The moon was a sliver of bone in the velvet sky, offering just enough light to turn the familiar forest into a maze of grasping shadows and twisted shapes. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig under Kaelen’s heavy boots, felt amplified in the pre-dawn quiet. For a man trained to move with the silence of a hunting owl, he was making an awful racket. I suppose it’s hard to be stealthy when you’re built like a handsome, honor-bound refrigerator.

  “Would you try to walk on the balls of your feet?” I whispered, my voice sharp. “You sound like a bear tumbling through a blacksmith’s shop.”He shot me a look of pure knightly indignation.

  “I am wearing plate armor. There is a limit to the delicacy with which one can tread.”

  “Then take it off,” I hissed back.From my shoulder, where he was perched with the smug superiority only a cat can truly muster, Bartholomew chimed in.

  “He has a point, Paige. The man’s armor possesses all the subtlety of a celebratory firework. Perhaps we should have left him to guard the horses.”

  “I can hear you both,” Kaelen grumbled as he attempted to remove his armor in the dark.

  We finally reached the ridge overlooking the quarry. Below us, the camp was a small puddle of light in a vast ocean of darkness. A single large bonfire crackled in the center, with two smaller fires nearer the tents. Figures moved about, their voices carrying faintly on the breeze. I counted three men on watch, lazily leaning on their spears and talking amongst themselves. The rest were likely asleep. The whole scene reeked of overconfidence. Perfect.

  “Alright,” I breathed, crouching behind a gnarled oak. “Phase one. Bart, you’re on overture. Kaelen, get your sling ready. I’m going in.”

  “You are certain about this?” Kaelen’s voice was low, his concern a tangible warmth in the cool air. “If they catch you…”

  “They won’t,” I said, and the confidence in my voice wasn’t entirely faked. This was my element. Not sword fighting, not ancient prophecies, but messing with people’s heads. It was basically a high-stakes version of sneaking around in high school, and I’d done a metric shit ton of that. I focused, reaching for the strange new power that had woken inside me since arriving in Eldoria.

  I made my way down the hillside until I reached the edge of the quarry, just out of the firelight. I took a deep breath and activated the ability Shadow Mask. The world didn’t so much darken as just accept me. The shadows around me deepened, clinging to my leather armor like a second skin. It felt like stepping into cool water. I looked down at my hands; they were faint outlines, translucent and hazy, the color of twilight. A little status icon even flickered at the edge of my vision:

  [Shadow Mask active. Duration: 15 minutes. Reduced sound and visibility. Bonus to Stealth.]

  God, I loved RPG mechanics.

  “Showtime,” I whispered, giving him a two-fingered salute before melting into the deeper darkness of the slope.

  My entry into the camp was silent, the power of the Mask muffling my footsteps. Once I was in, Bartholomew began his performance. It started subtly, a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from the stone walls of the quarry itself. Not a roar, not a growl, but the sound of immense weight dragging across rock. It was deeply, fundamentally unnatural.

  I saw the guards straighten up.

  “What was that?” one of them asked, his voice suddenly tight.

  “Just the wind, you dolt,” another scoffed, but he didn’t sound convinced. He gripped his spear a little tighter.

  Then came Kaelen’s part. A sharp whizz followed by a loud CRACK! as a clay jug near the fire exploded into shards. The men jumped, spinning around with weapons drawn.

  “What in the blazes?”

  “An arrow?”

  “From where? I didn’t see nothin’!”

  While they were distracted, peering into the darkness with panicked expressions, I slipped past the perimeter. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of adrenaline and fear. This was a whole lot different than sneaking back into my room after curfew. At least my evil stepmother wouldn’t kill me on sight.

  My first target was their food supply. A large, open-sided tent held sacks of grain, wheels of cheese, and salted meat hanging from hooks. With a flick of my knife, I sliced open the bottom of two grain sacks. The fine powder began to trickle out, a slow, silent drain of their rations. I uncorked a waterskin and let it gurgle quietly onto the dirt floor before moving on. Sabotage, not destruction. Annoyance, not alarm.

  Next, the equipment. I found a pile of spare axe handles and poured the contents of a nearby bucket of greasy wash water over them, ensuring they’d be slick and disgusting to handle. I loosened the girth on a saddle that looked like it belonged to the leader. Little things. Things that could be explained away as carelessness or bad luck, but when compounded, would feel like a malevolent, unseen force was working against them. I was just about to snip a bowstring when I heard heavy footsteps approaching.

  I froze, pressing myself into the sliver of shadow between two tents. A big, bearded brute of a man stomped past, so close I could smell the stale ale on his breath. He was grumbling to himself about “jumpy fools” and “ quarry groans.” He stopped, bent down to check a knot on a tent flap, and for a heart-stopping second, his eyes swept right over my position. He saw nothing. The Mask held. He grunted and moved on, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for a full minute.

  My time was running out. I slipped back out of the camp, my part of the symphony of terror complete. I scrambled back up the ridge just as the anemic moon dipped behind the quarry’s edge, plunging the world into near-total blackness.

  “Report,” Kaelen said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  “Food’s compromised, gear’s a mess. They’re spooked but not scared enough yet,” I panted. “Time for the grand finale.” I looked at Bartholomew, who was preening a whisker with an air of immense satisfaction. “You ready for your big moment, Bart?”

  “My dear girl,” he purred, his voice a low thrum. “I was born for the grand moment.”

  He hopped down from my shoulder and trotted to the very edge of the ridge, positioning himself so the last dying embers of the main bonfire would cast his shadow against the massive, sheer rock face of the quarry opposite the camp.

  “Kaelen, give them something to look at,” I ordered.

  Kaelen nodded, understanding. He picked up a larger stone and hurled it down into the quarry. It landed with a deafening CLATTER that echoed like a thunderclap.

  “IT’S IN THE PIT!” one of the bandits shrieked. All heads turned towards the sound, their eyes trying to pierce the gloom.

  And then Bartholomew went to work.

  He arched his back, and his shadow on the wall did the same, but it didn’t stop growing. It stretched and warped, the familiar feline shape elongating, twisting. Legs like an insect’s sprouted from its torso, thin and sharp. The head swiveled on a non-existent neck, its shadow-ears growing into long, curved horns. The tail lengthened into a whip-like appendage that seemed to lash against the stone. In the space of a few seconds, the shadow of a fluffy Persian cat had become a silhouette of every nightmare they’d ever had—a spindly, horrific creature a hundred feet tall, looming over them from the rock face.

  A collective gasp went up from the bandits. Then, Bartholomew opened his mouth and let out a sound that was no longer a groan or a hiss. It was a shriek, a high, piercing wail filled with arcane power that clawed at the ears and chilled the soul. It was the sound of a dying star, of grinding graves, of madness itself.

  At the same time as all that, I focused on the largest bonfire and cast Fireball. The bonfire exploded, sending a burst of flame a hundred feet into the sky and splattering the quarry with sticky globs of fire.

  That was the breaking point.

  One man screamed, a raw, primal noise of pure terror. He dropped his spear and sprinted out of the torchlight into the darkness. His panic was contagious. Within seconds, the entire camp was a whirlwind of chaos. Men tripped over each other, scrambling from their tents, not even bothering to grab their weapons or armor. They just ran. They fled from the monstrous shadow, from the soul-tearing shriek, from the cursed, haunted ground of the quarry.

  We stayed on the ridge, watching the last of the fifteen armed men vanish into the forest, their panicked shouts fading into the distance. The camp was silent, save for the crackling of the abandoned fire.

  I let out a long, shaky laugh.

  “Holy crap. It actually worked.”

  Kaelen stared at the now-empty camp, then at Bartholomew, who was calmly washing a paw, his shadow once again that of a normal, if slightly pompous, cat. The knight looked back at me, the hard lines of his face softened by a mixture of shock and sheer, unadulterated awe.

  “Unorthodox,” he breathed, shaking his head slowly. The corner of his mouth twitched into a full, genuine smile. “Paige Hawking, that was the most dishonorable, underhanded, and brilliantly effective piece of tactical maneuvering I have ever witnessed.”

  “Why, thank you, Sir Kaelen,” I said, giving him a mock curtsey. “I do what I can.”

  “Indeed,” Bartholomew sniffed, leaping gracefully back onto my shoulder. “One must admit, for a plan conceived by a paltry human intellect, it was not entirely without merit.”

  I just grinned, looking down at the spoils of our psychological war. No swords, no blood, no honorable duels. Just one terrified band of bullies, a very spooky cat, and a well-executed plan. Operation: Spooky Quarry was a resounding success.

  We made our way down the dusty slope into the abandoned camp. The scent of woodsmoke and spilled ale hung in the air, a phantom of the bullies’ recent presence. Kaelen picked up the spear the first man had dropped, testing its weight. He frowned at the crude iron tip.

  “They left everything,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the scattered bedrolls, the pot of stew still simmering over the fire, and the small chest that likely held their ill-gotten gains, now sitting on its side.

  “Panic is a terrible packing strategy,” I observed, nudging a discarded leather boot with my toe. “Besides, what good is a half-eaten stew when you think a twenty-foot-tall demon-cat is about to use your spine as a toothpick?”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Bartholomew, perched regally on my shoulder, preened.

  “A modest exaggeration of my projected form, but the sentiment is appreciated. The key is not the size of the shadow, but the primal terror it invokes in the feeble hearts of lesser beings.”Kaelen shot him a look, a mix of respect and deep-seated confusion that I was coming to recognize as his default expression when dealing with us.

  “I still don’t understand how you did that.” Kaelen heaved the overturned chest onto his shoulder; something inside clinked pleasantly.

  “Ancient magic, my dear knight,” Bartholomew purred. “Far beyond the ken of mortals who solve their problems by hitting them with sharpened metal.”

  “Hey,” I said, pointing a finger at the cat. “I help with the sharpened metal part.”

  Kaelen shook his head again, but the smile was back, a ghost of his earlier awe. “We should return. Berran will be waiting.”

  The walk back to the inn was quiet, the adrenaline of our ruse fading into a comfortable satisfaction. The moon, a perfect silver disc, illuminated the path through the trees. It was peaceful, a stark contrast to the manufactured chaos we’d just unleashed. For a moment, I could almost forget I was a world away from Wi-Fi and takeout and appreciate the crisp night air. Almost. My leather armor was starting to chafe in places I didn’t know I had.

  When we pushed open the heavy oak door of The Three-Legged Donkey, a hush fell over the taproom. Every eye turned to us. Berran, the stout, balding innkeeper, was polishing the same mug he’d been working on when we left, his knuckles white. He swallowed hard.

  “Well?”I leaned against the bar, trying to project a cool confidence I was only just starting to feel.

  “The quarry is officially under new management. Effective immediately, it’s managed by rocks. The previous occupants have taken an indefinite leave of absence.”A disbelieving silence hung in the air for a beat. Then, an old farmer in the corner slammed his tankard down.

  “They’re gone? All of them?”

  “They left in a hurry,” Kaelen confirmed, his deep voice carrying easily through the room. “They won’t be troubling you again.” He slammed the heavy chest onto the bar and opened the latch holding it shut. It wasn’t locked. “I suggest you take what is yours and split the rest evenly.

  The tension in the room snapped. A ragged cheer went up, followed by a cacophony of excited chatter. Berran sagged against the bar, a wave of pure relief washing over his face. He reached under the counter and produced a leather pouch that clinked with the heavy, satisfying sound of gold coins.

  “As promised,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And more. For the rest of your time in Stonehollow, nothing will cost you a single copper. Food, drink, a room… anything the people can offer, it’s yours.”

  “We humbly accept your gratitude,” Kaelen said with a slight bow.I, on the other hand, just grinned and hefted the coin purse.

  “Don’t mind if we do.”

  Ding.

  [Quest Complete] [Stone Cold Haunting][Reward]

  [100 Silver Coins] [500XP]

  [250 Bonus XP - Secret condition met: Do No Harm]

  Well, that was new. You wouldn’t catch me arguing, though. XP is XP.

  The next morning, the small collection of buildings between the crossroads was transformed. The fearful, downtrodden atmosphere was gone, replaced by a cautious optimism. People smiled at us in the street. The baker insisted that we take a whole loaf of fresh seed cake, still warm from the oven. Even Bartholomew received a small dish of fresh cream, which he lapped up with a dignified air, as if it were his royal due.

  Our first official stop was the blacksmith’s forge. The rhythmic clang-clang-clang of a hammer on steel led us to a soot-stained building where a woman with arms like ship’s ropes was pounding a glowing piece of metal into the shape of a plowshare. She looked up as we approached, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow with the back of a gloved hand. Her name was Elara.

  “Heard you were the ones,” she said, her voice a low rumble like grinding stones. “Heard you sent the Rasker Gang packing with their tails between their legs.”

  “We may have encouraged them to pursue new career opportunities,” I said. “Ones that didn’t involve terrorizing your village.”A slow, genuine smile spread across her face.

  “My brother was one of the quarrymen they beat half to death. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

  My eyes fell on a rack of helmets. My current setup consisted of leather armor that I was pretty sure was just hardened cow, a sword Kaelen had taught me not to accidentally stab myself with, and a whole lot of misplaced modern-day confidence. I had a definite weak spot. The squishy, thinky part.

  “I need a helmet,” I said. “Something that’ll stop my head from being caved in, preferably.”

  Elara’s professional eye sized me up. She selected a simple, functional steel helm, A half helm, with a hinged piece that fastened across my nose and mouth, leaving it enclosed but for a narrow eye-slit and breathing holes. It wasn’t fancy—no gryphon wings or polished filigree like Kaelen’s—but it looked solid. She handed it to me. It was heavier than I expected.

  I lifted it and settled it over my head. The world instantly became a narrow, muffled tunnel. My own breathing sounded loud in my ears, and my vision was reduced to a letterbox view of the forge. It was claustrophobic and smelled faintly of metal and oil. Elara tapped it with a knuckle. The thump vibrated through my skull.

  “Good steel,” she declared. “Should turn aside a blade or an arrow, as long as it’s not a direct hit from a warbow. It’s yours. No charge.”

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice sounding hollow and strange inside the metal shell. I took it off, blinking as the world rushed back in, bright and wide. Holding it in my hands, I felt a strange mix of gratitude and dread. This wasn’t a costume piece from a convention. This was a tool made for a world where people actively tried to kill you.

  After stowing my new head-protector in my pack, we gathered rations from the grateful general store owner—a sack filled with dried meat, hard cheese, apples, and a small, cloth-wrapped package for Bartholomew that smelled distinctly of smoked fish.

  Back in our room at the inn, Kaelen unrolled a map across the wooden table. It was old parchment, the lands of Eldoria drawn with an elegant, imprecise hand. He tapped a spot deep within a formidable-looking forest.

  “The ruffians at the quarry were a distraction,” he said, his tone turning serious again. “A necessary one, but a delay nonetheless.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” I said, leaning forward, my fingers tracing the faded ink. “The guys here were the opening band for a terrible concert?”

  Bartholomew, perched regally on the windowsill, let out a sigh that sounded remarkably like a deflating bellows.

  “My dear Paige, while your analogies are… vivid, they do little to illuminate the gravity of our situation. Ser Kaelen speaks of a carefully orchestrated diversion. The quarry bandits were merely pawns, designed to delay us, to drain our resources, and perhaps, to gauge our capabilities.”Kaelen’s gaze remained fixed on the map, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  “Precisely. They hoped to keep us occupied, to prevent us from reaching the capital before a certain rendezvous.”

  “But they’ve been here for months and had no way to know we were coming at all.” I argued, “Guys, I think you’re seriously overthinking some bandits.”

  “Perhaps, but we must assume that anything in our way is there to delay us specifically.” Kaelen shrugged. “News often travels slowly in Eldoria, but there are ways to make it travel almost instantaneously, though they are costly. Word that I am heading for the capital has likely already reached my order.”

  “Is that a bad thing? You were going to talk to them anyhow.” I argued, scratching my thumbnail over a dent in the wooden table. “If they know you’re coming, won’t that make things easier?”

  “There is more nuance to my relationship with the Silver Gryphon than you need know.”

  “Go ahead, keep your secrets.” I sassed.

  “I will. However, seeing as word has traveled quickly, I think it best that we stay off the King’s Road and enter the city from the north.” He gestured to the map again. “That road sees far less traffic, and I am less likely to be recognized and intercepted.”

  “Fine by me.” I shrugged. “Not sure why it’s such a big deal, but whatever.”Bartholomew twitched an ear. “The political situation between the various guilds is often… unpredictable. Much like certain individuals I could mention.” He shot me a pointed look.I rolled my eyes.

  “Right, because I’m the unpredictable one. Not the knight who’s apparently AWOL and the cat who talks like he’s auditioning for a Dickens novel.” I gestured to the map. “So, this road?”Kaelen finally looked up, his expression earnest. He pointed to the winding line of the king’s road on the map.

  “The king’s road, as you know, is heavily patrolled. My armor, my banner—they mark me too readily. And your own… distinct lack of Eldorian pleasantries would likely draw undue attention.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I muttered, adjusting my worn tunic. “Glad my modern sensibilities are so conspicuous.” I’d managed to trade my pajamas for some rather scratchy linen and surprisingly functional, if slightly scuffed, leather armor, but I still felt like I was wearing a costume. A very uncomfortable costume.

  “Moreover,” Kaelen continued, “the Shadow Lord’s scouts are ubiquitous. They would anticipate any movement towards the capital along the main thoroughfares. The north is wild country and will offer a more… circuitous, but ultimately safer, passage. It bypasses the most heavily fortified checkpoints and offers cover.”Bartholomew stretched languidly.

  “One might even call it… strategic. Assuming, of course, that one is not prone to sudden outbursts of dramatic pronouncements or an insatiable craving for… what was it you called them? Doe-newts?”

  “Donuts,” I corrected, my stomach giving a faint rumble. “And for your information, I can be perfectly strategic and occasionally express my existential dread through food cravings. It’s called coping.”

  Kaelen spread his hands.

  “The woods are dense, treacherous in places, but they are also home to creatures and spirits that may be less amenable to the Shadow Lord’s influence. We may find allies, or at least, less hostile inhabitants, than on the open road.”

  “Or,” I countered, “we might find ourselves as the main course for something with more teeth than sense. I’m still not entirely convinced that ‘ancient magic guardian’ isn’t just a fancy way of saying ‘super grumpy talking cat with a superiority complex’.”Bartholomew sniffed.

  “My dear Paige, my ‘grumpiness’ is a carefully cultivated facade, designed to mask the immense burden of guarding secrets that would make your modern mind reel. One might call it coping.” He offered a pointed glare, “And as for superiority, it is merely an accurate assessment of the intellectual landscape surrounding me.”Kaelen sighed, a sound far more weary than Bartholomew’s theatrical exhalations. “We are running out of time. The Shadow Lord’s power consolidates with each passing day. Every moment spent, Paige, could be critical.”

  I pushed away from the table, a familiar wave of frustration washing over me. It was easy for them. Kaelen, the stoic knight on a divine mission. Bartholomew, the ancient being with centuries of wisdom. Me? I was the girl who was still trying to figure out how to use a flint and steel without setting her own hair on fire.

  “Fine,” I said, throwing my hands up. “North it is. Just promise me one thing, Kaelen.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And what is that?”

  “No more ‘warm-up acts’. If we’re going to get eaten by a swamp monster, I want it to be the main event. I’d hate to build up anticipation for nothing.”

  Bartholomew let out a low, rumbling purr that was disturbingly close to a chuckle. Kaelen, surprisingly, almost smiled.

  “Understood, Paige. Only the main event from now on.”

  He carefully rolled the map, tucking it into a satchel.

  “Alright,” I said, clapping my hands together, trying to inject a false sense of confidence into my tone. “Lead the way, Ser Knight. Just try not to get us lost in anything that sounds like it belongs on a Halloween decoration factory floor.”Kaelen nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. “We travel at first light.”

  As he spoke, the last rays of the setting sun cast long shadows across the room, mingling with the ones that already seemed to cling to the very fabric of Eldoria.