The night in Verden was quieter than Rein expected. No merchants shouting over prices, no steel clashing in the training yards, no murmured rumors in the taverns. Only the slow hum of the wind between the narrow streets, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke from dying hearth fires.
Rein leaned against the railing of the inn's balcony, his gaze fixed on the moon's silver glow. The city below felt almost too still—as if it were holding its breath.
Something's coming, he thought, the system's faint presence at the edge of his mind unusually silent. Even Lyra had been unusually reserved tonight, speaking only when necessary during dinner before retreating to her room. Sylvara had disappeared into the library hours ago, muttering about "unfinished research" with a look Rein couldn't quite read.
He let his thoughts drift. The past days had been a blur—fights in shadowed alleys, cryptic messages from strangers, and the ever-present push to grow stronger. Yet, in moments like this, away from the noise, he could feel the weight of it all pressing down.
A soft creak behind him broke his thoughts.
"You're still awake," Lyra's voice came, calm but carrying that ever-present edge of curiosity. She stepped out, wrapped in a thin shawl, her hair catching the moonlight. "You're restless."
Rein didn't deny it. "Something feels off. Like the city's waiting for a storm."
Her eyes searched the dark streets, then flicked back to him. "You're not wrong. People can sense when the ground under them is shifting, even if they don't know why."
They stood in silence for a while, the air between them heavy with unspoken questions. It wasn't just the city. It was the strange way the system seemed to withhold notifications lately. The way Sylvara had been more distant. The way even his own reflection felt different—more focused, more dangerous.
Finally, Lyra broke the silence. "Tomorrow, we should talk. All of us. There are… things I've kept from you."
Rein turned, meeting her gaze. There was no fear there—only resolve. Whatever she meant to say, it would change something between them.
Before he could answer, the faint toll of the city's bell echoed through the air. Once. Twice. A pause. Then three sharp strikes.
Lyra stiffened. "That's not a curfew bell."
"No," Rein said quietly, his hand tightening on the balcony rail. "That's a warning."
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked—and then, abruptly, the sound was cut short.
The stillness was gone.
The bell's echo seemed to linger longer than it should, each note sliding under Rein's skin like a cold blade. In the alleyways below, a few lanterns flickered to life as people peeked out from behind shutters, whispering in hurried tones before vanishing again.
Lyra stepped closer to the balcony's edge. "Three short strikes means trouble inside the walls. Could be a fire… or worse."
Rein's eyes swept the rooftops, his instincts prickling. "Feels like worse."
The door to the balcony swung open again. Sylvara appeared, her usual calm replaced by an alert sharpness. She held a leather-bound tome in one hand and a small dagger in the other.
"It's not a fire," she said simply. "There's movement at the east gate. Someone's trying to force their way in."
"Someone?" Rein asked, though he already suspected the answer wouldn't be that simple.
Sylvara's gaze flicked to him. "More than a dozen. And they're not… alive."
The words landed heavy. Lyra's expression hardened. "Undead?"
Sylvara gave a single nod. "And whoever sent them knows the wards are weakest this week."
Rein exhaled slowly, his mind already working. The bell wasn't for the guard—it was for everyone. A warning that the night would not pass quietly.
From the streets came the clatter of armored boots as the city watch mobilized. Above them, a hawk's distant cry split the night, followed by the faint pulse of magic. Sylvara looked toward the eastern horizon.
"They'll breach in minutes if the gates don't hold."
Lyra's hand brushed the hilt of her sword. "Then we don't wait for them to come to us."
Rein turned to face them both. "We move now, but we're not charging blind. We see what's coming, and we choose how to hit it."
The System finally stirred, a single faint notification sliding into his vision.
[New Objective: Defend Verden]
Time Limit: 27 minutes.
Rein felt the weight of the ticking clock settle on his shoulders. The stillness of the night was gone, replaced by the hum of an approaching storm.
"Let's go," he said, stepping back into the room. "We have work to do."
The corridors of the inn were unnervingly quiet, save for the muffled thump of boots below as guests hurried to lock their doors. Shadows shifted along the walls as Rein, Lyra, and Sylvara descended the stairs. The innkeeper peeked out from behind the counter, his eyes darting nervously toward the street.
"You're going out there?" he whispered. "Stay inside, it'll pass—whatever it is."
Rein didn't slow his stride. "If we stay inside, it won't pass. It'll get worse."
They stepped into the open night. The city's usual late-hour hum had vanished, replaced by the distant groan of the bell tower and the muted clang of hurried preparations. A thin mist had crept in, curling around cobblestones and licking at their boots as they moved.
Lanterns swung overhead, casting brief flashes of gold before plunging them into darkness again. Rein kept his pace steady, eyes scanning the rooftops, the alleys, every corner that might hide more than shadows.
As they neared the central square, the sound of shouting reached them. A squad of watchmen was hauling barrels toward the east gate, their commander barking orders. The tension in the air was almost palpable—like the city itself was holding its breath.
"Something's wrong," Lyra murmured, slowing her pace. "The gate's that way, but… listen."
Rein tilted his head. Beneath the clang of weapons and boots, there was a softer sound—a wet, dragging scrape, followed by a low, almost human moan. It was coming from somewhere beyond the square.
Sylvara's grip on her dagger tightened. "They've already breached a side path."
Before Rein could answer, the System's text flickered again:
[Secondary Threat Detected – Flank Position]
[Estimated Contact: 3 minutes]
He exhaled, scanning their path. They could make it to the east gate as planned—or intercept whatever was slipping in from the shadows.
Lyra was already looking to him for the call. "What's it going to be?"
Rein's gaze shifted to the mist-wrapped street where the sound was coming from. The night felt heavier there, like the darkness itself was breathing.
"…We split from the main road," he decided. "If they get behind the gate guard, this ends before it starts."
They turned down the narrower street, the mist growing thicker with every step. Somewhere ahead, the dragging sound stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
The mist parted just enough for Rein to make out the curve of an alley wall ahead. A faint, glistening trail snaked along the stones—thick, dark, and fresh. His boots crunched against something brittle, and he glanced down to see a scatter of small bones, picked clean.
"Whatever it is…" Lyra's voice lowered to a whisper, "…it's feeding."
They moved in unison, silent but swift. Rein signaled for Sylvara to take the left flank while he approached the center. The air grew damp, heavy with an acrid, metallic tang. Then he saw it.
A figure crouched in the alley, back hunched, shoulders twitching in uneven spasms. Its arms—longer than they should have been—ended in clawed, pale hands that scraped against the cobblestone as it shifted. Wet strands of hair clung to its face, obscuring its features, but when it turned, Rein felt his stomach knot.
Its eyes were wide, milky white, with no trace of human recognition. A thin line of blood glistened across its mouth. The System flashed:
[Aberration – Lesser Spawn]
[Vitality: 63%]
[Hostile Intent Confirmed]
The creature hissed, a sound like steam escaping iron, and lunged.
Rein stepped forward, meeting its charge with a precise slash from his blade. The steel tore through its shoulder, black ichor splattering onto the wall. Sylvara was already there, daggers flashing, carving deep lines into its ribs. It staggered, but didn't fall—it twisted, unnaturally, like its bones were bending in ways they shouldn't.
Lyra's staff cracked against its skull, sending it sprawling, but instead of retreating, it clawed forward again, screeching. Rein pushed down his rising unease and drove his sword through its chest. The Aberration convulsed once, twice, then dissolved into a puddle of inky fluid that seeped into the stones.
The mist seemed to retreat with it, but not far.
Rein wiped his blade on the hem of his cloak. "If this is what's slipping past the gate, we need to move. Now."
They turned back toward the main road, the east gate's distant torches flickering like beacons through the haze. But as they moved, the sound of that dragging scrape returned—this time from multiple directions.
The bell tower rang again.
Three times.
Urgent.
Rein's jaw tightened. "The main force is coming."