The rumors spread like wildfire.
At first, they were nothing more than whispers in the dimly lit parlors of Oxenheim's aristocracy—a fleeting tale of a dying man saved by the grace of an unknown deity. But soon, the words took on weight, carving their way into conversations among nobles, merchants, and commoners alike.
"A miracle," they called it.
"The return of the Shadow God."
Some laughed, dismissing it as drunken nonsense. Others sneered, particularly the devoted followers of Efraeton, the city's dominant deity, who branded such claims as heresy. Yet, beneath their scoffs, a flicker of unease lingered in their gazes.
And as the moon rose over The Silver Moon Tavern, the city's most renowned den of vice, the rumor found its way into the mouths of the drunken and the reckless.
"I swear on my life, it's true!" a bearded man slurred, slamming his tankard onto the wooden table. "I heard it myself—some poor bastard was on death's door, and then, just like that, he was saved!"
Across from him, another man scoffed. "And you believe that? Bah! It's just a priest's trick."
"Then explain this, smartass!" the first man barked. "The guy swears he saw a figure wreathed in shadows—no face, just a whisper in the dark. And the next thing he knew, he was alive!"
Their voices grew louder, drawing the attention of other drinkers. Some murmured in agreement, others jeered, and as always, when alcohol mixed with pride, fists soon followed.
A scuffle broke out.
Before it could escalate further, a towering figure stepped forward.
With a single swift motion, the brawlers were lifted off their feet.
The man responsible stood firm, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, with wild, unkempt hair and deep brown eyes. Dressed in a bartender's simple garb, he made no effort to mask the sheer brute strength in his arms as he hoisted both drunkards like sacks of grain.
"Enough," he muttered, voice calm yet heavy with authority.
A moment later, he carried the unconscious men to the back of the tavern, pushing through a hidden door.
Descending a narrow staircase, he reached a solid iron door. He knocked twice.
A slot opened, revealing nothing but cold, calculating eyes.
"Password?" came the low, expectant voice.
The bartender smirked. "Even the blind can see in the shadow's embrace."
A beat of silence.
Then, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room lined with shelves stacked high with scrolls, ledgers, and gold-rimmed coins. Figures moved in the shadows, exchanging secrets in hushed tones.
This was The Obsidian Veil, the city's most infamous information brokerage.
At the center of the room sat a slender man in dark robes, fingers adorned with silver rings that gleamed under the lantern's glow. He leaned forward, voice smooth as silk.
"So, tell me," he purred. "What do you know about this so-called 'Shadow God'?"
The bartender chuckled, folding his arms. "Not just a god—there's a name tied to this mess. A man."
The broker raised a brow. "Oh?"
The bartender's smirk widened. "Julius Cross. A member of the Cathedral."
A ripple of interest passed through the room.
The broker's smile thinned. "Now that… is something worth investigating."
Scene Two: The Weight of Rumors
Julius awoke with a dull ache in his head.
His mind, fogged from exhaustion, drifted over the events of the past days. The murder, the contract severed, the whispers of faith that had begun to take root in the city.
He exhaled sharply, shaking the thoughts away.
Rising from the bed, he pulled on his clothes—a dark, fitted coat, deep gray trousers, and a high-collared shirt of muted navy blue. He secured his belt, tucking a small dagger at his hip before slipping on leather gloves. Lastly, he fastened the silver emblem of the Cathedral's Silver Knights onto his coat, though he still felt the weight of its meaning pressing against his chest.
Stepping out of his rented room, he was met by the landlady, an elderly woman with kind yet observant eyes.
"How long will you be staying?" she asked.
Julius hesitated before pulling out a few silver coins. "Three more days."
She nodded, accepting the payment without further question.
As he stepped onto the streets, the city's murmur reached his ears.
"Did you hear? The Shadow God has returned…"
"…Saved a man from certain death, they say…"
His heart tightened. How had things spiraled so quickly?
He needed answers.
Flagging down a passing carriage, he stepped inside and directed the driver towards the Cathedral of Efraeton.
The moment Julius arrived, he felt it.
A crowd—men, women, even children—had gathered outside the grand cathedral steps, their voices rising in a mix of desperation, curiosity, and reverence.
"Where is the follower of the Shadow God?"
"Please! Help me seek his blessing!"
His chest tightened.
Before he could process the scene, a hand grabbed his wrist, yanking him backward.
Spinning, he found himself face-to-face with Shindori.
"Not here," she hissed, pulling him toward a hidden passage at the back of the cathedral.
The door shut behind them, muffling the voices outside.
She exhaled sharply before turning to face him, arms crossed. "You really messed up this time, Julius."
Julius furrowed his brow. "I didn't do anything."
Shindori scoffed. "Exactly. And that's the problem. Your little act of 'faith' put the Cathedral in an impossible position. Now, people are demanding answers."
His stomach twisted. "Why are they here?"
Her expression turned unreadable. "They want you to connect them to the Shadow God. They want to become devoted followers."
A long silence stretched between them.
Before Julius could respond, Casper pushed into the room, looking thoroughly irritated.
"I didn't get a damn ounce of sleep because of this nonsense," he grumbled, running a hand through his dark hair. "Toss me a coin, Julius. I need a cigarette."
Julius sighed, flipping him a coin. "You're hopeless."
Casper smirked. "And you're a magnet for disaster."
Before another word could be spoken, the door creaked open once more.
A familiar figure stepped inside—the patrol officer from the previous case.
Julius's breath hitched.
"Sir Julius Cross," the man addressed him formally. "We need your help."
Julius's expression hardened. "Why?"
The officer hesitated. "It's about the murder you reported. We believe there is… something unnatural at play."
Julius clenched his jaw.
The officer glanced at Casper. "The investigation must include two Cathedral members."
Casper sighed. "Figures. Looks like I'm getting dragged into another mess."
Julius's thoughts swirled.
A cursed artifact. A mysterious symbol. A body left in the dark.
As always, the shadows whispered secrets waiting to be unraveled.
And whether he liked it or not, he was already tangled in their web.