I''ve been asked to recount our mission gathering intel. Personally, I find the request rather pointless—scribbling down the details of this chaotic slog feels like polishing a turd for posterity—but I''ll humor him, just this once. If only to shut him up.


    My name is Corven, for whoever ends up reading this dull account of shadows and whispers. Probably some dusty archivist who''ll choke on the irony of it all. We set off that morning, the air crisp with the kind of chill that clings to your bones, and the loud-mouthed dwarf was still grumbling about losing ten gold. Apparently, betting against Solari hadn''t gone in his favor. Again. His voice grated like a rusted hinge, muttering curses about Drennar slowing him down. I didn''t care enough to argue—his loss, not mine.


    The little goblin wouldn''t stop talking. Her high-pitched chatter buzzed in my ears like a swarm of gnats I couldn''t swat away.


    "Where we going? Who''s the leader? Can I be the leader? Call me Captain Glittergob! Leader of the Terrific Threesome!"


    She shouted that last part like it was a battle cry, arms flailing as if she expected a chorus of cheers to erupt from the empty trees around us. Velsangui help me. I rubbed my temples, wondering in all my centuries what unspeakable sin I must''ve committed to deserve this green menace as my punishment.


    Drennar was smiling smugly, probably thinking about the next poor soul he''d screw over. The gnome had a face made for deceit—sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes, glinting with the promise of a knife in your back. He adjusted his coat with a flourish, like he was about to walk into a royal court and not a black market cesspool.


    "We''re going to Vaelthane Hollow," he said, his tone dripping with self-assurance. "I''ve got old contacts there. They might know something about Nox Arcanus."


    Black market city full of Sainaro''s underbelly of criminals. Thieves, smugglers, and worse, all festering in one shadowy pit. Yeah. This is off to a great start. I could already smell the rot and desperation waiting for us.


    "Who''s this contact of yours?" I asked Drennar, hoping—praying—the nonstop chattering goblin would shut up long enough to give me something—anything—useful for this mission. My patience was fraying, and the hunger gnawing at my gut wasn''t helping.


    "Oh! Let me guess," Nysera cut in, bouncing on her heels like a child hyped up on far too much sugar. "It''s a lizard person! Or a fairy! Oh—oh—is it a chimera? Please let it be a chimera." Her eyes sparkled with manic glee, and I felt a headache bloom behind my eyes.


    That hope died a slow, shriveled death. I was starting to think my deal wasn''t worth this—trapped with a gnome who''d sell his own mother for a profit and a goblin who''d turn a funeral into a circus. Velsangui''s mercy was nowhere to be found. For the first time in my existence I complemented the sweet release of death.


    "My contact is an ex-Shadow Hand member. Keeps his ear to the ground," Drennar said, ignoring Nysera''s rambling with the practiced ease of someone who''d heard worse. "He''s the best information gatherer I know—aside from myself, naturally." He smirked like wasn''t obviously bragging on himself.


    In this line of work, ex usually means trouble—someone who''s either too dangerous to keep around or too slippery to stay loyal. Then again, Drennar''s the kind of gnome who''d smile while selling you a map to your own grave. They only ever tell you what they want you to know—truth or lie, it''s all the same to them. I didn''t trust him, but I didn''t have a choice.


    As we crossed into Volstruum Valley, the landscape shifted—rolling hills gave way to ancient trees, their gnarled branches twisting like skeletal hands reaching for the sky. Nysera''s eyes went wide with wonder, her mouth dropping open as she took it all in.


    "We''re in elf land! It''s so pretty—like a unicorn fart."


    I said nothing. That one-liner was somehow both disturbingly vivid and probably accurate. The valley shimmered with an ethereal glow, the air thick with the scent of moss and forgotten magic. It was beautiful, in a way that made you feel small and insignificant.


    Vaelthane Hollow was cloaked by an invisibility barrier—one that bent light and layered illusion over empty land. Unless you knew what to look for, you''d swear there was nothing here but brush and wind. The faint hum of arcane energy prickled my skin as we approached, a reminder of the power woven into this place.


    "Here we go—it''s right here," Drennar said, waving his hand through the air with a theatrical flick of his wrist.


    The space shimmered. The illusion peeled away like a curtain drawn back, revealing the city beyond.


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    "Yay! Bad guy land!" Nysera squealed, skipping forward with all the grace of a drunken toddler. "I haven''t been here since I made them believe they were infested with dopplethingeys." She giggled, absolutely delighted, her laughter echoing off the stone as if the city itself found her amusing.


    Stepping into the Hollow was like slipping into another world—one where chattering green things didn''t exist. Unfortunately, mine followed me in, her voice a relentless assault on my sanity. Narrow stone bridges stretched across deep crevices, the chasms below lit by arcane lanterns suspended on invisible threads. Their eerie blue light cast long shadows that danced across the rock. The walls glimmered faintly, carved with glowing trade sigils and protective runes. Purples, golds, and deep reds bled from ever-burning flames and bioluminescent moss that clung to the stone like creeping ivy, pulsing faintly as if alive.


    I hate to say it... but it was breathtaking. The kind of beauty that lures you in before it slits your throat. I wouldn''t mind that after the journey with Nysera.


    The city—beautiful as it was—made you feel like you were being watched the moment you stepped inside. Every archway felt like an eye, every alley a whisper waiting to strike. The air was thick with the stench of greed and betrayal, and I could feel the weight of unseen gazes tracking our every move.


    Nysera had—unsurprisingly—disappeared. One second she was there, the next she was gone, leaving only the echo of her giggling uncontrollably somewhere nearby. The air shimmered, then twisted—fairies, or at least things that used to be fairies, now malformed reflections of their former selves. They dive-bombed screaming pedestrians as if it were a sport, their warped wings buzzing like broken instruments.


    I sighed heavily, the sound lost in the chaos. I needed to feed. If I didn''t, she was going to be the death of me. A thousand years of life, just to die to a single green thorn in my side. The hunger clawed at me, sharp and insistent, but I shoved it down. Not yet.


    "Come on. Enough with the games," I called out, my voice cutting through the din. "We have work to do."


    She popped into existence beside me like a summoned curse, her grin wide and unrepentant.


    "Aww, but it was just getting good!" she whined, dragging her feet in the most dramatic fashion possible as we followed Drennar into the deeper veins of Vaelthane Hollow. The streets narrowed, the air growing colder and heavier with every step.


    Drennar approached a steel door at the end of a dead-end alley, its surface pitted with rust and age. He knocked twice, then three times in quick succession, the sound sharp against the silence. The door creaked open, and darkness spilled out like the entrance to the Abyss, thick and suffocating.


    "Let''s go," Drennar said, stepping inside without hesitation.


    We followed him through narrow tunnels lit only by flickering wall sconces, their weak flames casting jagged shadows that writhed like living things. The air reeked of mildew and secrets, a damp rot that clung to the back of my throat. Eventually, we entered a small, dimly lit room with a single table at its center. A hooded figure waited in silence, their presence a quiet threat. As soon as we stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind us with a heavy click that echoed like a judge''s gavel.


    More hooded figures emerged from the shadows, surrounding us, their movements fluid and practiced. My lips curled into a smile, baring my fangs. Velsanqui had answered, and the hunger roared to life.


    Drennar and Nysera vanished without a word. Shadows welcomed them like old friends, swallowing them whole.


    "Broody boy, broody boy, multiply and spread the joy!" Nysera''s voice rang out in singsong chaos, and the room filled—stuffed—with duplicates of me. They flickered into existence, each one a perfect mirror of my scowl and coiled tension.


    The hooded figures panicked, blades slashing through illusion after illusion, steel whistling through empty air. Nysera''s laughter danced around the room, manic and bright, a soundtrack to the madness.


    "Try and try again! One of them''s the real one," she taunted, her voice bouncing off the walls.


    They never found the right one. Because I moved in silence.


    While they flailed at ghosts, I wove through the confusion, striking with surgical precision—ripping throats, spilling blood, one after another. The coppery tang filled the air, warm and intoxicating, and I let it fuel me. My movements were a blur, guided by instinct and centuries of practice.


    I left the last one.


    Pinned them to the wall, fingers digging into their throat until I felt the pulse stutter beneath my grip. I yanked back the hood, and a wicked grin curled across my lips. A Drydalis—pale skin, sharp features, eyes like molten silver. Well now... maybe this deal wasn''t so bad after all.


    I sank my fangs into her neck and drained her dry. I needed to feed. Not out of hunger—out of necessity.


    The kind born of dealing with chaos wrapped in a goblin skin.


    The blood hit my system like fire, sharp and sweet, washing away the exhaustion and sharpening my senses. For a second I almost forgot about her.


    Nysera shimmered back into view, eyes wide with delight. "Broody one is a vampy thing! Can you make me one? Pleeeease?" That didn''t last long.


    "No way am I giving you immortality," I muttered, my glare sharp enough to cut stone. "The sooner we''re done here, the better." The thought of her bouncing around for eternity was a nightmare I wouldn''t inflict on my worst enemy.


    Drennar stepped out from the gloom behind me, calm as ever, like he hadn''t just abandoned us to a trap.


    "Where were you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.


    "Going for the flank," he said casually, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve.


    I didn''t buy that for a second. Nox Arcanus operatives were here, and he just happened to be missing? The coincidence stank worse than the tunnels.


    "My contact wasn''t here," Drennar said, voice casual—like he wasn''t leading us straight into a den of vipers. "I''ll find some things out—let''s meet later."


    He vanished into the haze of Vaelthane Hollow, leaving me with the goblin. I dragged Nysera—unwillingly—to the Pale Lantern Inn, one of the few places that looked only moderately like a front for illegal goods smuggling. The building leaned slightly, its wooden beams weathered and stained, but it was better than the open streets. She didn''t mind. It was like nothing could bother her.


    While we waited, she entertained herself by casting illusions into people''s mugs. I didn''t ask what she made them see—but judging by the shrieks, gasps, and one man screaming that his drink had eyes, I could guess. The inn''s patrons were a rough lot, scarred and surly, but even they weren''t prepared for her brand of chaos.


    A couple of hours passed, the time dragging like a dull blade across my nerves. Then Drennar returned, slipping into the booth across from me like a shadow made of half-truths.


    "My contact''s dead," he said, like he was commenting on the weather. "Nox Arcanus is running this city now."


    Amused, I smiled. This city just became my personal hunting ground. We''ll bleed them for information before they meet their end. This was going to be entertaining.