The merchant did not linger. The moment his warning left his mouth, he began packing his things with quiet urgency. Bread, cloth, tools—everything vanished into his cart in seconds. Klint watched him. "You're leaving?" The merchant didn't look at him. "You should too." "Why—" "Because it starts soon." That was all he said before pulling the cart into the darkness and disappearing.
Klint stood there, unmoving.
The faint light above the stall flickered once, then again—then went out.
Silence settled over the street. Not the natural kind. Not the quiet of a sleeping city. This silence felt wrong.
Klint frowned. "…Ridiculous." He turned to walk, but his vision suddenly shifted. For a moment, everything felt distorted. "…What is that…?" he muttered.
At the edge of a dim light, something stood.
Tall. Still. Watching.
Klint narrowed his eyes, but the more he tried to focus on it, the less it made sense. Then he felt it—a weight pressing against his mind.
Something was watching him.
"This place listens…"
The words echoed in his head.
Klint's breath quickened. He turned and ran.
His footsteps echoed loudly through the empty streets. Doors lined the path, all shut tight. He rushed to one and started banging on it. "Open the door! Let me in!" Silence. Then a voice from inside—"Go away." "Please!" "Leave."
He ran to another door. "Help me!" "Not tonight." Another. Nothing.
"What's wrong with these people…?" Klint muttered, panic creeping in.
Then he saw it.
A figure beneath a distant light.
This one was different.
It had multiple eyes.
Too many.
All staring directly at him.
"What the hell is that…?" Klint whispered.
It didn't move.
Didn't react.
It just watched.
A cold feeling crept up his spine.
Then—something behind him.
A faint dragging sound.
Klint turned—nothing.
But the feeling didn't leave.
It got stronger.
Closer.
He ran again.
The streets felt wrong now, like they were stretching or shifting. Every light he passed felt dangerous. Like something was hiding within it.
Then—he slipped.
Klint hit the ground hard, air knocked out of him. He tried to get up—but something grabbed his leg.
"…What—?!"
Cold fingers wrapped tightly around him.
Klint looked down.
A distorted hand.
Attached to something dragging itself out from the darkness.
Its face stretched into a wide, unnatural smile.
Klint struggled, kicking, pulling—nothing worked.
The creature flipped him onto his back effortlessly and began dragging him across the ground.
Stone scraped against his skin.
"…Get off me!" Klint shouted, panic breaking through.
The creature didn't rush.
It enjoyed it.
It leaned closer, its smile widening as it stared directly into his eyes.
Then—
A sharp sound cut through the air.
The pressure vanished.
Klint dropped to the ground as the creature split cleanly in half and collapsed.
A man stood there, holding a blade.
Calm. Unbothered.
"…You're loud," he said.
Klint forced himself up, anger rising. "I didn't need your help."
The man glanced at him. "Didn't look that way. You were shouting enough for half the street to hear. That Lurker's been on you for a while."
"…Lurker?" Klint said.
The man looked at him properly this time. "…You're new."
Klint stayed silent.
The man sighed. "Figures."
A nearby light flickered strangely.
He glanced toward it. "…Tch."
"…Anyway," he added, tightening his grip on his blade, "I've got something else to deal with now a Luminarch. You're causing trouble just standing here."
Klint frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Go home," the man said. "Your family's probably looking for you."
Klint didn't move.
The man didn't care.
He stepped toward the flickering light as it warped slightly.
Klint didn't wait to see more.
He turned and ran.
He kept running until the air felt normal again.
Until the weight disappeared.
Until his body finally gave in.
He collapsed.
…
Klint opened his eyes slowly.
A wooden ceiling.
A familiar face.
"You're awake."
Klint's eyes widened slightly. "You… you're the merchant."
The man nodded. "Karter."
Klint tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his chest. "…What is this…?"
He looked down.
Blood.
Dried across his clothes.
"Why is there blood on my chest…?" Klint muttered.
Karter glanced at him. "Looks like you had both a candle guardian and a shadow stalker on you. It's a miracle you're still alive."
"…Candle guardian? Shadow stalker…?" Klint frowned.
Then he corrected himself, almost instinctively.
"You mean… a Lurker… and a Luminarch."
Karter froze.
"…Where did you hear those names?"
His tone changed completely.
Sharp.
Serious.
Klint looked at him. "A man saved me yesterday."
Karter stared at him for a moment, then looked away.
"…I see one piece of advice stay away from him."
He stood up. "I have to get to work. Rest for now."
And just like that, he left.
Klint sat there in silence.
For a moment, he felt… stupid.
But it faded quickly.
He tried to stand.
The pain was still there—but weaker.
"…Strange…"
Hours passed.
The pain faded faster than it should have.
"That's strange... I healed really fast"
Klint stood up and began looking around.
The house was simple.
Too simple.
Then—
A step felt off.
He stopped.
Looked down.
Then crouched.
A loose board.
Klint pulled it open.
Underneath—weapons.
Carefully stored.
And books.
Journals.
Klint picked one up and opened it.
The writing was messy.
Rushed.
Do not listen to the voices.
Do not look into mirrors at night.
If something feels off—break it.
He who watches will not hurt you. But be careful of the others.
Klint flipped through more pages.
Different handwriting.
Different entries.
All warnings.
All incomplete.
"…Eight layers…" Klint muttered.
There was information about the world.
About monsters.
But nothing about how to ascend.
No system.
No guide.
Only survival.
Klint closed the journal slowly.
He now knew more than before.
But not enough.
Not nearly enough.
Klint looked toward the door.
"What kind of world is this…?"
Silence answered him.
But somewhere—
Something listened.