Early morning cloaked the guild hall in a shroud, fog creeping between stone alleys and wrapping itself around wooden posts. A chill would creep into the air, bitter enough to bite through the fabric of Kiaran's worn tunic, as he walked back to the guild. Everything from the previous night clung to him like a second skin: the dark of the temple, the scream of the creature as he ran his blade through it, and the stone, now pulsing faintly in his pocket with a rhythm that beat out the cadence of his heartbeat.

Kiaran's footsteps echoed down the narrow corridors leading back to his quarters. His mind was filled with questions he had failed to ask. Selene's enigmatic words haunted him, and he could still hear the faint rasp of the wind that carried her warnings through the night air. He clutched the stone tighter, its warmth seeping into his palm, as if it held a life of its own.

Passing through the main hall, he came across the usual bustle of morning activity. Adventurers moved about with guffaws and shouts filling the air. Some honed their blades, while others paced around tables weighed down under maps of dungeons and from ruin-dreaded places. The smell of smoked meats drifted from the kitchen, intertwined with the metallic scent of armor and sweat.

Yet, beneath the surface, a prickling unease emanated from Kiaran. He heard snatches of gossip that spread like rats in the dark, muttering scraps of rumor.

"Odd happenings in the woods recently…"

"There's another patrol went missing near those ruins. That place is damned, I'm telling you, cursed…"

He strode on, passing by and between people's curious gazes: still an outsider to them, an unnamed creature pinning down a living from desperate jobs. Lysander Rune stood among the grizzled veterans, his gold tints catching the light like a well-chased blade. And in the briefest moment, their eyes did cross each other. Lysander's lips curled in a sneering line, as if Kiaran's inept battles were some sort of second-rate entertainment past dessert.

Kiaran's jaw ground tight, but he swallowed his frustration, focusing on the pulsing stone in his pocket. Let Lysander bask in these petty victories. Kiaran had stumbled upon something far, far larger—something that might very well alter the balance of power here.

He walked to a dark corner of the hall, where Alaric's quarters lay behind a heavy oak door. Kiaran rapped once, the sound dulled against the thick wood, and the door creaked open to reveal Alaric's grizzled face. The older man's sharp eyes took in Kiaran before he stepped aside to let him in.

Alaric's quarters were crowded with old weapons, faded maps, and relics of battles from long past. A single candle burned on the desk, casting flickering shadows that leapt across the walls. For a moment, Kiaran felt warm within the familiar surroundings of the place, although the stone in his pocket seemed to grow heavier with every passing second.

Alaric's eyes locked onto him, measuring the lines of exhaustion etched into Kiaran's face and the tension coiled in his shoulders. "You have been up to something, lad," he muttered low, his voice like gravel. "What is it?"

Silent, Kiaran palmed out the stone, let it fall onto his hand. Its surface glowed dully; the runes etched into it shimmering with a wan, unearthly light. Alaric's eyes narrowed, and for an instant his face changed—something between fear and recognition flickered across his scarred features.

"Where did you get it?" Alaric's tone was a knife edge.

"In the ruins," Kiaran said. "There was a creature guarding it. Something… not of this world."

Alaric's face turned somber, his lips pressing together into a thin line. He reached out, hesitated before his fingers would touch the stone as if pain came with the proximity to it. "You have no idea what you've stumbled upon, Kiaran. This isn't some bauble. This is an artifact of ancient power—one that should have stayed buried.".

What does it do? Kiaran's heart was racing, but he kept his voice steady. Alaric shook his head, his shadows pooling under his eyes like a dark reservoir. "Legends speak of stones like these, relics tied to the old gods. They say such things can grant power. but at a cost. Those who've sought them have vanished, or worse—lost their humanity. You're playing with forces that could rip you apart from the inside.".

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Kiaran closed his fist on the stone. He felt its warmth penetrate into his skin. "I need power, Alaric. I need something that can give me an edge. You've seen what this world is like. If I remain as I am, then I shall never survive.".

Alaric's jaw set, his eyes searching Kiaran's face. A sigh escaped him, long and weary. "I won't stop you, lad," he said, "but I'll warn you. Keep this hidden. Don't let the guild leaders catch wind of it-especially not those who know what such things can do.".

He nodded, but his mind strayed to possibilities, risks and rewards that lay ahead of him. All that Alaric was saying was feeding the fires of ambition so that the stone might be the path to something better. He put the stone back in his pocket. It glowed as it set against his side.

He left Alaric's chambers carrying yet another burden along with him, but with a sliver of hope brightening his darkness.

That night, the wind was screaming outside Kiaran's room, rattling the windowpanes and sneaking through the cracks to chill the air. Kiaran sat on the edge of the bed, turning over the stone in his hands, watching the runes in the dim light that pulse softly. The whispers from the forest returned, creeping into the corners of his mind, twisting, and writhing like snakes in the dark.

Shadows crept across the floor as if coming to life, stretching out and curling with an air of life around the tongues of the flame of the candle as they came near. It was not possible for him to look away from the symbols etched into stone; tracing the curves of them with one's fingers, yet he could hear the whispers growing louder, more urgent.

Kiaran's fingers closed tighter around the stone. What was happening to him? Was he losing his mind? The power within this relic already insidiously seeping into his thoughts? A shiver crawled its way down his spine, and he made himself breathe heavily to steady himself. It was just a stone. Just a means to an end.

But secretively, a small voice whispered deep in him that he had disturbed something far older and far more terrible than he could ever understand.

A movement outside the window drew his attention and his hand flashed towards his sword hilt, fingers curling over the leather grip of the sword. He peered out of the glass, his heart hammering with unpretentious curiosity, though the figure standing outside was no threat—not, at least, in the conventional manner.

Selene stood there, hiding under dark cloak and hood, her face half-hidden beneath the shadow. Moonlight cast a silver sheen across her pale features, and her eyes gleamed faintly with that same unnatural light that haunted the temple.

Kiaran pushed open the window, the icy air rushing in. Selene's voice cut through the night like a blade through flesh. "You shouldn't have brought it back with you, Kiaran.".

He scowled, frustration welling inside him. "What do you know of all of this, Selene? You keep warning me, yet never tell me why."

Her eyes stared into his, piercing and unblinking. "That stone is a piece of old magic—a piece of magic that was buried for a reason. It isn't meant for hands like yours. It's meant to bind, to consume. You feel its whispers, don't you? The hunger in its pulse.".

It seemed chill had settled in his chest, but he dared not let it show. "I need power, Selene," he said. "If there's a chance this stone can give me that, I'll take the risk.".

Her face smoothed, a shadow of sorrow passing across it. "I have seen others claim the same. You are not the first to tread this path. But those who pursued power in such ways paid dearly. Their minds shattered; their bodies twisted into something less than human."

Kiaran's mouth tightened into a grim line. "I am not afraid of the risk.".

She took another step forward, her breath visible in the cold air, eyes shining with a knowledge that had to be far too ancient for that young face. "You should be," said Alessia "You have no idea of the danger you court. There are others who know of the existence of the stone—others who would kill for what you possess, and there are worse things, too, lurking in the shadows between worlds."

Kiaran's hand on his sword knotted tighter. "Who are they?"

Selene's smile was bitter and haunted. "You shall find out soon enough. Just know you have awakened something dark and old. Be careful, Kiaran. Or it will consume you."

She walked away before he could ask her further. Left with nothing but the cold wind, the only company he had was his thoughts as the disturbing silence engulfed the interior of his room.

No sleep for Kiaran that night. He lay on his narrow bed, the stone clutched in his hands beneath the blankets, its faint pulse beating against his skin like a second heartbeat. He turned it over and over, feeling the power thrumming just beyond his reach, tantalizingly close. Selene's warning rang in his ears, but he shoved it aside.

In this world, survival equaled power. If the stone could give him an infinitesimal amount of the strength he would need to climb the ranks, he'd take on the curse that came with it. He'd cling to the shadows and allow them to swallow him whole, if only he could stand above those who looked upon him as nothing.

Kiaran closed his eyes, the darkness of the room pouring into his mind. And in the silence, he swore on something he wasn't sure he believed in, to uncover the secrets of the stone no matter what the cost.

The whispers died to a hum, blurring with the sound of his breathing, and for the first time since he had returned, Kiaran felt a strange sense of peace-a stillness before the storm he knew was coming.