A chilly breeze blew from the north, the frosty night blanketed Verhnsburg with a shallow grip, light layers of snow permeating across the edges of the pavements, and thin icicles hanging from rooftops. The northern city was at the heart of the mining industry in the human-dominant Romanian Empire, with rich ore deposits periodically surfacing in the nearby Bolerian mountains due to seismic activity. Due to this, the city receives much commerce, being the central hub for travelers to pass through the northern territories. On top of this, Verhnsburg's politics was fairly neutral, being governed by a self-contained administration rather than one of the Empire's Royal Houses, making it ideal for merchants and businesses to deal without strict tariffs.
A ten-minute walk from the central market square was an Inn that travelers frequented.
Anton Krendal was lying with only underwear on the bed in his Inn room, which was sealed from the Verhnsburg climate by an insulated stone wall with only a single thick paned glass window.
He had long since blown out his candlelight and needed to fall asleep soon to recuperate for the next day, but he was fearing it. Not the comings of tomorrow, but rather, the very act of sleeping itself. With sleep comes those dreams.
His rugged, stern expression hid an inescapable dread that reverberated along his muscular body's scars. His old friends and comrades saw him as a fearless and noble warrior who would charge a Basilisk in combat; a dependable leader with whom they could trust their lives. But they were gone now, and with them, Anton's prideful facade that he had built all those years ago. All that remained was a crestfallen fool who didn't deserve any such praise.
Even so, his old virtues sometimes kick in against his better judgment. Like when he dueled and killed Jason Driev of the Royal House of Driev only two weeks ago. Half of the reason was because of his barbaric treatment of his fief; the other half was because he personally insulted Anton. Now, he's marked as a man of interest by House Driev, a troublesome scab of infamy that he cannot pull off any day soon.
But this was his lot in life. He had lived this way, all alone, without companions for half a decade now. Until a few days ago, when he was approached by two eccentric individuals.
"I wonder if Charlotte will get much sleep either." The thought crosses his mind.
Anton wrapped himself into the sheets and forced his eyes closed. It wasn't long before he drifted off.
*****
"A curse upon them, and their children, and their children's children." Whispers arose from the dark.
I'm here yet again. Like routine.
Darkness envelops. My body numb. My breath stolen. Suffocating. I cry.
They're coming.
The whispers gain shadowy forms. Humanoid and mutated. Faceless and angry.
Their limbs twist and contort. They reach out to defile my soul.
Torment. Torture. Curses. Cast into this void.
They're coming.
Please. Spare me. Let me go. Release me.
"A peaceful death is too good for you." They murmur.
They're here.
Their hands smother me. My consciousness fades as the darkness swallows me whole.
*****
Anton lurches up in his bed at the break of dawn. Cold sweat beads across his forehead. He cradles it with his hands, resisting the throbbing migraine as he struggles to remember the nightmare. This is normal. This is how starts his day. For the last dozen weeks, he has suffered with the same night terrors.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
With a sluggish effort, he rolls over, falling out of bed. "Shit" he thuds on the wooden floor. His chin pressed against it as his auburn beard scratched against the grooves in the planks. It's biting cold, which is to be expected in somewhere as cold as Verhnsburg. The chilling nip was exactly the shock he needed to fully wake up.
Anton picked himself upright onto his feet to get dressed. Donning his padded linen tunic undergarments and thick cotton pants, he layered on his chainmail vest, followed by his tattered brown leather coat. He then put on his weaponry, slinging his sheathed claymore over his back fixed on its shoulder strap comfortably around his clothes, and then cautiously fitting his envenomed dagger onto his belt.
It's the big day. He might be a little late.
He hurried out of his room into the corridor, passing by the other rooms in the inn. Bustle and commotion filled the atmosphere as he approached the dining hall.
His two companions, Raum and Charlotte, were waiting for him. Seated at a corner table with a set of bread and sliced meats between them.
"Ah, there he is! Good morning, Mr. Krendel. I trust the headaches are still as heavy as ever. Come join us for breakfast; that will surely remedy it." Raum greeted Anton, inviting him to the seat next to him.
The enigmatic occult priest shone his usual cheerful smile, radiating his creepy aura as naturally as he breathed. His milky pupils, ghostly pale androgynous face, long white hair, and skinny physique gave him the appearance of a doll. Raum wore his deep black ritual cloak that was embroidered with the iconography of hemorrhaging eyes and foreign symbols Anton could not recognize. Around the surface of his entire body, he was encased in a translucent ephemeral mystic veil that shimmered in the light when Anton looked close enough.
Anton rolled his eyes and strode over to Raum. "Your voice is the last thing I want to hear in the morning," he quipped.
"I'm wounded, Mr. Krendal." Raum pretended to pout, unable to wipe his smile off completely.
"Come eat. Scruff. Ignore Raum." Charlotte interjected while gnawing with her fangs at her large plate of meat. She wore a brown hood over her onyx black hair to hide her cat ears and tail, hiding her demi-human identity from commonplace discrimination and prejudice. The petite and slim Felidaen girl sat on the other side of the table, looking intensely at Anton with her blood-shot sharp yellow pupils. To a stranger, her expressionless gaze would seem icier than the frosty climate of Verhnsburg, but Anton knew better than that. Though he hadn't known her for long, he understood the truth behind Charlotte's cold behavior. Through intimate conversations, he learned of her abandonment by her tribe, her difficulty integrating with human society, the isolation and desperation she had faced before she met Raum, and of course, her 'Shadow Dreams' that started it all.
"She didn't sleep much last night again did she?" Anton thought to himself, noting the bloodshot strains in her eyes. "At least she still has an appetite."
Charlotte pushed a plate of meat towards Anton. "Eat. Now. We leave soon. Raum will fill you in." She taps the table assertively with her nails, barely hiding her concern for Anton. They were kindred spirits in a way, drawn to each other by their shared affliction: their recurring nightmares, which they seek answers for—answers that were supposedly held by one man.
"Raum." Anton addressed as he sat next to Charlotte to begin eating. "You've been beating around the bush long enough. If we're hiking the Bolerian mountain range and exploring the mausoleum today, we need to be fully prepared."
"But we are prepared, we've packed enough supplies and rations for the trip."
"Don't dodge the question again, Raum. What are we doing there, and how does it help us with our nightmares?"
"The answers lie in the Y'ashi mausoleum, that is our destination."
"I know. You keep telling us that, but why not just give us the answers outright since you seem to know already."
"There are limits as to what I can tell you Mr. Krendal, as ordained by Gro Goroth's guidance. You will find out in due time, Mr. Krendel."
"No. I'm going to find out NOW."
Anton stood his ground this time, not falling victim to Raum's infectiously aloof and dismissive attitude. Despite Raum's shady background as an occultist, Anton trusted him thus far on account of his credibility and knowledge as a mystic. He didn't suffer from nightmares, yet he intentionally sought out and promised Anton and Charlotte that he would cure their afflictions for no price beyond their assistance in the ordeal. But this state of affairs couldn't continue any further.
Raum paused for a moment, looking down at his plate while carefully trying to formulate a satisfactory response.
"Eat. Scruff." Charlotte cut in to remind Anton.
"I'll eat when Raum stops being cryptic and actually explains something."
Raum continued to look down.
"Also, I've noticed you use the term 'answers' rather than 'solution' or 'cure.' Does that imply that we're just venturing there to obtain knowledge rather than something of substance? That even when we get there, we still won't be cured immediately?"
Raum began fidgeting nervously. It was the first time Anton had ever seen the priest be genuinely uncomfortable; normally, he would be in control of every conversation with a polite charm, but now Anton could see a glimpse of what Raum was hiding under his aloof facade.
Did he have a guilty conscience in there? Is he really acting as a Samaritan? What was his hidden agenda?
"My lips are sealed on the matter. All I ask is that you continue to trust me; I have not let you down yet, have I?"
Silence fell onto the table for a moment.
"Come on. Scruff. We go soon. Eat." Charlotte demanded.
Anton folded his arms and slunk backward, accepting that he could pry no further. "Fine."