The world returned to Greem in fragments: the chill of stone against his cheek, the distant drip of water, and a bone-deep ache that felt both foreign and familiar.
The last thing he remembered clearly was the searing heat of the Wyvern's blood flowing in his veins.
For three days, he had been lost to feverish nightmares.
Shadows writhed like living serpents in his mind, and he woke screaming, his body drenched in a cold sweat. Through the haze, he was dimly aware of Willem's presence. The vampire would wordlessly force water past his lips, his red eyes filled with a grim worry that came with years of experience.
On the fourth day, the fever broke. Greem pushed himself up, his body feeling heavier, denser, yet humming with a latent power. He met Willem's gaze across the dim cell.
"Their leader... an intermediate rank", Greem muttered, his voice stopping at his throat, weaving his deception with practiced ease.
He let his shoulders slump, injecting a tremor of genuine exhaustion into his voice. "I lost. I'm sorry"
Willem leaned his head back against the stone wall. Lashes, fresh and angry, crisscrossed his bare back.
"Do not apologize. I underestimated this place. My clan always spoke of the Catacombs as a den of scavengers and weaklings. They were wrong. We all were." His eyes drifted to the corridor. "Iriana...I am afraid her last party did not get ambushed by chance, she just failed to recognise the dangers..."
Before he could finish, the cell door groaned open. Two Skull Sect acolytes stood there, their hoods drawn low.
"The newcomer. The Bone-Weaver wishes to... question him," one of them intoned.
Willem gave a minute, despairing shake of his head, anticipating the torture to come.
But the expected brutality never materialized.
As soon as Greem was led out of the dungeon levels and into the main halls of what his escorts called the Skull Temple, their attitude shifted entirely. The deference was subtle but unmistakable. They walked a step behind him, their postures less that of jailers and more of junior initiates guiding a senior.
"This temple was carved by the first followers of the Great Wyvern", one acolyte, a young man with a pockmarked face named Gael, offered unprompted, "They found it wounded, slumbering in the deepest geode. They built this place to protect it, to learn from it. They were skeletons, mainly, magical creatures devoid of intellect but know primal fears. Forty years ago, elder Borin found this place, and became one of them. He recruited others. Some died, some rose, like our leader Malakor"
They showed him the refectory, the training yards where some acolytes sparred with swords and spells, and finally, the library. It was a cavernous room, shelves carved directly into the living rock, filled with scrolls and totems bound in leather and...bones.
"He seeks knowledge", Gael said to the lone acolyte tending the shelves, "The Bone-Weaver's orders."
The librarian, a gaunt woman with a shaved head, sniffed but gestured for Greem to enter. Her tattoo, similar to the one he had on his chest, was even more intricate and spread from her collar to her neck. Greem nodded.
[Oriana - Lv. 5 Acolyte]
She was probably part of the higher-ups of the sect. Others, were after all, very weak.
[Gael - Lv. 3 Acolyte]
[?? - Lv. 2 Acolyte]
The library was a treasure trove of forbidden lore, but its inhabitants were less impressive. As Greem browsed, he felt their eyes on him. Whispers slithered through the dusty air.
"...the one Malakor brought in..."
"...thinks he's special because of the blood..."
"...probably weak. Let's see what he knows"
Two acolytes, both Level 2, deliberately stepped into his path as he reached for a tome on basic shadow theory.
"The new blood needs to learn his place", one sneered, "This section is for those who have proven their worth."
Greem said nothing. He simply looked at them, and for a fleeting second, he allowed the new, predatory instinct granted by the Wyvern's blood to surface. He didn't need a spell. The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to deepen and coil. A pressure, faint but palpable, emanated from him—the echo of the slumbering beast far below.
The two acolytes flinched, their bravado evaporating. They shuffled aside without another word.
Greem took the book. He didn't even need to open it. As his fingers brushed the cover, the Soul Ring hummed. He flipped through the pages, devouring the knowledge.
[Tome of Umbral Theory - Basic]
[Content Analyzed...]
[Proficiency in Shadow Elemental Knowledge increased by 2 points.]
He moved to the next shelf, repeating the process. The doubting acolytes could only watch, their jealousy and fear warring on their faces, as the outsider absorbed decades of their sect's foundational knowledge in a single, silent afternoon.