The village night was calm. Only the flicker of torches lit the pathways within the clan grounds. Sunny and Shen sat among the people, sharing food laid carefully before them.
In the villagers' eyes burned something fragile yet powerful—hope.
They believed the two outsiders belonged to some ancient, powerful clan. Shen's crafted lie had taken root, and Sunny, though silent, hadn't denied it.
> "If we serve them well," an elder whispered, "perhaps their clan will reward us… with something beyond our reach."
Every bow, every dish of food, every word the villagers spoke carried a reverence born of fear and expectation. Shen accepted it with ease. Sunny, however, felt unease curling in his chest.
And then—
A sound cut through the air.
A laugh.
It wasn't loud, nor was it joyous. It was sharp, deliberate—balanced perfectly between madness and control. The kind of laugh that made the air itself feel heavier.
Sunny turned.
From the farthest corner, half-buried in shadow, a man rose to his feet. Dust clung to his hair, his clothes were worn and patched, but in his eyes burned a strange, unsettling light.
He walked forward slowly, the laugh still curling at his lips.
> "So… you're the ones?" he said with a crooked smile.
"The outsiders who've convinced everyone you hail from a mighty clan?"
Shen stiffened, suspicion flashing in his gaze.
"Who are you? A clansman—or just a fool who only knows how to laugh?"
The man bowed his head slightly, his grin widening.
> "Remember the name," he said, voice carrying an odd weight.
"Eryndor Veyne."
Sunny's eyes narrowed. That laugh, that gaze—it wasn't ordinary. It carried knowledge. It carried history.
Eryndor leaned closer, voice dropping just enough for the torches to flicker with the weight of his words.
> "You think this lie of yours will last forever? No. Not here. This clan hides something deeper than your deception… something that could shake even you."
Sunny's breath hitched, though he stayed silent. Shen scowled.
> "You expect us to believe you?" Shen snapped.
"If there truly was something here, these people would have revealed it long ago."
Eryndor laughed again—this time darker, colder.
> "People?" he said. "People see only what they want. They blind themselves with food, with safety, with shallow traditions. But truth—truth rots beneath their feet, and still they deny it."
He leaned back, his smile faint but cutting.
> "There was a man once. Everyone thought he was lost—swallowed by the Silence. But he lived. And here, beneath this clan's land, he left something behind. An inheritance. A legacy of power."
Sunny's heart pounded. His voice came out low, almost unwilling.
"…The man who escaped Silence? He left something here?"
Eryndor's eyes gleamed in the firelight.
> "Yes. Something buried. Something waiting. Maybe the very thing you've been searching for."
The torches crackled, shadows stretching against the walls.
Sunny took a slow breath.
"…Where is it?"
Eryndor tilted his head, lips curling into that unnerving smile.
He gave no answer. Only silence.
And in that silence, Sunny understood—the path to the inheritance would not be handed to him. He would have to uncover it himself.
That night, as the torches dimmed and the village quieted, a fire lit within Sunny's heart.
A fire that would drive him toward the legacy buried in shadows.