The forest road stretched out in silence, the muffled crunch of dirt and fallen leaves the only sound accompanying Malric's slow march. Dusk bled into the horizon, dyeing the world in muted shades of orange and purple. Malric adjusted the brim of his hat, its shadow casting a veil over his hollowed eye sockets. His thoughts turned inward, analyzing the task ahead.

The Red Boar tavern—his next destination—lay somewhere ahead, nestled in the folds of obscurity where humanity’s more unsavory dealings thrived. He had no illusions about what awaited him. This was not an ordinary tavern; it was a hub of illicit dealings, gossip, and, most importantly, a potential link to the Basilisk's Fang. The scarred merchant’s words echoed in his mind, filling him with a grim determination.

What would he do upon entering? The plan had to be flawless—or as close to it as his limited understanding of human interactions allowed. The first obstacle was simple yet daunting: walking into the tavern itself without drawing unwanted attention. The gear he had scavenged would help mask his skeletal form, but his movements and speech would betray him if he wasn’t careful. He practiced a slower, more deliberate gait as he walked, easing the stiffness from his bones.

Once inside, he would need to observe before acting. Talking too soon or asking the wrong questions could raise suspicions. Humans were wary creatures when it came to strangers prying into their affairs. He would have to blend in, appear like one of them—tired, indifferent, and lost in the haze of drink and shadowy business.

He considered the types he might encounter. The drunkards would be loud but loose-lipped, potentially useful but unreliable. The more dangerous ones would be sober, eyes sharp and calculating, watching everyone who entered. Malric would need to spot those who held power without being noticed by them in return.

And then, there was the drug dealer. A wiry man, the merchant had said. Someone who trafficked in glowing vials and held a tenuous connection to the Fang. Malric knew better than to confront him directly. Instead, he would observe the man first, watching how he moved, whom he spoke to, and what his mannerisms revealed. Questions could come later, after Malric had mapped the social terrain.

The faint outline of a building rose in the distance, and Malric’s thoughts sharpened. The tavern loomed ahead, perched like a hungry beast waiting to swallow its prey. Its wooden frame sagged with age, lantern light spilling weakly through the cracks in its walls. Laughter and low murmurs echoed from within, mingled with the clink of mugs and the faint strains of a fiddle.

Malric paused at the edge of the clearing, adjusting his gloves and ensuring his coat concealed every part of his skeletal frame. He tilted his hat low, casting his face in shadow. With measured steps, he crossed the threshold into human territory.

The air inside the Red Boar was thick with the stench of ale and unwashed bodies. Malric lingered near the doorway for a moment, allowing his senses to adjust to the dim light and cacophony of sound. His entrance earned a few brief glances, but the patrons quickly returned to their own affairs. He moved to a corner table, careful not to let the creak of his bones betray him, and sat with his back to the wall.

The room was a study in chaos. Merchants with weathered faces haggled over prices, their voices low but tense. A group of laborers roared with laughter over shared drinks, their movements clumsy and exaggerated. Near the bar, a hooded figure exchanged something small and glowing with a burly man who slipped the object into his coat.

Malric’s gaze locked onto the hooded figure. The man’s wiry build matched the merchant’s description, and his movements were cautious, deliberate. He wasn’t just another drunkard—he was someone used to operating in the shadows.

Patience, Malric reminded himself. Humans were creatures of habit, and this one would reveal his patterns if watched closely.

For the next hour, Malric remained still, a silent observer in the corner. The wiry man conducted several exchanges, each quick and discreet. He spoke to only a few patrons, always leaning in close and lowering his voice. The glowing vials he traded were tucked away as swiftly as they appeared, their faint light swallowed by the tavern’s gloom.

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Finally, the crowd began to thin. The laborers stumbled out into the night, and the merchants packed away their wares. The wiry man finished his last transaction and moved toward the exit, his steps purposeful but unhurried.

Malric rose from his seat, keeping a safe distance as he followed the man outside.

The night air was cool and sharp, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the tavern. Malric stayed in the shadows, trailing the wiry man as he walked down the dirt road. The dealer moved with the ease of someone who had done this many times before, his eyes scanning the path ahead but never looking back.

When the man turned onto a narrow side path, Malric quickened his pace, closing the distance between them.

“Stop lurking and come out,” the man said suddenly, his voice calm but edged with steel.

Malric froze, considering his options. Finally, he stepped into the faint moonlight, keeping his face obscured beneath the brim of his hat.

“What do you want?” the dealer asked, his hand drifting toward a hidden weapon.

“I’m looking for information,” Malric said, his voice low and measured.

The dealer’s eyes narrowed. “Information costs. What makes you think I have any to sell?”

“You deal in more than just vials,” Malric replied, gesturing toward the satchel at the man’s side.

The dealer’s suspicion deepened, but after a moment, he gestured toward a cluster of trees off the path. “We’ll talk there. Too many ears on the road.”

Malric followed, keeping a calculated distance.

Beneath the cover of the trees, the dealer leaned against a trunk, his stance relaxed but his eyes sharp.

“You’re after the Fang, aren’t you?” he said.

Malric didn’t respond, letting the silence serve as confirmation.

“I don’t know where they are,” the dealer admitted, “but I know someone who works for them—a dealer at the Red Boar. He’s a regular there, comes by every few weeks. He’ll know more than I do.”

Malric’s hollow eyes bored into the man, assessing the truth of his words. “And what about you?”

The dealer smirked. “Me? I’m just a small cog in a big machine. I sell the product, make my coin, and keep my head down. That’s how you survive in this business.”

Malric considered this. Humans like him didn’t fight; they hid, using others as shields and distractions. The Basilisk’s Fang was no different—an organization built on layers of scapegoats and sacrifices, all designed to protect the ones at the top.

It was a web, and Malric intended to climb it, one strand at a time.

As the dealer turned to leave, Malric faded back into the shadows, his mind already turning to the next step in his pursuit of the Fang.

The dealer’s retreating form vanished into the night, leaving Malric alone in the stillness. The skeletal figure lingered on the edge of the road, his thoughts a quiet storm. The next step was clear: he had to wait for this new lead to arrive at the Red Boar tavern. But waiting meant time, and time was a tool he couldn’t afford to squander.

Malric turned his gaze toward the black expanse of the forest bordering the road. The wilderness beckoned him, a shadowed realm teeming with life—and death. It was there he could grow, could hone himself for the inevitable dangers ahead. The fragile human guise he wore was temporary, a brittle shell masking the predator beneath. He needed something more.

With a final glance at the tavern’s distant glow, Malric strode toward the trees.

The forest was alive with sound. Leaves whispered in the cold wind, and the faint rustle of unseen creatures reached his ears. Malric moved with practiced silence, his footfalls muffled against the loamy earth. Beneath the canopy of twisting branches, moonlight fractured into pale shards, painting the ground in ghostly patterns.

He was hunting.

Not for food, not for sustenance, but for potential. The ability to adapt and evolve was his strength—Bonecrafting was his weapon. Every creature in this forest was a puzzle piece, waiting to be added to the grotesque mosaic that was his form.

A low growl echoed from somewhere ahead. Malric halted, tilting his head as he listened. The sound was guttural, primal, and it came from a large predator. Perhaps a wolf, or something worse. He crouched low, melting into the shadows as he followed the noise.

Minutes passed in tense silence before he saw it. A massive wolf prowled a clearing, its coat dark as pitch, its eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Its movements were graceful but heavy with predatory intent. Malric observed it with a calculating eye, noting the strength in its limbs, the sleek efficiency of its body.

A useful beast, he thought. But too risky to engage now.

He would need to find weaker prey—smaller creatures whose parts could be shaped into something new. His bony fingers flexed in anticipation, the hum of his power whispering at the edges of his awareness.

The night deepened as Malric wandered further into the forest. He passed by burrows, nests, and hidden dens, cataloging potential targets in his mind. A colony of oversized spiders clung to the branches above, their many-legged movements drawing his attention. Their venom sacs could be useful, perhaps as weapons embedded in his frame. Nearby, a hawk perched on a high branch, its sharp talons glinting in the faint light. Precision and speed could be drawn from such a creature.

Each discovery fueled his growing hunger for power. The possibilities were endless, and Malric’s mind churned with ideas for what he could become.

Hours passed in this dark reverie until Malric finally stopped in a dense part of the forest. The trees here were ancient, their gnarled roots twisting across the ground like skeletal fingers. The air was still, the usual chatter of insects and nocturnal animals absent.

Malric stood in the darkness, his form barely visible among the shadows. The night seemed to breathe around him, heavy with anticipation.

Something was near.

Something watching.

Malric’s hollow sockets scanned the black void ahead, his skeletal fingers curling into fists. The forest, so full of life and potential, now felt like a graveyard.

The chapter ended there, with Malric standing motionless in the heart of the darkness, waiting for whatever lurked to reveal itself.