Ashton leaned to the side, managing to steal a glance past Malkar and out the door. What he saw made his stomach lurch. The streets were alive with chaos—people running in every direction, some wielding weapons, others clutching children or belongings. Fires had started in a few places, their smoke curling into the darkening sky. In the distance, the glint of armor and the shadowy forms of attackers moved like an advancing tide. He tried to take it all in, but Malkar quickly shut the door, cutting off the view.

“Put those away,” Malkar said, gesturing sharply toward Ashton’s gauntlet. His tone was calm, but there was no room for argument.

Ashton looked down at the strange device now strapped to his arm, its weight unfamiliar but oddly reassuring. “Uh, how?” he asked, turning it over in his hands.

Malkar sighed, clearly impatient but still taking a moment to help. “There.” He pointed to a small, almost hidden button on the side of the gauntlet, just near Ashton’s wrist.

Nodding, Ashton pressed the button. With a soft whirr, most of the tools retracted back into the gauntlet, disappearing as neatly as they had appeared—except for a single pair of tweezers that stubbornly remained poking out of the edge.

Ashton frowned. “Uh, hold on,” he muttered, trying to figure out how to fix it.

“You’ll have to push that in manually,” Malkar said, his ears flicking with faint annoyance. “Happens sometimes with old gear.”

Grimacing, Ashton used his other hand to force the tweezers back into place with a soft click. “There. All good.”

Malkar nodded, satisfied. “Good. Keep it stowed unless you need it. No sense waving tools around if you’re not ready to use them.” He turned back to the door, his posture tense as he listened to the chaos outside.

Ashton flexed his hand in the gauntlet, feeling its weight again. It wasn’t much, but it was something—and he had a feeling he’d need it sooner rather than later.

“Who has the potions?” Rurgash’s deep voice thundered from across the tavern, cutting through the tense silence.

Ashton glanced around, confused, when a flicker of movement caught his attention. Holly, translucent like a ghost, crept by his feet, crouching low. The sight made him blink in disbelief, but before he could say anything, her form solidified again as she straightened up, a proud grin on her face.

“I got them!” she declared, holding up a small bag that jingled softly with the sound of glass bottles clinking together.

Malkar stepped forward quickly, his movements careful yet deliberate. He knelt down, taking the bag gently from Holly’s hands. “You have to be careful with glass bottles,” he reminded her, his tone stern but warm. He inspected the bag briefly, nodding before rising to his full height.

Ashton’s curiosity got the better of him. “What were those things outside?” he asked, his voice wavering slightly as his mind returned to the brief chaos he’d glimpsed.

“Shadowlings,” Malkar replied grimly. He didn’t elaborate, but the weight in his voice told Ashton they were bad news.

Before Ashton could press for more details, a sharp crash echoed through the room. All three of them turned their heads to see Rurgash, standing by the bar, staring at a shattered glass on the floor. The orc’s green skin glistened slightly under the tavern’s dim light as he glanced back at them, his expression grim.

“Grab everything you can,” Rurgash said firmly, his voice a mixture of urgency and resignation. “We’re leaving town.”

Malkar bristled at the statement, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you going to defend your tavern?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

Rurgash paused, turning halfway to look back at him. “Boy,” he said, his tusks glinting as he spoke, “you’ve only been here four years—”

“Five,” Malkar corrected tersely.

“Five years,” Rurgash continued, unfazed. “So you don’t know. There won’t be a town left come tomorrow.”

Ashton felt his heart begin to pound, the weight of Rurgash’s words pressing down on him like a boulder. He glanced at Holly, who clutched Malkar’s side tightly, her earlier energy replaced with quiet fear.

For a moment, the room fell silent. Only the distant sounds of chaos outside and the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth broke the stillness.

Then Rurgash moved, pulling out a large, weathered bag from behind the bar. He began stuffing it with bottles, tools, and other items as quickly as his large hands would allow. His movements were deliberate and practiced, like someone who had done this before.

Ashton swallowed hard, his palms damp. “Is this… normal?” he muttered under his breath.

“No,” Malkar said flatly, his voice low but steady. “It’s worse.”

“Worse how?” Ashton asked, the faint hope he’d had of grinding low-level monsters to slowly build his strength vanishing from his mind.

Rurgash suddenly loomed next to him, his massive hand landing heavily on Ashton’s shoulder. “Shadows are almost impossible to kill,” the orc said, his voice a low, warning rumble. Without waiting for a response, he pulled Ashton aside roughly. “Now stop your jabbering and stick close.”

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Malkar’s ears flattened, his tail flicking with agitation. “We can’t just uproot our lives—” he began, his voice tense.

“Stay here, and you die.” Rurgash’s words cut through the room like a blade. He didn’t elaborate, but the finality in his tone made it clear there was no room for argument.

Rurgash strode to the door, swinging it open. He stopped mid-step, his shoulders stiffening as he froze in place. “Well, shi—” he started, but his words trailed off when he glanced back at Holly. With a low growl, he scooped her up in one swift motion, holding her close. “Let’s go!”

Ashton’s stomach churned as he saw the urgency in their movements. He wasn’t about to stick around and find out just how deadly the shadowlings could be. Without hesitation, he followed them out the door, clutching the gauntlet on his arm like it was the only lifeline he had left.

The group dashed through the town, weaving between buildings and avoiding the shadows. Malkar led the way with Holly in his arms, his sharp senses guiding them around danger, while Rurgash brought up the rear, moving with surprising speed for someone his size.

Ashton struggled to keep up, his sneakers slipping slightly on the uneven cobblestone streets. He expected to see brutal fights as they passed by the scattered skirmishes—bloodshed, swords clashing, maybe even some desperate acts of heroism. But what he saw instead sent a chill down his spine.

The shadows weren’t attacking in the traditional sense. Instead, they clung to people like living things, wrapping around them and seeping into their bodies. Ashton watched, horrified, as one man stumbled and fell to his knees, his face twisted in terror. His shadow—darker and more defined than it should have been—crawled up his body like smoke. The man’s screams were muffled as the shadow consumed him entirely, leaving behind nothing but an empty heap of clothes.

“Keep moving!” Malkar barked, his growl snapping Ashton out of his horrified daze.

Ashton tightened his grip on the gauntlet, his chest heaving with fear and exhaustion. What am I supposed to do against something like this? he thought, the faint flicker of the status window in his peripheral mocking him with its lack of answers.

As they ran, Ashton’s thoughts spiraled. Were these people video game characters? He couldn’t shake the feeling that Malkar, Holly, and even Rurgash seemed… fleshed out, like they had a history, relationships, and experiences beyond what he could see. Maybe there’s some storyline playing out here, he wondered, trying to make sense of it all.

But another part of him pushed back against that thought. Maybe it was better—safer—to think of them as NPCs, scripted characters in a game. If he thought of them as real people, with real lives at stake, the weight of it all might crush him.

His musings were cut short as the shadowlings’ movements shifted again. Just when Ashton thought he could tell where the creatures were coming from, they changed direction, flooding in from the path ahead. The group had to pivot abruptly, weaving between buildings and sticking to well-lit areas as they evaded the growing tide of dark figures.

Eventually, they came to a brief stop in a small, open space where the shadowlings hadn’t yet appeared. The air was thick with tension, every distant sound carrying the threat of the approaching monsters.

Rurgash grunted, his eyes scanning the area warily. “Where are they?” he muttered, half to himself.

“Who?” Malkar asked, his voice still sharp and ready for action.

“I have some friends…” Rurgash trailed off, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his eyes went wide as realization struck. “This way!”

Without further explanation, the orc surged forward, leading them through another winding path of alleys and sidestreets. Malkar followed close behind, Holly clinging tightly to him, while Ashton trailed at the back, his legs burning as he tried to keep up.

They came to an average-looking house, nondescript except for a red flag hanging in the window. Rurgash didn’t hesitate. He threw open the door, ushering everyone inside with an urgency that left no room for questions. Ashton stumbled in last, breathing hard as the orc slammed the door shut behind them.

The house was dimly lit, the air inside warm and heavy with the faint smell of herbs and wood smoke. Whoever lived here had clearly prepared for something—or someone. Ashton glanced around nervously, his mind racing. What now?

Rurgash stomped around the house, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floorboards as he moved purposefully from one corner to another. The sound was jarring in the otherwise quiet house, each step echoing ominously.

Ashton caught Malkar’s gaze and raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression, clearly asking, What the heck is he doing?

Malkar gave a small shrug but then began stomping the floor himself, mimicking the orc. The sight of the tall, stoic wolf-man hopping lightly on one foot to test the boards might have been comical if the situation wasn’t so dire.

It clicked in Ashton’s head. They’re looking for something—a trapdoor maybe? Not wanting to stand idle, he started stomping the boards as well, moving awkwardly across the room like a toddler testing puddles.

After a few moments, it was Malkar who stopped suddenly, his ears perking up. He tapped a particular board with his foot again, the sound hollow and different from the others. “Here!” he called, his deep voice cutting through the room.

Everyone converged on the spot. The floor was partially covered by a wooden table that had to be moved to get a proper look. Ashton helped push it aside, his muscles straining under the weight of the solid piece of furniture. Beneath it was a square trapdoor, its edges worn smooth with age.

Malkar crouched and set Holly down gently before running his claws along the edges of the trapdoor, trying to find a way to open it. “No handle,” he muttered, his brow furrowed. He pressed his fingers into small gaps in the wood, testing for a latch or catch.

Ashton’s thoughts raced as he watched. Are those shadowlings smart? Or are they just instinct-driven? Would they even know to look for a trapdoor? The questions came in rapid fire, jumbled with a million others about this world and its dangers. But there was no time to dwell.

With a groan of effort, Malkar and Rurgash pried open the heavy trapdoor. The wood creaked loudly as they lifted it, the sound setting Ashton’s nerves on edge. Beneath the door was a large opening, revealing a ladder descending into the dark below.

“Holly?” Malkar said softly, his voice calm despite the tension in the room.

The little girl nodded and ran over to him. Malkar scooped her up effortlessly, cradling her in one arm as he carefully climbed down the ladder into the unknown.

Ashton hesitated for a moment at the edge of the opening, staring into the shadowy depths. His mind screamed at him to stay in the light, but then Rurgash’s voice brought him back.

“Go,” the orc said firmly, gesturing to the ladder. His expression left no room for debate.

Swallowing hard, Ashton nodded. He didn’t want to be devoured by whatever was out there, so he grabbed hold of the ladder and began his descent. His heart pounded with every step, the wooden rungs creaking under his weight as he climbed down into whatever lay beneath.