The Forgotten Eidolon

The darkness had weight now, thick and pressing against Jan's skin. The cavern was empty, but the memory of the masked figure lingered. His fingers tightened around the obsidian token.

He didn't trust it. He didn't trust them.

But he would find out the truth.

Jan tucked the token into his belt and moved. Every muscle ached from the earlier battle, his ribs sore where he had taken direct hits. His breath was steady, but the wear of the fight had settled into his body. He could recover later—if there was a later.

The cavern extended into a narrow passage ahead, dimly illuminated by veins of pale blue light threading through the rock. He stepped forward, silent, his senses stretched thin, searching for another presence. The air carried something faint, something that hadn't been there before.

Smoke. Burning.

Jan quickened his pace. The passage opened into a wider chamber, the ceiling jagged like the ribs of some long-dead beast. A faint glow pulsed from the far end, flickering with a rhythmic intensity—controlled, deliberate.

Someone was here. Waiting.

Jan slowed his breathing. He stepped forward, keeping to the edges of the chamber, eyes locked onto the shifting glow. The scent of burning parchment filled the air, acrid and dry. He turned a corner, and his pulse slowed.

A stone altar sat at the center of the chamber, worn smooth by time. Scattered across it were burned scraps of paper, charred edges curling inward. Symbols had been carved into the rock—ancient, precise, unreadable.

Then, a voice.

"You move well for someone with no past."

Jan turned sharply, dagger raised. A figure stood at the far end of the chamber, cloaked in layered robes, their face hidden behind a silver mask—not the same as before, but eerily similar. The patterns on the mask shifted subtly in the dim light, a trick of the eye or something else entirely.

He didn't reply.

The figure tilted their head. "Good. You learn quickly."

Jan remained still, measuring them. His mind worked through the possibilities—were they connected to the first masked figure? Were they another hunter? An observer? A trap?

The figure gestured toward the altar. "What do you see?"

Jan glanced at the burnt parchment. The writing was beyond his understanding, but the symbols carved into the stone—there was something about them, something familiar. A sharp pulse from his chest sent a wave of discomfort through his body. His Veilmark reacted to them.

The figure watched him closely. "Recognition?"

Jan's jaw tightened. "What do you want?"

A pause. Then, a soft chuckle. "It isn't about what I want. It's about what you are."

Something shifted in the air—a tension, a shift in weight. Jan's grip tightened on his dagger. They weren't alone.

The shadows at the edges of the chamber stirred.

He turned, already moving. A shape emerged from the darkness—silent, precise. A dagger slashed through the air toward his throat. Jan ducked, twisting just as a second attacker lunged from the opposite side. An ambush.

His body reacted before thought—his footwork sharp, his stance adjusting instinctively. He sidestepped, parrying a strike, but the second figure was already upon him. A gloved fist crashed into his ribs. Pain exploded through his side.

Jan staggered but turned the momentum, rolling away before they could press the advantage. He was outnumbered. But that wasn't new.

The robed figure remained still, observing. This was another test.

Jan exhaled slowly. Fine. Let's play.

His movements became sharper, deliberate. He let the attackers think they had him pinned, then broke their rhythm. He turned into an attack, deflecting it just enough to unbalance his opponent, then drove his dagger into their side—non-lethal, but enough to take them down.

The second came at him fast, shifting through the darkness like smoke. Jan twisted, barely avoiding the strike, but not without cost—a shallow cut traced across his forearm. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the sting.

Control. Precision. Adapt.

He redirected his weight, feigning another retreat. When his opponent overcommitted, Jan moved. He grabbed their wrist, twisting sharply, forcing the dagger from their grasp. In the same motion, he drove his knee into their stomach, sending them sprawling.

Silence settled over the chamber. The two attackers lay on the ground, breathing but unmoving.

Jan turned to the masked figure. "Enough games."

A slow nod. "Good."

They stepped forward, reaching into their robes. Jan tensed but didn't attack.

A folded piece of parchment emerged. The figure held it out.

Jan hesitated, then took it.

"When you leave this place," the figure said, voice measured, "go to the city of Atris. Find the House of Hollow Names."

Jan opened the parchment. A symbol was drawn on it—one that matched the carvings on the altar. His Veilmark pulsed again.

He looked back up.

The figure was gone.

Jan exhaled, steadying his thoughts. He glanced at the attackers—unconscious, but alive. He stepped past them, folding the parchment and slipping it into his belt.

The city of Atris.

He had a destination now. And with it, the next piece of the puzzle.