Shadows Unveiled

The first step into Duskmire is like stepping through a veil woven with dread. Lira Morn can almost feel it—a pressure behind her eyes and an icy prickle along her spine. The city gate creaks shut behind her, exhaling a final gust from the outside world, and in the hush that follows, her senses throb with unease.

Duskmire is nothing like the cities Lira has known. Its streets are narrow, buildings stooped together in secretive conferment, eaves dripping with mist even though the sky threatens no rain. Shadows loiter near the lamplight, thick and trembling, as if ready to burst into motion. Lira shoulders her battered pack and heads deeper, every footfall muffled on the slick cobblestones.

She passes the first of many alleys, and swears she glimpses movement—a hunched creature, grey-skinned and hollow-eyed, staring at her with a hunger that goes beyond flesh. When she turns, it melts into the gloom. A trick of fatigue, she tells herself, but unease chews at her resolve.

The market square offers only marginal relief. Lanterns cast unsteady halos over clusters of vendors. Trade is brisk but hushed. People glance over shoulders too often and cling to their parcels as if expecting thieves—or worse. Lira lingers at a bread stall, hunger gnawing, but hesitates as she notices the baker avoid her gaze, hands trembling as he counts change.

Above the crowd, a bell clangs three times. The square falls quieter yet—not silent, but anticipatory. Lira’s skin tingles. Shouts break the hush, sudden, panicked. She pushes forward, spying the commotion at a fountain at the far edge. A circle forms around a man—middle-aged, balding, dressed in a threadbare suit. He clutches his chest, eyes bulging with terror.

From the corner of her eye, Lira sees it: a patch of darkness oozing up behind the man, coalescing into the shape of a monstrous dog—no, not a dog, but the idea of one: all slavering jaws and too many legs, fur bristling with shadow. People stagger back, terrified yet morbidly compelled.

The man whimpers, shakes his head. “Not again, not again—”

Lira is rooted. The creature lopes in a circle around its victim. Someone tries to grab the man’s arm, drag him away, but the shadows between them stretch, slick and hot, so the rescuer recoils.

Finally, the creature snaps its teeth inches from the man’s throat. He collapses, curling into a sobbing ball. Lira watches, transfixed, as the nightmare dog dissolves into steam. Silence, then frantic murmurs ripple across the square.

Someone tugs Lira’s sleeve. She whirls, ready to defend herself. A young man with wild brown hair—Jalen Ferris—regards her with wary sympathy.

“You’re new,” he says quietly. “Shouldn’t linger when it happens.”

Lira watches as the crowd disperses, some pausing to comfort the sobbing man, most eager to forget what they saw. The incident leaves a chill gnawing at her insides. “Is that normal?”

Jalen shakes his head, as if he wishes it could be otherwise. “Normal? It happens so often we pretend it is. Come on.”

They walk away from the square. Jalen leads her into a quieter street, where the buildings lean even closer and the fog thickens, shrouding them from prying eyes.

“I saw… something, when I came in,” Lira admits, hugging her arms. “In the alleys.”

“You saw them already? Normally, they leave newcomers alone for a while.” Jalen studies her—she catches the haunted depth in his gaze. “It isn’t the same for us, the ones born here. They know our fears too well.”

Lira matches his pace, curiosity fighting with fear. “What… what are they?”

Jalen sighs, as if he’s been asked too many times, and yet not enough. “Fears. Ours. Everyone’s. Sometimes it’s one person’s, sometimes the city’s own nightmares. They get stronger the longer you stay.”

Lira shudders as a draft coils around her ankles. A cat yowls overhead. “They hurt people, don’t they?”

“They can do worse.” Jalen’s voice is a hard line. “The city wasn’t always like this. Something changed. Now, if you’re not careful—not honest with yourself—it gets bad.”

She glances at him sharply. “How do you…”

He stops, considers. “Most of us try not to think about it. But that doesn’t help.”

They walk on. Lira sees other figures darting between lamp pools, faces gaunt, avoiding eye contact. The buildings seem to breathe in the mist.

Jalen shepherds her to a ramshackle inn and nods toward the faded sign above. “You shouldn’t wander alone. Night’s worst.”

“Are they… watching?” she whispers.

He meets her gaze, honest and sad. “Always. The city listens to its people. Sometimes it shows mercy. More often, it doesn’t.”

Another scream, distant, floats on the wind. Lira feels the ache of her secret buried deep within her chest. Whatever curse grips Duskmire, she knows now it isn’t just a rumor—walking into this city means facing everything you’ve tried to hide.

As she follows Jalen inside, the inn’s door groans shut behind them, sealing out the shifting dark. For now.