The Cleric’s Inquiry

The alley was silent.

Arlan stood his ground, muscles taut, ready to move at a moment's notice. His eyes flickered across the hooded figure, noting the controlled stance, the way the man's hands rested near his belt—not in preparation for an attack, but not far from it either.

This wasn't some ordinary stalker.

Bones shifted inside Arlan's cloak, clicking faintly. Even he could tell something was off.

The man took another slow step forward, his voice calm. "You interest me."

Arlan raised an eyebrow, forcing his usual smirk. "Flattered. But if you wanted a date, you could've just asked."

A chuckle. Low, measured. "Not quite."

Then, in one smooth motion, the man pushed back his hood.

Arlan's stomach clenched.

A cleric.

The silver insignia on his coat gleamed in the dim alley light—a symbol of the Holy Order.

His auburn hair was cropped short, a single scar running across his cheek, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto Arlan with unsettling intensity. He was older than them—not by much, maybe in his late twenties—but something about him carried an air of experience.

Not a rookie.

Not someone to take lightly.

Arlan kept his expression neutral. "You a collector or something? Got a thing for adventurers?"

The cleric ignored the jab. "I have questions."

Arlan's grin didn't waver. "I don't do interviews."

The man tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp. "You and your friends arrived here not long ago. No previous records. No known history. A fresh party appearing right after Duskhaven fell."

A pause.

Arlan forced himself not to react.

The cleric took another step forward. "You were there, weren't you?"

Arlan inhaled slowly, then shrugged. "And if we were?"

The cleric's expression didn't change. "Then you might have answers."

Arlan let out a slow breath. He needed to be careful.

A direct denial might make him more suspicious. But admitting too much could get them all killed.

So he did what he did best.

He lied.

A Game of Words

Arlan leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. "Fine. Yeah, we were there. And you know what we saw? Death. Chaos. People screaming while the dead tore them apart."

His voice hardened just enough. "So if you're about to ask if we saw some big evil necromancer waving his hands around, the answer is no. We were too busy trying not to die."

The cleric studied him.

Then—he sighed, rubbing his temple.

"I believe you," he said finally.

Arlan blinked. He hadn't expected that.

The cleric exhaled. "I've seen too many survivors. The way they react. The way they tremble when they talk about what happened." His blue eyes flicked to Arlan's hands, steady and relaxed. "You're different."

Arlan kept his expression unreadable.

The cleric continued. "You aren't shaken. Not like the others." His voice lowered slightly. "And that's what makes me curious."

Arlan pushed off the wall, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "What can I say? We're adventurers. We see things. We move on."

The cleric watched him for a long moment. Then, finally—he nodded.

"Fair enough."

The Warning

For a second, Arlan thought that was the end of it.

But then the cleric's voice dropped.

"Duskhaven wasn't just a massacre."

Arlan frowned.

The cleric's jaw tightened. "The Order has reason to believe it was a message. A declaration."

A cold pit settled in Arlan's stomach.

"We don't know what the necromancers awakened there. But we do know this: Duskhaven was only the beginning."

Arlan swallowed.

The artifact. The sorcerer. The whispers in the dark.

The cleric didn't notice his reaction. "The Order is preparing for war. They are mobilizing forces. If the necromancers rise again, we will be ready."

Arlan forced a smirk. "Good luck with that."

The cleric's eyes flickered with something unreadable. Then—he turned.

"One last thing." He glanced over his shoulder. "If I find out you were lying about anything, I will come back."

Arlan's grin sharpened. "Looking forward to it."

The cleric gave him one final, measured look—then disappeared into the alley shadows.

Alone Again

Arlan didn't move.

His breath was steady. His hands were steady.

But inside?

Inside, his mind was racing.

The Order was preparing for war.

They knew something was coming.

And worst of all…

So did he.

Bones clicked softly inside his cloak, almost questioningly.

Arlan let out a slow exhale. "Yeah, buddy."

He turned back toward the inn.

"We've got a problem."