The rain came harder now, hammering the roofs of the ruined settlement, each droplet exploding into a fine mist that clung to skin and armor. Quinn stood at the threshold of the shattered inn, his silhouette framed by the dim, flickering light of a lantern swinging from its broken hook. The wind howled through the gaps in the walls, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of blood.
"Stay close," Quinn ordered, his voice low but sharp. The others moved behind him — Lena with her bow drawn, Kael's twin blades ready, and Torin carrying the massive iron-shod mace that had been his companion since the war began.
A groan echoed from the upper floor. It was too human to be one of the shadowborn — and too pained to be a trap without purpose. Quinn's gaze flickered upward, scanning the stairwell. The wooden steps sagged under their own weight, slick with water and rot.
"We check it," he said.
They moved slowly, each step groaning under their boots. Halfway up, Lena caught sight of something in the shadows — a smear of crimson trailing along the wall, fresh enough to glisten in the lantern light. She met Quinn's eyes and gave a slight nod.
At the top, the hallway stretched into darkness. The only sound was the drip-drip-drip of water leaking from the roof. Then, a voice — weak, trembling.
"Help… me…"
Quinn approached the nearest door, kicking it open. Inside, huddled against the far wall, was a young boy, no more than twelve. His clothes were torn, and a deep gash ran across his leg. But what caught Quinn's attention wasn't the wound — it was the mark burned into the boy's skin just above his collarbone: a swirling black spiral, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
Kael stepped forward. "That's not—"
"I know what it is," Quinn cut him off, his tone grim. "Shadowbrand."
The boy flinched at the word, curling into himself.
"They… they said they'd come back for me," he whispered. His voice cracked. "Said I'd… belong to them soon."
Torin's grip tightened on his mace. "We should put him down now, before—"
"No," Quinn snapped, stepping between Torin and the boy. "Not unless there's no other choice." His eyes softened as he knelt beside the child. "What's your name?"
"Emric," the boy murmured.
"Emric, you're coming with us. We'll keep you safe."
Lena's eyes darted toward the window. "Quinn… we may not have long."
Outside, shapes moved in the mist — tall, spindly figures with jagged limbs. The shadowborn were closing in. Their glowing eyes burned like coals through the haze.
"They've tracked the brand," Quinn said, standing. "We move. Now."
The descent was a blur of rushing feet, creaking stairs, and the pounding of rain. The shadowborn closed in faster than Quinn expected, their limbs twisting unnaturally as they crawled across walls and rooftops.
Kael slashed one as it lunged from the side, black ichor splattering across the stones. Torin swung his mace in a wide arc, crushing another's chest with a wet crack.
Lena loosed arrow after arrow, each finding its mark in the eerie, glowing eyes. But for every one they felled, two more emerged from the storm.
Quinn kept Emric shielded behind him, moving with relentless precision. He cut down anything that came within reach, his blade glowing faintly with runes that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
They burst into the central street — only to find their path blocked. A massive shadowborn stood there, its body hunched but towering, its head crowned with antler-like spines. It lowered its gaze to Quinn, the spiraling mark on its chest identical to the one on Emric.
The creature spoke, its voice like grinding stone.
"Return… the vessel."
Quinn tightened his grip on his sword, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him.
"Over my dead body."
The monster grinned — and the storm swallowed the rest of the street in darkness.