

He took a slow step forward, the floor beneath his feet creaking in protest. The breath had come from above, from the upper floor where the lanterns had long since burned out. He peered into the darkness, straining to catch a glimpse of movement, but the shadows swallowed everything whole.

Then, a voice.

Not a whisper, but something deeper, something cracked and unfamiliar.

"You should not have come here."

Aedric stiffened. The voice did not echo, did not travel as sound should—it was simply there, pressing against the inside of his skull, cold and deliberate.

He swallowed hard and forced his voice to remain even. "Who are you?"

A long pause.

Then, a slow creak as something moved in the darkness above.

"You do not remember me," the voice said, almost amused. "But I remember you."

Aedric's blood ran cold.

Part 2: The Ghosts That Walk

The air inside the inn was thick, oppressive. The scent of dust and rot clung to the wooden beams, but beneath it lingered something else—something faintly metallic, like dried blood left too long in the sun.

Aedric's grip tightened into fists at his sides. "Come down where I can see you."

Silence.

Then, a slow, dragging footstep above him.

Aedric's muscles tensed, his breath shallow. He could not see the figure, but he could feel its presence—an unnatural weight pressing down on the building itself, as though the very walls had grown tired of holding it.

He took another step forward, his boots disturbing the dust on the warped wooden planks. He cast a glance toward the staircase, barely visible in the dim light, and began his ascent. Each step groaned under his weight, the sound swallowed by the thick air.

Halfway up, something shifted in the dark.

Aedric stopped, heart hammering in his chest.

The shadows twisted, congealing into something vaguely human. Its form was wrong, its limbs too long, its stance unnatural. It did not lurch forward, did not attack, only watched.

Then it spoke again.

"How many times have you woken, Aedric Dray?"

Aedric's breath caught in his throat.

It knew his name.

"Tell me how many times you have walked these streets, called them empty, called yourself lost."

The figure did not move, but the pressure in the air grew heavier, as though something unseen wrapped around his throat, weighing him down.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aedric forced through gritted teeth.

The thing in the dark laughed softly, a sound without warmth.

"You never do."

Part 3: The Reflection of the Dead

Aedric gritted his teeth. He did not like how the figure spoke as if it knew him, as if it had been waiting for him to return.

"You call me by name," he said, voice low. "Who are you?"

The figure shifted, tilting its head unnaturally to one side. The lanternlight flickered, revealing a glimpse of something beneath the hood—pale, too pale, like flesh that had never felt sunlight.

Then it moved, not with a step, but with a glide, as though its feet barely touched the ground.

Aedric clenched his fists. If this thing meant to kill him, he would not fall easily. His body, despite its unfamiliarity, remembered the art of violence.

But the figure did not attack.

Instead, it whispered something terrible.

"Look behind you."

Aedric felt his blood freeze.

Slowly, resisting every instinct that screamed against it, he turned.

A mirror stood against the far wall, cracked and clouded with age. And reflected in it—

Was himself.

And another.

Aedric's breath hitched.

Standing beside him in the mirror's surface was a man with his face. Identical in every way.

Yet the moment Aedric turned to look—

There was no one there.

But the reflection remained, watching.