The council room was dingy and cavernous, a complete black hole within the guild hall, dimly illuminated only by candlelight flickering off the stone walls in low, shaking shadows. Kiaran stood in the center of the room, alone under the piercing eyes of his guildmates as they surrounded him loosely in a half-circle, their faces painted with suspicion and distrust. He felt the silent accusation of their whispers, as if they held secrets which were flowing from one wall of the room into another, hoping he might not catch wind of them.

His glance ran over each face, searching for the stiffened postures, the narrowed eyes, and trying to guess who among them held secret alliances, and who may already be spinning plans for his destruction. It wasn't anything new; Kiaran had always known his way was fraught with danger, laden with lies and betrayal. But the weight of it came crashing over him, harder than he'd ever felt before.

From her corner of the room, a sharp voice cut through the murmurs. Lirael was the fiercest of all the guild members, with a biting stare and an equally sharp tongue. "So, we are to trust the one who can't keep his ambitions hidden," she sneered, folding her arms across her chest. "Or do we ignore the fact that those driven by vengeance seldom know loyalty?

Kiaran set his jaw, not willing to be drawn into her game of bait and switch. After all, she wasn't entirely in the wrong; his purposes and his desire for retribution were plain enough for anyone with the courage to look. It was that desire, this consuming urge to break free of the paralysis of the curse, that had brought him thus far. He'd rather die than apologize for it.

Another voice piped up, softer but no less critical. "Well, we should consider where his true loyalties lie. He's proven capable, but is he willing to risk the guild's future for his own gain?" This was Thrain, elder of the guild, who had observed Kiaran closely since his arrival, his expression always betraying a measure of doubt.

Kiaran made a deep breath, his eyes cold. "I am fighting for this guild, not against it. My goals may vary from yours, but that doesn't make me your foe," he said in a whisper, unwavering.

A snort sounded to the side as another member of the guild, a scrawny, wiry man by the name of Cael, spoke under his breath, "One mis stepping, and you are just that".

The guild leader stood towering above the rest, his iron gaze cutting straight through Kiaran as he raised a hand to silence the room. His name was Voss: a man known for harsh judgment, even if unyielding, and loyalty above all else. Kiaran respected him even as he saw the doubts flickering behind those steely eyes.

Kiaran, Voss began, his voice measured, as if weighing each word like precious metal. To place our guild's safety in your hands, we must see proof of your loyalty. Something that will silence the voices questioning you. His words carried an edge, the implication unmistakable.

Kiaran's lips twisted up in a pale smile. A sign of commitment, of course. And he knew better than to think he could get by unscathed, not with all the suspicion that had been stirred up over the last few weeks. His dogged attempts to reverse his curse branded him a liability. They wanted him to dance on tightropes, leap off precipices for their trust, and show them his ambition raw.

What is it you propose?" Kiaran asked, his voice as steady as his gaze, even as he could feel the tension coiling in his chest.

Again, a whisper ran through the members of the guild, eyes flicking back and forth towards one another before Voss finally spoke, his words heavy with both power and warning. "There's an artifact within the dungeon of shadows, an ancient relic our enemies would pay dearly for, and that could fortify our defenses. I trust you've heard of it?

Kiaran furrowed his brow. He had indeed heard whispers of this relic, rumored to contain powers that could turn the tide in battles, artifacts meant to amplify one's innate abilities tenfold. But those rumors were always laced with stories of death, of those who had dared to seek it and never returned.

"You want me to retrieve it," Kiaran said, a statement rather than a question.

A smirk crossed Voss's face, cold and calculating. "Consider it a test," he said. "You bring us the relic, and you'll have your place among us… unquestioned."

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Kiaran bit back a retort, his mind racing. He had no illusions about the so-called test; it was as much a mission as it was a death sentence, designed to either break him or bind him irrevocably to the guild. But the promise of the relic, its powers, and the potential to turn his curse into a weapon—those thoughts lit a fire within him. And with every flicker of that flame, he could feel the chains of his past, of his powerlessness, begin to slip.

"Fine," he whispered, the word barely above a murmur, but it cut through the silence like a blade. "I'll retrieve your relic."

Voss nodded his head, smirking, though a flicker of warning never left his gaze. "See that you do," he said before turning his back on Kiaran and ending the conversation.

Cool night air bit into Kiaran's skin as he left the guild hall, his footsteps echoing softly against cobblestone streets. The darkness was almost familiar, comforting even, wrapping him about like an old cloak as he prepared himself for the task ahead. Beyond the outskirts of the city lay a place with so many myths of peril and ancient curses that the shadows there sounded almost like a name - the dungeon of shadows. It seemed almost fitting, a place where only those willing to sacrifice everything might tread.

Kiaran pushed open the small armory, his eyes scanning it for a familiar face. He spied Arrin, scout for the guild and one of the few who had shown him any degree of kindness. She looked up as he approached, her eyes narrowing as she took in his expression.

"You're going for the relic, aren't you?" she asked, her tone suggesting that she already knew the answer.

Kiaran nodded. "They want proof of loyalty. I suppose risking my life is as good a way as any.".

Arrin sneered, her mouth curling into a wry smile. "They're trying to trap you, don't they? The dungeon… no, it's not anything normal. Not many escape that place and return unchanged." Her voice was sharp, with an undernote of warning, her dark eyes heavy with the knowledge.

But Kiaran's determination became all the harder. "I have dealt with worse," he said, though some of him wondered if he really felt that way. "Besides, if I do not do this, they will always view me as an outsider. It is my only chance.".

Arrin shook her head, muttering under her breath as she pulled a small vial from the depth of her cloak. She pressed it into his hand, her gaze steady. "Take this. It is rare potion and it may stay off the worst curses of this dungeon. Use it only if you must."

Kiaran nodded, his fingers buckling the vial into his belt pouch. "Thanks to you, Arrin. For everything.".

She paused, her fingers dragging along his arm before she pulled away. "Don't thank me yet. Just. come back."

With one final nod, Kiaran turned and ran into the darkness as he emerged from the safety of the guild to begin his trek to the dungeon of shadows. Indeed, the path ahead was treacherous, mist and darkness enveloped it. And yet, Kiaran's mind cut through the noise, his thoughts honed on the burden of what lay ahead. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, every pulse reminding him of the risks against his life, and the power waiting there.

The air grew thick and unnatural, heavy with a chill that felt like that of a true morrow; mist swirling around him like dark, spectral hands. Before him loomed the ancient stone doorway, etched with runes pulsing with a faint, malignant energy. Taking a deep breath, Kiaran stepped forward, crossing the threshold, accepting the darkness to swallow him whole.

There inside, complete silence except for that distant sound drop of water in hollow corridors. The shadows fared on the walls as if having an independent life following him with such intensity that he could feel crawling down his spine. Every step was heavier than the last, as if the dungeon itself placed him on the scale, weighing his soul before letting him pass.

Kiaran had his sword in hand, and with this tight grip, his senses became even more on guard. The weight of the guild's expectations and his own hungers for power beat down on him like an anvil on a bronze cloak of lead, yet he was forward, each step taking him deeper into the heart of darkness, the mind fortified against horrors that awaited him.

Ancient carvings were etched into the walls, impressions of battles fought long ago; twisted and broken warriors, suffering at the hands of curses in the dungeon. He could almost hear the whine of their agony, their helplessness, their despair soaking into his bones, but he compelled himself to keep moving forward, refusing the rise of fear.

This cold, each breath a fog before his face as he finally reached the inner chamber. There, resting upon a stone pedestal, was the relic—a dark, gleaming artifact that seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as though aware of his presence.

Kiaran approached slowly, his heart pounding as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold, smooth surface. In that

Instant, a jolt of power flooded into him, giving him strength he'd never felt before, darkness spreading into the deep avenues of his soul.

So, he stood there for a moment, feeling the energy that emanated from the artifact flooding his mind with visions of what he could become. Then, a voice echoed throughout the chamber: a whisper that seemed to come from inside the artifact, a warning that chilled him to the core.

"Power comes at a price," it hissed, its voice like the rustling of dry leaves. "Are you willing to pay it?"

Kiaran paused, the weight of the relic heavy on his shoulders, demanding a reply. Deep in his heart, however, he knew there was no going back.