Owin didn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep. Back when he had been a mindless mob, a goblin darkblade, he sat in the shadows and watched for heroes. Nothing more. He had never slept before, and even closing his eyes now only made it easier to imagine Artivan dying.

The light of the violet halo became stronger, coloring everything with a soft glow as the sun set on the fourth floor. Owin wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there. Before long, only the halo and the torches near the drawbridge entrance were the only sources of light within the castle.

Were things better or worse for Artivan after meeting Owin? If Owin had insisted on staying behind on the hill outside the hobgoblin village, would Artivan be healthy right now? Would he be safe?

If a level 29 mob could cause so much damage, how dangerous was the rest of the dungeon?

Did Owin have even the slightest chance of climbing to the top?

He rested his forehead on his knees. The residual pain from his injuries had faded, though his skin was now scarred and twisted on his stomach and face. Between the wight’s claws and the Sovereign One’s gray mist, Owin’s face was a canvas of scars. He ran his hand over the bumps and sighed.

Even with his head down, he couldn’t escape the violet glow of the halo. The blood pooled around Owin was the color of cranberries in the halo’s light. He couldn’t forget the description of the halo, no matter how much he wanted to. Artivan had grabbed it so readily, without fear.

A curse that would never end.

Whoever wears the halo becomes the Doomed Harbinger, destined to become a lich who will haunt and kill for the rest of eternity.

Owin should have taken the halo first. He was already cursed. Already doomed. Humans would continue to hunt him even if he left the dungeon. There wouldn’t be anywhere safe in the outside world, even if Artivan was certain the Nimble Hogs would welcome him. A couple of friendly humans wasn’t going to be enough to stop so many others from chasing him like he was some animal.

He would continue his climb, and maybe he would die. There was a lot of pain he might avoid if that happened. Multiple attacks had already almost ended his life in a split second. Maybe the next boss would make it easy, and Owin could respawn, mindless, back on the first floor.

What happened to the goblin darkblade?

Did one respawn a half hour after Owin left? Is the darkblade gone until Owin returns or dies? He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think of himself as a mindless mob again.

He wasn’t mindless. He wasn’t alone.

Artivan stirred, groaning as he slowly sat forward. He coughed, spraying saliva, some vomit, and a bit of blood on Owin’s head.

Owin immediately jumped to his feet, pushing his face close to Artivan’s. The violet light illuminated them both.

“It’s dark,” Artivan said, voice hoarse.

“You’re alive.”

Artivan groaned again. “Last I remember, I thought you were the dead one.” He gently pushed Owin back as he stood up. He let his sword fall to the ground as he stood on unsteady feet.

Owin backed away, staring straight up at the knight’s face. The halo hung ominously above Artivan’s head. Owin picked up the sword and handed it back to Artivan.

He placed it in his sheath and leaned heavily on the wall. “What happened?”

“You left the sword in the wight’s neck. How? I thought you couldn’t let go of things.”

Artivan opened and closed his hand a few times. “I’m not sure I would have an arm anymore if I kept my grip on the sword.” He nodded slowly and pulled his helmet off. A chunk of his hair was missing where the dent had been. A huge scab covered the spot. “I remember a little bit. Sword got stuck and I backed away before she ripped my arm off. I did think you were dead.” He looked past Owin at the pools of blood from the earlier fight. “You were close.”

“So were you.”

Artivan nodded again. He held his helmet out and scowled. “Better the armor than me.” He tossed it to the side, letting it roll across the stone floor. “How’s your health?”

“Full enough.”

Artivan looked in his bag. “Any potions left?”

“Just the one you have.”

Artivan took it out and looked at the red liquid. “I don’t want to leave myself empty . . .”

“Drink it, please.”

Artivan did so and carefully placed the bottle back into his bag. His injuries didn’t disappear, but he stood more upright, and his eyes lost some glossiness. “Oof.” He rolled his shoulders. “What happened with your fight?”

“I killed the possessors.”

He frowned at the blood and stepped around the puddle. Owin followed him back to the wight’s corpse. Artivan picked some bits from Owin’s hair and flicked them away.

“Did you find any loot?” he asked.

“An ocular heart.”

“Oh?” He crouched beside the wight’s body. “Those sell for a good amount. They can be a main ingredient for intelligence buffs.”

“I ate it.”

“You what?” Artivan chuckled. He reached for the wight’s corpse, but began laughing harder until he fell onto his bottom. “You find a glass heart and you eat it?”

“I thought about it more than that. I ate the Malignant Spirit’s flesh on the second floor and got stronger.”

“Tell me it did something and didn’t explode in your mouth.” He tilted his head as if trying to look inside Owin’s head. “Is your brain gone?”

“My intelligence went up by ten. I thought it was a good choice.”

Artivan patted Owin’s shoulder. “I’m glad. Next time, check with me before eating anything. Okay?”

Owin nodded. “What will a wight have?”

“I’ve never fought one before today. Want to find out?” Artivan grunted as he kicked the headless corpse. A dark gray, almost dust-like bone fell out of the body. Artivan’s index flashed before his eyes. “Take a look.”

Owin scooted closer and used Examine on the weird bone.

Bone of the Withered Shade

1 of 50

“What’s a withered shade?” Owin asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. It doesn’t say anything else.”

Owin quickly snatched the bone. “I’ll take this one.” It felt oddly fluffy like there were hairs all over the bone.

“All yours.” Artivan slowly stood, grunting with the effort. He offered a hand and yanked Owin off the ground.

Journal Updated

Owin opened his index and jumped right to the journal page. A new quest had been added, though it didn’t give him the usual notification. Instead, the new quest was smaller and labeled “World Quest.”

“What’s a world quest?”

“Hm? A what?”

“I got a new quest that is labeled a world quest.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Read it to me.”

“The Withered Shade is a ceaseless phantom, appearing in all seven of the world dungeons. To summon the shade, more pieces are needed.”

Artivan scratched his cheek. “Is that it?”

Owin nodded. He reread the journal entry, hoping to find something else. There wasn’t anything he missed.

“Well, hold onto it. Maybe we can find another bone soon and see if that changes anything. If there are quests that span multiple dungeons, I would think they’re linked to the secrets. Otherwise it would be more common knowledge. Does it mention the rarity level for the bone?”

“No. Just the name of it.” Owin stuffed it into his bag and brushed his hand off. “Why haven’t the mobs respawned? You were asleep for more than thirty minutes.”

“Remember how the second floor is an isolated floor? That means you’re the only one there, and things won’t respawn. They don’t need to. Secrets have some similar mechanics. Nothing will respawn here until the secret is claimed. In the labyrinth, that was your hammer. We still don’t know what we’re looking for here.”

“Does that count the Sovereign One?”

Artivan reached up and poked the halo. It bobbed in the air. “I assume so, though the halo is unique, so I don’t know how that would work. A mystery to uncover another time. Why don’t we get a move on?”

“I need to go get my knives from the ocular guard,” Owin said, gesturing to the room beside them.

“Sure. I’ll check the rest of the room, then we can continue.” Artivan took a drink of water from a flask and grabbed a handful of food from his bag. He rolled his shoulders and slowly started to move.

Owin stayed still and watched until the knight was actually walking around the room. It was difficult to believe he was fine. Artivan kicked some of the skeleton bones and muttered some insult as he continued wandering through the room.

Satisfied that Artivan wouldn’t randomly collapse, Owin hurried to the other room and yanked both knives from the ocular guard corpse. The eye was mostly deflated and colorless after sitting dead for so long. Owin nudged the dead brain with his foot, hoping to find loot, but nothing fell from the corpse.

Artivan waited by the wooden door leading to the next room. He ran a hand over his shield, feeling all the gouges and scrapes from the last several fights.

“You need a new shield,” Owin said.

“This was a gift from Sanem many years ago. I didn’t think it would be ripped apart so easily.” He pushed the door open without hesitation. “What’s next?”

Owin ran over, grabbed the Thunderstrike Maul, and rejoined Artivan in the next room. It was a simple, short hallway with huge stained glass windows on the right side. These were the ones they had seen from outside, depicting a wizard with the Halo of the Doomed Harbinger. Artivan looked up at the window and grunted.

Two bone spires framed the ornate door on the opposite end. These were bigger and more complex than the one near the entrance. They looked to be made primarily of rib cages.

A plain double door led to the left, directly opposite of the stained glass. This one had no ornamentation and no windows on the whole wall.

“Which way?” Owin asked.

Artivan pointed left. “That will lead out to the middle of the lake, I think. We should check out the room directly ahead first.”

The room with skeletal spires, which likely meant more undead or another wight.

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” Artivan patted Owin’s head, smushing his hair down flat. “Of course I’m sure.” He drew his sword, walked over, and kicked a skeletal spire over. It easily crumbled and spilled across the stone floor.

“That’s a bad idea,” Owin said quietly.

“The wight was already there. These are just to scare us.” He kicked the other spiral and crushed a skull under his boot. “We aren’t going to let them.”

“Let them what?” Owin asked. He stood just beside where the bones had scattered with the Thunderstrike Maul resting on his shoulder.

“Scare us, Owin.”

“Oh, right.”

Artivan tossed the ornate door open and strode inside without hesitation. The floor was a darker stone than the rest of the castle. Instead of gray, it was closer to black with bigger, polished bricks.

Four white columns in the center created a walkway, leading to a massive white chest with a chalice sitting on top. Behind it was a throne covered in red velvet with a dust-gray skull resting on the cushion.

Artivan slowed his stride, inching forward as he analyzed everything around him. He nodded to four suits of armor, two on each side.

“Possessors?” Owin asked.

“No way to know. You can’t check until they start moving. We should assume they are. Keep an eye out.” Artivan took a big step forward, stepping right between two of the columns. He took a step forward, then pulled his foot back, watching for any movement.

“I think it might just be armor,” Owin said.

“It could be . . .” He took a real step forward, then faked another. This continued until he reached the chest without any suit of armor moving. “Are they really just armor?”

“It looks like it.”

Artivan put his sword away and grabbed the chalice from on top of the chest. It was carved to look like a skull, though the proportions were way off. Blood red liquid splashed over the lip, spilling onto Artivan’s hand.

“What is that?”

“It doesn’t say anything when I use Examine.” He leaned forward and sniffed it. “Smells like wine.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, uh . . . How do you explain that one?” He sniffed it again. “It’s . . .” Artivan shrugged, spilling more of the liquid over his hand.

“Are you okay?” Owin asked.

Artivan watched the red liquid run over his gauntlet. “It was overfilled. I’m fine. Healing potions really do make things like new.”

“Why do you still have wounds?”

Artivan set the chalice back down and fully faced Owin. “I’m fine. When you get older, healing potions work a little differently. That’s all. It’s . . . complicated. I feel perfect. I promise.”

One side of his head was covered in the huge scab from the damage to his helmet, while the other side had a thin red line from the gash he had received a long time ago. Dark bags hung under his eyes as he smiled at Owin.

“Okay.” Owin hurried through the room, watching the armor out of the corner of his eye. The white chest was about the same height as Owin and had carvings all over, resembling bones.

Artivan picked up the chalice again and sniffed. “Why do you think this is here?”

“To make one of us drink it. Like the halo. It will do something bad.” Owin reached up, far too short to actually grab the chalice from Artivan’s hands. “It should be me if we have to drink it.”

“I think drinking this will make the chest open, but I do have the halo ability that opens things . . .” He looked at the chest.

Nothing happened.

“It didn’t work,” Owin said.

“How could you tell?” Artivan sniffed it again. “I don’t have antidotes if it poisons you.”

Owin hopped on his toes, trying to reach the chalice without spilling it or knocking it from Artivan’s hands. If he really wanted to, he could move much faster than the knight and swipe it from his hands, but with low dexterity, he would likely spill it right on Artivan’s face.

“Fine.” Artivan crouched and carefully handed the overfilled chalice to Owin.

The red liquid smelled somewhat sweet with a tinge of something sharp. The black eyes of the skull on chalice stared at him as he slowly spun the cup in his hands.

“Just drink it?”

Artivan shrugged. “I think so. Are you sure you want to do this? We don’t need to see what’s in the chest. We could move on.”

“Then Nikoletta or Siora will come in here and take whatever is inside.”

Artivan remained crouched, though his grunts and random flailing for balance showed a lot of discomfort. “You’re right. If it’s dangerous, I’ll help you through it. Just be careful.”

“Careful?” Owin sniffed the drink again, then opened his mouth and chugged the entire chalice.

Artivan sighed. “Drinking it slowly would have been the safe choice.”

Location Updated

“Location updated?” Owin asked.

Artivan immediately stood up and scanned the room. Nothing had moved or changed. He drew his sword and ran out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Owin had yet to move. The drink had been a little bitter, but overall it tasted decent. The top of the chest popped open right behind him.

What had gotten into Artivan? He might as well check what’s inside before—

Artivan kicked the door open causing Owin to flinch and chuck the empty chalice across the room.

“Go as fast as you can. That drink pinged your location to every hero on the floor. I can see you on my map even when we’re not in the same room.”

Owin’s eyes widened. “You mean—”

“They know exactly where you are and will be heading this way.”

“No,” Owin said quietly.

“I should’ve drank it. I could have pulled them away.” Artivan shook his head. “Too late now. What’s inside the chest?”

Owin had to pull himself up to see inside the chest. It was a blank, dark void that reminded him of the doors between floors.

Pick your reward

“I can choose.”

“Go quickly. What are the options?” Artivan stayed at the door, constantly checking over his shoulder.

Every option was a weapon made of bone. Some were slight variations of swords or knives, while others were spears and halberds.

“About fifty different bone weapons,” Owin said.

“Pick something you will want to use that’s easy to carry.”

Owin scrolled up to the knives and found one nearly identical to the stone knife, but made of a jagged bone. He focused on the selection, and it immediately appeared in his hand.

Lich Bone Knife

Journeyman Magical Item

A knife carved from the bone of a powerful lich. The lich bone knife harnesses the power of the undead, dealing bonus damage to abyssal and specter enemies.

Note: Bone will shatter if used against luminous

Owin rushed over and handed Artivan the knife. The knight’s index flashed before his eyes. He nodded and handed the knife back.

“Good choice. Keep that away until we’re out of here. The mender could break it immediately. Ready?”

“No.” Owin ran back, hopped over the chest, and grabbed the dusty gray skull on the chair. “Look.”

Bone of the Withered Shade

2 of 50

Journal Updated

“Another bone?” Artivan asked. “It still says one out of fifty for me.”

Owin set it in his bag. It seemed fragile, but the other one had managed fine while bouncing around inside the bag.

“Are we going to the island?”

“We need to get out of here as soon as possible. The ping will disappear once you leave the floor. You can rush through or hide out on the fifth floor until they’ve passed. At their level, I doubt they will make it far up there.”

“But it’s only one more room! What if there is something really rare inside?”

Artivan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and scratched his head. “Why aren’t you scared?”

“Because you’re with me.”