Thorne huddled in a small alley with Darius, Rafe, and Eliza. The night was cold and the shadows seemed to cling to the walls like dark, foreboding shrouds. Darius leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.
"We've found the place," Darius said, his eyes gleaming with determination. "It's whispered that the Gravediggers use it as a hideout."
Eliza clutched her arms tightly around herself, her whole body trembling. “My friend told me not to go anywhere near it,” she said, her voice brittle with fear. “Anyone who enters that part of the Old District... they disappear, or they come back in pieces. It's cursed.”
Thorne nodded, his mind racing as he absorbed their words. “I appreciate the information. Really, I do. But I need to go now.”
He turned to leave, but Darius caught his arm in a firm grip, stopping him in his tracks. “We’re coming with you,” Darius insisted, his face set in stone.
Thorne shook his head, pulling back from Darius’s grip. “No, you’ve done enough. I can’t ask you to risk your lives for this.”
Eliza made a small, strangled sound, shrinking further into herself, her eyes darting fearfully toward the darkened streets beyond. The very mention of venturing deeper into the Old District had her face pale as chalk.
Darius’s jaw tightened, his grip on Thorne’s shoulder growing more insistent. “We won’t let you go alone. You think you’re the only one who cares about Ben? Eliza, you don’t have to come inside, but you know the way. You’re the only one who’s been near those ruins.”
Rafe, who had been listening to the exchange with a smirk on his face, leaned casually against the alley wall. “Yeah, I’m coming too. Can’t let you have all the fun without me, now can I?” His tone was light, but there was a nervous edge beneath it, like he was trying to mask his own fear.
Darius shot him a glare. “Fine, but keep your mouth shut for once, Rafe. This isn’t a joke.”
Rafe rolled his eyes but pushed away from the wall. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this over with before I change my mind.”
They set off through the twisting alleys, keeping to the shadows, their breaths quick and shallow in the cold. As they crossed into the Old District, the streets seemed to close in around them, the air growing colder, the shadows thicker.
The buildings here were ancient, their once-magnificent facades now cracked and weathered. Vines and moss clung to the stones, and the air was thick with the scent of decay. The eerie silence was only broken by the occasional scurrying of rats.
As they reached their destination, they saw a street full of abandoned buildings, half crumbled and full of decay. Despite the darkness, Thorne could see the magnificence those buildings once held. Elven architecture was evident in the elegant arches, intricate carvings, and the ethereal quality of the structures, even in their ruined state.
Eliza, shaking like a leaf, pointed a trembling hand toward a large building at the center of the street. "That's it. The hideout."
The cathedral loomed like a specter, its broken spires jutting into the sky like the fingers of a skeletal hand. Vines twisted around the stone pillars, merging with the cracked marble, as though the earth itself was trying to reclaim what had once belonged to the elves. The sight of it sent a chill through Thorne’s veins.
He exchanged a look with Darius, the two of them studying the structure for any signs of movement, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement, straining their ears for the slightest noise. But there was nothing—no footsteps, no murmurs—just the oppressive quiet that made the hairs on the back of Thorne’s neck stand on end. It was the kind of silence that made the skin crawl, the kind that felt like a trap waiting to snap shut.
“This place feels… wrong,” Darius murmured, barely audible. “It’s too quiet.”
Rafe, usually cocky and brash, was strangely quiet as he scanned the shadows. Every few seconds, he’d glance over his shoulder, as though expecting something—or someone—to emerge from the darkness. “This place gives me the creeps,” he muttered, barely loud enough for the others to hear.
Thorne shot him a look but couldn’t disagree. The street was unsettlingly still. Dust coated the ground as if no one had walked here in years, and the faint, stale scent of decay hung in the air, making it hard to shake the sense that they were stepping into a forgotten tomb. Even the walls, lined with the remnants of what once must’ve been grand elven carvings, seemed to loom and watch with silent judgment.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Thorne murmured to Darius, who nodded thoughtfully beside him.
“Too quiet,” Darius agreed, his voice barely a whisper. “Makes me think we’re in the right place. They’d want somewhere like this—empty and abandoned—where no one’s likely to stumble in by accident.”
Thorne turned to Eliza, who stood pale and trembling, barely holding herself together. Her shoulders shook slightly, but she hadn’t yet bolted for the safety of the slums. There was resolve there, buried beneath the fear, and Thorne felt a flash of gratitude. “Thanks for bringing us this far, Eliza,” he said gently. “You don’t have to come any further. You’ve done enough.”
She shook her head, clearly terrified, but unwilling to leave. “I’ll… I’ll stay,” she whispered. “Just… be careful.”
Thorne softened his tone, channeling a bit of aether into his words with Echoes of Truth, hoping to calm her. “We will. Find a safe spot to hide, and keep watch. If anything happens, anything at all, get out of here.”
Eliza nodded, looking slightly more assured, and quickly huddled in the shadows of a corner, her sharp eyes darting about, her body tense as a coiled spring. Thorne cast her one last, reassuring nod before he, Darius, and Rafe crept closer to the looming, broken cathedral. They kept low, pressing into the darkness wherever they could, their every footstep echoing like the toll of a bell in the dead silence.
“We need to find a way in without being spotted,” Thorne whispered, his mind racing. “Darius, what do you think?”
Darius thought for a moment, his gaze sharp and calculating as he scanned the building. “If they’re holed up in there, they’ll definitely guard the main entrance. But the back might be less secure. We’d have a better chance sneaking in that way.”
Thorne nodded, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the dread. “Alright. Let’s check it out. Rafe, you’re on lookout. Keep an eye out for anything that moves.”
Rafe flashed a quick smirk, though his eyes betrayed his unease. “Got it. I’ll be the lookout. No one’s sneaking up on us tonight.”
They began moving toward the back, but something tugged at Thorne’s gut, a sense of wrongness he couldn’t ignore. He stopped abruptly, extending a hand to halt Darius. His eyes scanned the street, the shadows, the crumbling walls—something felt off, like an itch at the back of his mind.
Darius frowned, leaning in close. “What is it?” he whispered.
Thorne’s eyes roamed over the cobblestone road, his brow furrowing. “If I were running a den of criminals, I wouldn’t leave my hideout completely exposed. They’d have something out here, a guard or an alarm. There’s no way they’d leave it so… empty. It doesn’t feel right.”
Darius’s face grew grim as he glanced around. “You think there are traps?”
Thorne nodded, his instincts sharpening. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the street with an intensity he hadn’t felt since he started his training. Just then, a cloud drifted past the moon, allowing a sliver of silver light to fall across the cobblestones. A faint glint caught his eye—a thin, nearly invisible string stretching across the ground, blending perfectly with the dirt and rubble. His heart skipped a beat as he traced its length, noting that each end was anchored to a small, dark metal nail embedded in the stone.
Quietly, he pointed it out to Darius. “There. Look.”
Darius cursed under his breath, his voice a hushed mutter. “Dead gods…”
Thorne’s pulse quickened as he continued examining the alley, his eyes growing sharper as he scanned for more signs of danger. Sure enough, he spotted three more traps, each one expertly hidden, almost invisible against the cracked, worn cobblestones. His focus intensified, and a notification suddenly blinked to life in his vision, a small thrill mixing with his dread.
Congratulations!
New Skill Unlocked: Cunning Trapper!
Information flooded Thorne’s mind, an almost dizzying rush of knowledge he hadn’t possessed a moment ago. He suddenly knew the nuances of setting traps, recognizing pressure points, detecting hidden mechanisms—details that would have gone unnoticed just moments earlier. It was disorienting, like someone had stuffed years of hard-won survival skills directly into his brain. But his mind adjusted quickly, as if he’d known these tricks all his life, and with this new awareness, he began spotting trap after trap along the alleyway.
Two notifications blinked in his vision:
Skill Level Up: Cunning Trapper!
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Skill Level Up: Cunning Trapper!
Normally, these would have excited him, but the sheer number of traps meant their path to the hideout was going to be grueling. He glanced back at the others, their expressions wary, and relayed the grim news.
Darius’s face darkened, but he squared his shoulders. “This won’t be easy,” he muttered, determination glinting in his eyes. “But we have to try. What’s the plan?”
Thorne swept his gaze across the street, piecing together the safest route, mapping it out in his mind with the precision of his newfound skill. “Follow me closely. Step exactly where I step.”
Moving forward, he set the pace slow and steady, his eyes scanning every inch of ground, every crack in the stone, hyper-aware of the deadly stakes. Each step felt like navigating the edge of a blade—one wrong move, and they could set off a trap that would alert the Gravediggers or worse.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached the base of the cathedral, the looming structure casting jagged shadows across them. Thorne exhaled a sigh of relief, keeping it quiet as he glanced at Darius. “We’re in. Now we need to find a way inside without getting caught.”
Darius nodded, his own gaze fixed on the ruin’s towering facade. “There’s got to be a side entrance or a window we can use. This place is massive.”
“Stay low and keep quiet,” Thorne whispered, moving along the wall with Darius close behind.
As they crept along, the structure’s elven origins became increasingly clear. Even in ruin, the cathedral had an ethereal quality—elegant arches adorned with faded carvings, tendrils of moss twisting through delicate patterns that had once been masterfully etched into the stone. The decay almost felt unnatural, as though time had attacked the place with a kind of vengeance. Vines choked the walls, dripping from shattered pillars, giving the ruin an aura of desolate magic that lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of earth and rot.
They reached a narrow alley alongside the cathedral, and Thorne’s senses prickled. He froze, his eyes darting to the ground just in time to spot a tripwire hidden beneath a scatter of leaves. Close one. “Wait,” he hissed to Darius, holding out a hand to stop him. “There’s a trap here.”
Darius halted, eyes widening as he looked down at the nearly invisible snare. Thorne crouched, focusing on the area with the heightened awareness his skill granted him. He squinted through the gloom, and as he looked closer, more traps began to reveal themselves—pressure plates, concealed tripwires, and faint glimmers of barely-there magical enchantments. The entire alley was riddled with danger, each trap placed with ruthless precision, covering almost every inch of space.
“This place is a death trap,” Thorne muttered under his breath, his heart pounding as he turned to Darius, his expression grave. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that the entrance is definitely down there.” He jerked his head toward the end of the alley. “The bad news? It’d be nearly impossible for you to get through without setting something off.”
Darius frowned, bristling. “Why can’t I make it?”
Thorne took a quick look at him, assessing his height, weight, and overall size. “Because it’s a tight path. These traps are designed to catch anyone without a feather-light step. You’re too… well, bulky for it.” He said it without malice, though he could see Darius bristle. “I think I can get through, but it’s too risky for you.”
Darius clenched his jaw, clearly unhappy with the idea of staying behind. “I don’t like the thought of you going in there alone, Thorne. If anything happens…”
Thorne put a hand on Darius’s arm, trying to reassure him. “I need you here in case I get into trouble. If things go sideways, I’ll need backup, someone to keep them from following me out.”
Darius looked down at him, frustration and reluctance evident in his expression, but after a moment, he relented with a slow nod. “Fine. But watch yourself in there, alright?”
Thorne gave him a small, determined nod. “I will.”
Steeling himself, he turned to face the alley, his heartbeat hammering as he drew in a slow, calming breath. He let his eyes trail over the intricate web of traps again, marking his path in his mind, and then took his first cautious step forward. This was it. If he was going to reach Ben, he had to make it past these traps—and there was no room for error.
With careful, deliberate movements, Thorne began maneuvering through the alley, his body twisting and contorting with a precision he hadn't known he possessed. Every hop, every sidestep, felt like it was choreographed in his mind moments before his muscles obeyed. His acrobatics skill guided him, letting him take seemingly impossible angles, his body stretching and compressing as he leapt over snare lines and dodged the faint gleam of razor-sharp trip wires.
Each step was calculated, his senses stretched to their peak, every nerve wired with tension. The slightest hint of a misstep could mean a trigger, a sound, or worse. His breaths were shallow, controlled, and his mind locked in the present, focused only on reaching the end of this death trap. Droplets of sweat trickled down his forehead, but he couldn't spare even a quick wipe; his gaze remained laser-focused on the ground ahead, scanning every patch for the faintest shimmer of danger.
Halfway through, he paused for a heartbeat, steadying himself as his pulse hammered in his ears. He glanced back briefly, catching Darius’s intense gaze. The worry and admiration in his friend’s eyes gave Thorne a boost of determination. He returned a quick nod and pushed forward, each move feeling both natural and perfectly aligned with his path.
At last, the end of the alley loomed in sight. Thorne spotted a small, unassuming door half-hidden behind a tangle of vines and crumbling stone. His heart gave a small, triumphant leap. He was close. With a final, graceful leap, he cleared the last trap, landing as silently as a shadow in front of the door.
Thorne’s eyes darted around, double-checking his immediate surroundings. Satisfied that he was momentarily safe, he reached out and pushed the door open just enough to slip inside. The interior was dark, the air thick with the musty stench of rot and mildew. A faint, stale breeze drifted through the corridor, stirring dust motes that danced in the dim light filtering through a crack in the wall.
His eyes adjusted to the shadows, taking in the decaying grandeur of the elven architecture. Once-beautiful arches and intricate carvings now lay cloaked in grime, the proud designs lost under layers of dust and neglect. The elegance of the place was twisted, warped by time and the Gravediggers’ presence.
With every cautious step, he remained hyper-aware, his senses still sharp from the alleyway ordeal. The corridor twisted ahead, winding deeper into the building, dark and silent as a grave. Thorne's mind raced with possibilities. Ben could be anywhere in this maze, and time was against him. He had to locate his friend and escape before anyone realized an intruder was here.
As he moved forward, his skill continued to reveal traps—pressure plates set beneath the stones, nearly invisible threads stretched across the walls. He expertly maneuvered past each one, grateful that Darius had stayed behind. Navigating this lethal path alone was taxing enough; one misstep from a companion could spell disaster for both of them.
He activated his Stealth skill, blending into the shadows as best he could. He knew his regular stealth wasn’t enough to fool the trained killers patrolling the hideout, but his Shadow Meld skill could offer a crucial edge when he needed it. For now, he moved silently, his steps barely brushing the ground, his ears alert for any sign of movement.
Rounding a corner, Thorne froze, his heart lurching in his chest. Just ahead, two men sat around a barrel, focused on a game of cards. The flickering light from a nearby lantern cast long shadows across the corridor, giving the narrow space an ominous glow. Thorne shrank back, pressing himself against the wall, breath shallow as he activated Shadow Meld and slipped into the darkness.
One of the Gravediggers huffed in annoyance. “Fine, this round’s yours. Don’t get used to it—I’ll win my coin back, just wait.”
The other chuckled. “Sure, sure. Keep dreaming.”
Their attention stayed fixed on the game, seemingly unaware of the intruder lurking just a few feet away. Thorne’s heart pounded as he listened, his mind racing. The lantern light was an obstacle—shadow meld could conceal him in the darkness, but the uneven lighting left patches of brightness he couldn’t risk crossing. Worse yet, the narrow corridor wouldn’t allow him to slip past undetected; every footstep would echo against the stone.
A wave of frustration bubbled within him. He was close, but the Gravediggers were blocking his path, and shadow meld could only take him so far in this confined space. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm. This wasn’t the time for impatience; he had to stay sharp, keep to the shadows, and wait for the right opportunity to move.
He crouched, muscles coiled like a spring, waiting and watching, his mind working through his options.
Thorne’s thoughts cleared as he focused on the guards’ voices drifting through the narrow corridor.
“You know what’s weird?” one of them muttered, breaking the quiet. “The orders were to kill any cousin we found, but now we’ve got a boy stashed away.”
The second guard snorted softly. “Boss is getting desperate. They lost another group of initiates this morning. Now he’s trying to negotiate with the big boss.”
There was a pause, and Thorne tensed, listening intently.
“Why’s this kid so important anyway?” asked the first guard, curiosity lacing his tone.
The second guard shrugged, lowering his voice. “Rumor has it, that uncle of his visits him every other day. Could be the kid’s his son or something. Either way, boss thinks he’s got leverage now.”
The first guard whistled low. “Think they’ll trade him for a little peace?”
“Yeah, sure,” the second guard replied with a chuckle. “But don’t ask me for details. The boss doesn’t exactly share his plans over supper. Now quit yapping and play your hand already. You’re holding up the game.”
Thorne’s blood ran cold. They had taken Ben thinking he was me. The unsettling feeling of being watched, Ben’s presence in the attic during his uncle’s last visit, and their occasional time together—everything had somehow painted a target on Ben’s back instead. The irony stung. Even if the Gravediggers had captured the right boy, Uncle would never bow to their demands. They had overestimated the affection the man had for him. They thought grooming meant care, he thought bitterly. Idiots.
He lingered just long enough to catch a few more words, his jaw tightening as the guards exchanged insults and grumbled over their cards. Slipping back to the door, he carefully made his way outside to find Darius pressed against the wall, his face alert.
Thorne weaved through the traps until he got close to Darius and whispered, “We need a distraction to draw them out. Find the furthest trap you can and set it off. Don’t get caught, and don’t get yourself killed.”
Darius’s expression hardened, nodding with grim determination. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.”
As Darius moved off into the shadows, Thorne slipped into the concealment of his Shadow Meld skill and found a good spot to hide. His heart thumped in his chest, the silence stretched thin as he waited for the distraction. Seconds crawled by like hours, every tiny sound amplified, every nerve in his body strung tight with anticipation.
Suddenly, a loud snap and a metallic clang echoed through the alley. Thorne’s pulse leapt as he held perfectly still, blending into the darkness. The door banged open, and the two guards barreled out, their voices tense.
“Which one got triggered?” one of them hissed.
“Thirty-two. Let’s move,” the other replied, their footsteps fading quickly into the night.
Holding his breath, Thorne waited until they had disappeared around the corner. Once certain he was alone, he slipped through the door, moving like a whisper into the shadows of the Gravediggers’ base.
As he moved deeper into the hideout, the eerie silence of the place only heightened his anxiety. Flickering lanterns cast long, twisted shadows against the stone walls, and the stifling air was thick with the scent of decay and something acrid, something wrong.
Thorne’s footsteps barely made a sound, his Stealth skill working in tandem with his instincts as he crept through the labyrinthine corridors. Despite his skill, his pulse raced with each step, every corner bringing the possibility of yet another hidden danger.
He paused, taking a slow, steadying breath as he scanned the eerie surroundings. “Alright,” he whispered to himself. “I’m in. Now all I have to do is avoid assassins, find Ben, and sneak a possibly half-dead kid out of here without getting caught.”
A dry chuckle escaped him, his confidence returning despite the danger. “Piece of cake.”