The bar was busier than usual that afternoon, with voices overlapping and the smell of roasted meat and spicy beer filling the air. Kael was sitting at a table in the darkest corner of the room, with a steaming plate in front of him. Despite the commotion around him, his attention was fixed on the woman sitting across the table: Sazhara.

She ate calmly, cutting pieces of meat with an almost noble elegance, although her red eyes and the faint arcane glow beneath her skin made it clear that nobility was not exactly the right word. The dark dress she wore now seemed more discreet than usual, perhaps out of respect for the environment—or perhaps because she simply didn't care enough to impress anyone there.

Kael took a piece of bread and dipped it into the sauce without much ceremony, then asked, in his usual bored tone:

"About earlier... why were you attacking the elves?"

Sazhara paused her fork in midair for a moment, as if deciding whether it was worth answering honestly. Then she shrugged.

"Contract."

"Contract?" Kael raised an eyebrow.

"That's how demons work, Kael." She chewed another piece, swallowed, and continued casually. "Someone called me, performed the summoning correctly, offered something of value... in this case, their own soul. In exchange, they asked me to take the throne of the elves."

Kael blinked, surprised by her frankness.

"And you accepted?"

"That's what we do. It's our nature. We don't make decisions based on ethics or morals. We just fulfill the contract." She wiped her lips with a napkin and crossed her legs under the table. "As long as the offer is good enough, of course. And this one was."

Kael bit into his bread harder than necessary.

"So... you were just going to kill half an elven kingdom because of an agreement?"

"Not 'kill'. Subjugate. There's a difference." She smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "And before you start lecturing me: humans do the same for less. Or do you think kings and generals need to sell their souls to destroy a nation?"

Kael didn't answer right away. He knew she was right. That was what annoyed him the most.

"And the contractor?" he asked, finally. "Who was it?"

Sazhara shook her head slowly.

"Classified information. The terms require confidentiality. I can't even say the name. But I can say this: it was someone who had a lot to lose... and bet everything."

"And lost."

"Yes." She looked to the side, at the window where the late afternoon light hit the glass. "When a contractor dies, the contract is dissolved. All ties are broken. All authority is nullified. I stopped attacking the elven kingdom the moment his soul was destroyed."

Kael leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"And now?"

"Now?" Sazhara stared at him with mild interest. "I'm without a contract. Free. Technically, I can still walk among mortals for a while. I consider it... a vacation."

"You seem to be enjoying it," he said dryly.

She giggled.

"Decent food, good wine, and a cock full of vitality? What more could I want? I'm a simple succubus."

Sazhara was about to bring another glass of wine to her lips when Raven's firm voice cut through the air like a well-aimed arrow:

"Could you please refrain from talking dirty in my bar? There are people trying to eat without choking on the other side."

Kael looked up from his food, while Sazhara turned with a wicked smile.

"Come on, Raven," said the demon, gently twirling the glass in her hand. "Don't be so conservative. I'm just praising your wizard's qualities."

"My wizard?" Raven crossed her arms. "He can deal with his own problems. I just sell drinks and provide shelter to those who pay on time."

Kael snorted softly, wiping the corners of her mouth with the sleeve of her cloak.

"And did you come here for that, or are you going to tell me you want to join the conversation?"

Raven rolled her eyes, ignoring the tone.

"Actually, I came for work." She pulled a small folded scroll from her apron pocket. "A request came in from the Freedom Guild. I was supposed to put it on the board, as usual... but when I read it, I thought it had more to do with you."

She tossed the paper onto the table, right in front of Kael. The Guild seal was intact, stamped with red wax. He reached out and opened it with a casual gesture.

Sazhara, interested, leaned over the table to read along, her chin almost touching his shoulder. Kael ignored her.

"Anomalous activity in the vicinity of Rust Village, northwest of Broken Spine Forest..." he muttered, reading the contents. "Residents report nighttime attacks. Disappearance of livestock. Signs of unidentified residual magic. Danger level: Class B."

Kael looked up at Raven, raising an eyebrow.

"This seems like more than a job for someone who just got a Class C license."

"That's exactly why I thought of you," she replied with a half-smile. "You're not exactly your average rookie, right?"

Sazhara made a vague gesture with her hand as she took another sip of wine.

"It looks like the work of wraiths. Or some shadow creature with a delayed hunger."

"Are there reports of people disappearing?" Kael asked.

"Three disappearances, all during the night. A hunter, an elderly woman, and a boy who had a bad habit of going out to play under the full moon." Raven sighed, leaning lightly on the edge of the table. "The Guild hasn't been able to dispatch a group yet because everyone is busy with preparations for the Rune Festival. The mission was gathering dust... until someone suggested posting it on the boards of independent taverns."

"And you think I should go," Kael said dryly.

"I think you want to move up in rank, and the more of these missions you solve, the faster that happens." Raven shrugged. "And frankly, after the show you put on breaking that bully's arm in front of the Guild, people started paying attention. If you want to keep your fame, you'll have to earn it."

Kael read the note again in silence. His gaze grew more serious.

"Unknown residual magic... this could be necromantic stuff. Or worse."

"Or a drunken villager's hoax to ensure extra security for the festival," Sazhara commented, swirling the wine in her glass without interest. "It could be one thing or the other. Or both."

Kael stood up, the scroll in his hand.

"All right. I'll go. I need to get out of that stuffy room anyway. The floor seems to be sinking."

"Of course it is," Raven muttered. "You sleep in armor."

He ignored her.

"Any extra instructions?"

"Just what's on the paper. The Guild has already prepared a letter of recommendation for you to give to the village leader. And Kael..." Raven paused, looking him in the eye. "If it's something real, really dangerous... come back in one piece. You still owe me two bottles of wine and a broken door."

Kael smiled crookedly.

"I usually charge interest for each day I live. So it's best to keep track of those debts."

Sazhara, still seated, looked at him over the rim of her glass.

"Are you going alone?"

He hesitated, then looked at her.

"You're on vacation, aren't you? Do you want to have fun, or are you just going to drink until you explode with boredom?"

She laughed heartily.

"Hm... tempting. But not this time. I have my own plans. I'm still figuring out how I'm going to stay in this world without being dragged back by the contract ending."

Kael rolled his eyes and walked away from the table with the scroll in his hands. The bar was still noisy, but he felt strange, as if a subtle stillness was forming around him, something in the air before the storm.

Raven watched him for a moment as he walked toward the door.

"Hey, Kael."

He stopped and turned his head slightly.

"When you get back... I want details."

[Days ago...]

Night fell like a heavy veil over Vila Ferrugem.

The stars barely dared to shine under the opaque sky, obscured by a thick, silent fog that crept across the hills like invisible fingers. The chimneys, which during the day had expelled cheerful smoke from burning fireplaces, were now silent. The windows, closed and locked, revealed only the flickering shadows of sparingly lit candles.

The only sound was the wind...

Or so it seemed.

On the outskirts of the village, beyond the abandoned fields and old barns made of rotten wood, an old shepherd guided his flock back to the stable. He muttered words to himself—ancient prayers that no one else used anymore, and which even he could not remember why. The sheep were restless. They stumbled, moved away from each other, snorted nervously for no apparent reason.

"Quiet... we're almost home," muttered the old man, holding his staff firmly. His sheepdog, Tylo, advanced ahead of the group, ears pricked, sniffing the air.

But then he stopped.

The dog froze, eyes fixed on the darkness that was beginning to swallow the trail. His paws trembled. A low growl escaped his throat, different from usual. It was a guttural sound... almost human.

"Tylo?" the old man called.

The dog took a step back.

Then came the sound.

A sharp crack. Like wood breaking under pressure. But there were no trees there. Only rocks and earth. The shepherd stopped. He looked around. The air was heavy, too still. The smell... something about it had changed. It was no longer just mist and moss—there was something rotten, metallic, like old blood.

Another crack. Louder.

Tylo barked once. Just once. Then he fell to the ground with a dry whimper, paralyzed, his eyes wide with absolute terror.

The shepherd didn't even have time to scream.

From the shadows between the rocks emerged something... impossible.

The creature had no definite shape. It was like a veil of flesh and smoke, with bones that cracked in the wrong directions, limbs that seemed to form and disappear as it moved. It had eyes. Or what looked like eyes — black spheres with no reflection, like holes in reality.

It advanced.

And when the old man tried to run, he was pulled by something invisible. His feet left the ground, as if gravity had been denied. He floated, struggling silently, and then...

absolute silence.

No scream. No bark. No wind.

The herd bolted in panic, breaking through fences, disappearing into the fog.

When the next morning came, the sun struggled to rise. And when the village leader found the abandoned stable, all that remained was the motionless dog, eyes open and dry, and a burn mark on the ground where there had once been mud and footprints:

An incomplete circle. Like a ritual done in haste.

And a word scratched into the wood of the fence, almost illegible, made by weak hands or trembling claws:

"Death."

At the top of the hill, inside the forest, the same crackling sound rang out again.

Something... was waking up.

And it was hungry.