The town of Langdale was alive with chaos.

Shadows slithered across the cobblestone streets, writhing like living ink spilled onto the earth. They twisted unnaturally, stretching from the cracks in buildings and curling around street lanterns, suffocating the warm glow into cold darkness. The once-lively town was now shrouded in eerie silence, save for the sounds of hurried footsteps and labored breathing.

Harriet skidded to a stop, panting as he hovered midair, his spectral hands clutching onto a building’s ledge for balance. “I swear, these things don’t go down no matter how hard I hit ‘em!”

Geschicht was beside him, his sword gleaming under the fractured moonlight. He gritted his teeth, thinking for a solution. He had sliced through shadow after shadow, yet they simply reformed like mist, undeterred by his attacks. His grip tightened around the hilt. “They aren’t just ordinary creatures. Something is keeping them here.”

SuriGami, still as small and brash as ever, landed with a thud beside them, her red and white hair flowing wildly as she spun her club—though, at the moment, it was just an ordinary stick. “Tch! They’re after my Inpostura! But I don’t have my stone, which means I can’t break these things!”

Harriet cracked his knuckles with a grin. “Well, that’s just great. Any other bad news?”

“Yes! You’re both slow and useless!”

Harriet’s grin twitched. “Punch the child.”

Geschicht pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, Harriet. Do not punch the child.”

“I will punch the child.”

“No, you will not—”

A sudden explosion of force sent all three of them sprawling as a monstrous shadow surged from the stone walls, its form distorting into jagged spikes. The wooden stalls in the marketplace shattered upon impact, fruits and wares tumbling across the ground. The air smelled of dust and something unnatural—like burnt paper mixed with ink.

SuriGami spat out dirt and scrambled to her feet. “You two morons can squabble later! Right now, we need to find my Inpostura before these things swallow the whole town!”

Geschicht’s eyes flicked toward the town center. “Where did you lose it?”

The Dokkaebi huffed, gripping her useless club. “If I knew, do you think I’d be here babysitting you two?!”

Harriet shook his head. “We need a plan.”

“We don’t have time for a plan!” SuriGami snapped. “Either start swinging or start running!”

A deep, guttural roar echoed through the streets. The largest shadow yet, a towering beast with hollow eyes and clawed limbs, rose from the broken stone of an old bell tower. It hunched forward, its body flickering in and out of existence, an amalgamation of darkness with no solid form.

Geschicht stepped forward. “We fight.”

Harriet cracked his neck. “Finally.”

The battle erupted in full force.

Harriet’s spectral hands became a blur as he dodged through the onslaught, lifting wooden debris and hurling it with bone-cracking force. The shadows recoiled but did not break. Geschicht met them head-on, his sword slashing through the darkness, light sparking with each strike. But the monsters kept reforming, endless and relentless.

SuriGami, despite lacking her Inpostura, was anything but useless. She moved with the raw ferocity of a true warrior, weaving between the attacks and smacking away creeping tendrils with her makeshift weapon. “Come on, where is that damn stone?!”

Then, in the midst of the chaos, Harriet saw it.

A faint glimmer, barely noticeable, wedged between the cracks of an old statue at the heart of the town square. It pulsed, dim but alive.

“There!” he yelled, pointing. “The shiny thing you’ve been whining about!”

SuriGami’s eyes widened. “Finally!”

But just as she lunged, the largest shadow reared up, its massive claw slamming into the ground, sending tremors through the earth. The impact sent Harriet flying, his body twisting midair before catching himself with his spectral grip. Geschicht barely managed to stay upright, his boots sliding against the stone pavement.

The beast reached for the stone.

Geschicht moved.

With a burst of speed, he dove past the monster’s claw and snatched the glowing stone from its resting place. The moment his fingers curled around it, the air shifted. The shadows shrieked, recoiling violently as the stone flared with a blinding, golden light.

SuriGami was already on him. “Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

Without hesitation, Geschicht tossed her the stone. The moment it touched her hands, the air boomed with a force unlike anything before.

The ordinary stick in her grasp twisted, lengthened, and reshaped into a massive, ornate club. The engravings shimmered, ancient and powerful, as the weapon pulsed with raw energy.

SuriGami grinned.

“Now this is more like it.”

With one mighty swing, she brought the club down. The impact was deafening. A shockwave of energy rippled through the battlefield, striking the monstrous shadows at their core. They howled, their forms twisting in agony as their very essence was shattered. The curse that bound them to this place broke like fragile glass.

Geschicht watched as the last remnants of darkness evaporated, the night air finally still.

SuriGami twirled her club over her shoulder, a smug smirk on her face. “Told ya. Just needed my Inpostura.”

Harriet groaned from where he lay sprawled on the ground. “Yeah, yeah. Congratulations, shortstack.”

SuriGami narrowed her eyes. “Want me to hit you next?”

Harriet shot up. “Nope. I’m good.”

Geschicht exhaled, lowering his sword. The town was safe. The battle was over.

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But the mystery of what had caused this curse is still there.

As he turned his gaze to SuriGami, he knew one thing for sure—this wasn’t the last time they’d see her.

As the dust settled from their intense battle, SuriGami adjusted her grip on the massive dokkaebi club, its surface gleaming as if alive with unseen energy. Her red and white hair swayed with the lingering force of her last swing, and she turned her sharp, fox-like eyes toward Geschicht and Harriet.

“The real problem isn’t over yet,” she muttered, scanning the air as if searching for something only she could see. “That shadow? It wasn’t just some wandering wraith—it came from somewhere.”

Geschicht tightened his grip on his sword, still feeling the weight of its sudden appearance in his hand. He exchanged a glance with Harriet, who was catching his breath after deflecting yet another barrage of chaotic flying debris. The air was still thick with an eerie, unnatural energy.

“So what, we track it down?” Harriet asked, rolling his shoulders. His golden eyes flashed with determination. “Fine by me. I’m not letting something like that get away after it threw half a house at us.”

SuriGami smirked. “Good, because we’re going hunting.”

They set off into the night, their footsteps echoing through the streets of Langdale. SuriGami led the way, holding her club in one hand while her other fingers traced strange symbols in the air. Her movements pulsed with magic, faint glowing trails following the tips of her fingers.

Geschicht studied the motion carefully. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Tracking it,” SuriGami answered without looking at him. “That shadow wasn’t acting on its own. It was being drawn somewhere—like a moth to a flame. If we follow its trail, we can find the source.”

Harriet crossed his arms, floating slightly ahead of them, his spectral hands barely visible in the dim light. “Would’ve been nice if you figured that out before we had to fight the thing.”

SuriGami shot him a glare. “I was a little busy being powerless, thank you very much.”

The path led them out of town, down a winding dirt road that stretched toward the dense forest beyond Langdale’s borders. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, as though the world itself was bracing for something. The trees were unnaturally still, their violet-hued leaves trembling in anticipation. Even the wind had gone silent.

At last, they reached a clearing where the earth had been scorched black. In the center lay a jagged, broken stone, its pieces faintly pulsing with a malevolent glow.

SuriGami inhaled sharply. “That’s it. That’s where it’s coming from.”

The shadows around them began to stir, writhing like living smoke, drawn toward the fractured remnants of the cursed stone. The presence of the stone felt wrong—like a wound that refused to heal. The whispers started, soft at first, then rising in volume, voices that did not belong to the living.

SuriGami stepped forward. “This place is cursed.”

“We can tell,” Harriet’s eyes darting around as the shadows took shape once more, trying to reach for them.

Geschicht raised his sword, but SuriGami placed a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t something we fight.”

“Then what do we do?”

SuriGami closed her eyes, tilting her head back. “We end it.”

And then she sang.

The song that left her lips was not one of words but of power, a melody that carried through the clearing like the wind itself had learned to speak. It was ancient, woven from the magic of something greater than any of them. The notes glowed in the air, rippling through the darkness and touching every lingering trace of corruption.

The shadows screamed, writhing in agony as the purity of her voice reached them. The cursed energy that had plagued this land for so long cracked and crumbled, dissolving into silver light that drifted skyward. The fractured stone pulsed one final time before its glow faded completely, and with it, the darkness vanished.

When SuriGami finished, the forest was still. Peaceful.

She exhaled, lowering her club. “It’s done.”

Harriet let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Geschichte grinned mischievously and teased, “Nice voice for a shortstack like you.”

SuriGami’s gaze flickered with surprise before they gave a slow, almost theatrical blink. They tilted their head slightly, their voice light but tinged with a playful sharpness. “Is that so? A shortstack, huh? You’ve got some nerve.”

They paused, as if considering the remark, then added with a grin, “Guess I’ll let you off easy this time.”

SuriGami turned her club back into the shiny stone, then glanced at Harriet. "Helping me like that... you’ve either got an unbelievable amount of stupidity or an exceptional amount of courage. I’ll just assume it’s both." With that, she leaped high into the air and vanished from sight.

Geschicht and Harriet exchanged a glance before shrugging it off. With a tired sigh, they turned back toward the town.

As they walked through the streets, the heat from the battle slowly fading, a lone firefly drifted through the night air. It flickered softly, weaving between the dim lantern light before settling near Geschicht’s shoulder. Unnoticed, it hovered for a moment, as if observing him, then gently glided toward his journal. The faint glow of its tiny body pulsed as it slipped between the pages, vanishing into the worn parchment without a trace.

Geschicht adjusted his grip on the journal, completely unaware of the silent guest that had made its home within his records. Beside him, Harriet stretched before letting out a yawn.

As Geschicht and Harriet stepped through the doors of the inn, the warmth of the lantern-lit room washed over them, a stark contrast to the chilling night air outside. Despite the late hour, the common area was far from empty. A handful of townsfolk, those who had been awake to witness the chaos that had unfolded in the streets, were gathered near the counter, speaking in hushed yet excited voices. Their conversations died down the moment the two boys entered.

The innkeeper leaned against the counter, arms crossed. He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “You youngsters are something else,” he said, his deep voice carrying both amusement and a hint of exasperation. “Most folks would’ve run for the hills, yet here you are, strolling back like you just finished a stroll through the market.”

Harriet, still stretching his long sleeves, grinned. “Well, technically, we did run… just toward the problem instead of away from it.”

One of the onlookers, an older woman wrapped in a thick shawl, placed a hand on her chest. “I saw it with my own eyes… the shadows moving like living nightmares, and that small one—was she truly a child?”

Geschicht, too exhausted to explain the whole situation, simply sighed. “Let’s just say tonight was… unexpected.”

The innkeeper gave a short laugh and gestured toward the stairs. “Go on, get some rest. You’ve done enough excitement for one night. I’ll have some hot meals ready for you in the morning—on the house.”

Harriet’s eyes lit up at the mention of food, but even his usual enthusiasm was dampened by sheer exhaustion. “You’re my favorite person in this town,” he murmured before trudging toward the stairs.

Geschicht followed behind, offering a quiet nod of thanks before disappearing up the steps. The murmurs of the gathered townsfolk resumed behind them, voices laced with awe, confusion, and curiosity.

The following morning, sunlight streamed through the inn's windows, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The aroma of freshly baked bread and hearty stew wafted through the air, enticing the guests. Harriet was the first to make his way downstairs, lured by the prospect of a complimentary breakfast. Geschicht trailed behind, still drowsy, rubbing his eyes and clutching his journal under his arm.

As they approached the counter, the innkeeper grunted a greeting before sliding a plate of food in front of them. “Eat up. You’ve earned it.”

Just as Harriet was about to dig in, small, hesitant footsteps approached them. They turned to see a little girl standing near their table, her tiny hands clutching a small cloth pouch. She looked up at Geschicht with wide, nervous eyes. It was the same girl he had saved from the falling stones the night before.

For a moment, she fidgeted, as if unsure whether to step forward or run away. Then, mustering her courage, she held out the pouch with both hands. “Um… Mister Hero,” she said softly, her cheeks turning red. “Thank you for saving me last night. Mama said I should give you something as thanks, so… I made these.”

Geschicht blinked, caught off guard. He hesitated before taking the pouch, feeling the warmth of freshly baked cookies inside. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Harriet leaned over his shoulder. “Ooooh, are those cookies?” He reached out to grab one, but the girl quickly smacked his hand away.

“They’re for him!” she huffed, puffing up her cheeks.

Harriet recoiled, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I get it. No stealing the hero’s reward.”

Geschicht let out a small chuckle and glanced down at the little girl. “Thank you,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a single Doh coin and placing it in her hand. “A trade, then. I’ll take these, and you take this.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she clutched the coin tightly before giving him the biggest, most genuine smile. “Okay!” Then, without another word, she turned and ran back to her mother, who had been watching from a distance with a grateful expression.

Harriet leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Look at you, winning the hearts of the town.”

Geschicht rolled his eyes and tossed a cookie at Harriet’s face. “Shut up and eat.”

Harriet caught it mid-air and took a bite, grinning. “Mmm, totally worth it.”

As the years rolled by, the Night of Shadows became a story etched into the heart of Langdale’s lore. Some whispered of two boys—one who wielded a blade that gleamed like starlight, cutting through the blackest dark, and another whose unseen hands reached into the void to reach to the furthest. Others spoke of a girl with hair like fire and snow, whose voice carried a song so pure it shattered the curse’s grip. Though the tales grew hazy with time, one truth endured: Langdale was no longer just a quiet village nestled between its hills. It was the birthplace of a legend, a place where light triumphed over shadow, and where the echoes of that fateful night would forever linger in the wind.