A Familiar Shadow

The return to Duskhaven was uneventful—aside from the part where Arlan tripped over a loose cobblestone and nearly face-planted into a vegetable cart. Thankfully, Tomas had grabbed him by the cloak just in time, though not without a loud, obnoxious laugh.

"You good there, Shadow Bolt?" Tomas teased as he steadied him.

Arlan groaned. "That's not my name."

"It is now," Leila chimed in, grinning as she plucked a bruised tomato from the cart. "Oh, and you almost killed an innocent tomato in your tragic fall."

Arlan sighed, muttering under his breath as he brushed the dust off his cloak. "Yeah, yeah, let's move on."

The group made their way toward the guild hall, their small victory over the goblins lifting their spirits. Beren and Tomas were discussing battle strategies—well, more like debating who had landed the hardest hit—while Mira walked quietly beside them, deep in thought.

Leila, on the other hand, was busy fiddling with the silver ring they had looted from the goblin leader's stash. "It's kinda pretty," she murmured, slipping it onto her finger.

Tomas glanced at her, smirking. "Careful, that might be cursed."

Leila gasped dramatically. "Oh no, what if I turn into a goblin at midnight? Who will protect me?"

Tomas grinned, tapping his sword. "Guess I'll have to slay you, then."

Leila scoffed. "Please, you'd hesitate and I'd stab you first."

Arlan noticed the brief flicker of amusement on Tomas's face—the way his smirk softened just a little. 

They arrived at the guild hall just as the evening crowd was settling in. The smell of roasted meat and cheap ale filled the air, and the sound of clinking mugs and chatter created a lively atmosphere. Adventurers of all ranks sat at tables, some boasting of their latest conquests, others nursing minor wounds.

Gareth, the ever-grumpy clerk, raised an eyebrow as they approached the counter. "Back in one piece, I see."

"Barely," Arlan muttered, still shaking off his near-death-by-tomato experience.

Tomas dropped their quest report onto the counter. "Goblins cleared, loot acquired. No casualties, unless you count Arlan's dignity."

Gareth snorted as he scanned the report. "Right. Payment's standard—five silver each."

Arlan pocketed the coins, but his mind was elsewhere. He still felt the lingering energy from his new skill, Shadow Bolt. The magic had come so easily, so naturally. Too naturally.

As the others debated whether to get a meal or head back to their respective inns, Arlan turned to Mira. "Can we talk?"

She studied him for a moment before nodding. "Outside."

They stepped out into the cool night air, the streets of Duskhaven quieter now as the last of the merchants packed up for the day. Bones, having been nestled in Arlan's cloak, hopped onto his shoulder, clicking softly.

Mira folded her arms. "You've been acting strange since the dungeon."

Arlan sighed. "I just—something feels different. That skill I used, it wasn't something I learned from training. It just… came to me."

Mira tilted her head. "That happens sometimes. Magic has instinctual moments. Your class is a Summoner, right? Maybe it's an affinity thing."

Arlan hesitated before nodding. "Yeah… maybe."

The lie sat uncomfortably in his chest. He hated deceiving them, but what else could he do? Necromancy was forbidden. If they knew the truth, they'd either turn away from him or worse—report him.

Mira didn't press further, but her gaze lingered on him. "Be careful, Arlan. Power like that, if it feels too easy, too natural… it's worth questioning where it comes from."

Arlan swallowed hard. "Yeah. I will."

The moment was interrupted by Bones, who suddenly tensed on Arlan's shoulder, his tiny skull swiveling toward the alleyway behind them. His emerald eyes flickered as he let out a low, rattling chitter.

Something was watching them.

Mira noticed it too. She shifted her stance, fingers hovering over her staff. "You feel that?"

Arlan did. A faint, creeping sensation, like unseen eyes crawling over his skin.

Then, a shadow moved.

A figure emerged from the alley, cloaked and hooded, their face obscured beneath layers of dark fabric. They moved with an unnatural grace, their presence blending into the night itself.

Arlan's breath hitched. Not again.

Mira's grip tightened around her staff. "Who are you?"

The figure ignored her, their hood turning slightly toward Arlan instead. When they spoke, their voice was low, smooth.

"You wield shadows well, boy."

Arlan's heart pounded. He had never seen this person before, and yet, their tone was laced with familiarity, as if they knew exactly who he was.

Bones let out a warning hiss.

The stranger chuckled. "A necromancer with a pet rat. How fitting."

Arlan stiffened. His blood ran cold.

Mira's gaze snapped to him immediately. "What did they just say?"

The figure took a slow step forward, and Arlan instinctively stepped back.

"Relax," the stranger said, lifting a gloved hand. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be. I merely… wanted to see for myself."

Arlan clenched his fists. "See what?"

The stranger tilted their head. "How much of your power you've unlocked."

Mira's eyes flickered between them. "Arlan, what is this about?"

Arlan couldn't answer.

Because deep down, he knew this person wasn't just some random rogue.

They were here for him.

And that meant his secret was no longer safe.