River, Amalia, and Albert were on their lunch break, chatting and tossing around ideas to improve their training. A light breeze wafted through the cracked door, carrying the scent of sand and warm stone. To River, it felt perfect. Peaceful in a way the academy rarely was. Suddenly, the sound of distant horns shattered their conversation. The peacefulness gone.

  They turned toward Kamir, who sat nearby with his eyes closed. "Delvers are back," he said flatly. The three of them stood and followed him outside.

  Delvers usually returned from dungeon raids in high spirits, boasting tales of monsters slain and treasures found. This time was different. Somber faces.

  Wounded Delvers limped behind the stretchers, their expressions drawn and afraid.

  They didn’t speak. They didn’t even look up. Three Delvers lay on stretchers, unmoving. whether alive or dead wasn’t clear. Of the ten who had departed three days ago, only eight returned. The survivors looked gaunt and grim, their armor scorched and torn. A bloodied bandage wrapped one man’s thigh; another bore claw marks across his chest. The wounds, almost familiar, their essence clung to them like rot. River walked closer, trying to glean more information from the murmured crowd.

  His heart lodged in his throat. What could’ve done this? These weren’t exactly rookies.

  He heard a woman whisper, barely audible.“Creatures made of shadow and fangs. They weren’t supposed to be there. That dungeon was marked safe.”

  All around, citizens murmured. Eyes darted. No words passed between River and his friends. They all had the same idea.

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  "It’s just rumors," someone muttered nearby. "No," another said. "I overheard the leader of the delve. She said they lost Galor. Said something pulled him into the dark—something that didn’t bleed." River remembered how Philip had moved—like wind in a storm, untouchable. This sounded too similar to be a coincidence. For a second, fear gripped him. His mouth went dry, and suddenly he was back in the alley with Lud—staring into those glowing yellow eyes. He turned to his friends, fear tightening his features.

  They nodded, faces pale. This sounded too familiar.

  Too much like the thing River and Lud had faced on their way to the school. Or worse. It could be like Philip. Something was coming for them. The rest of the day passed slowly. Training was canceled, and the three of them spent their time trying to gather information.

  From what they could piece together, the Delvers had cleared the dungeon without casualties. It wasn’t until they were resting near the exit—eating, preparing to head back—that the shadows began moving. Weapons were useless. Blades passed through the creatures like fog—no resistance, no wound. They merely parted for a breath, then closed again. The only small comfort came from the fact that this had been a low-tier mission—a routine herb and food run to a previously cleared dungeon. The Delvers sent had been inexperienced. River clung to that thought.

  They were still safe. Inside the walls of Varosha, protected by warriors like Kamir. But safety wasn’t free; rations bled from those he called family.

  He didn’t like that.

  The walls might hold for now.

  But not for long.

  River didn’t know how to stop them. But he would find a way to stop whatever was coming.