Souls Online: Mythic Ascension
Chapter 179: Heathens Shadow

Chapter 179: Heathens Shadow

Rachel had a frown the moment she went out on her own. The reason for that was that her destination was inside the village. However it was in the direction that the villagers seemed to willfully ignore.

Just as every place has a light, there must be darkness. Rachel purchased a cheap cloak from a vendor before putting her hood up and disappearing down a dark alley leading to the dark side of the village.

The cobbled path beneath her feet grew uneven, worn down by years of disuse and neglect. The vibrant colors of the market were quickly replaced by dull stone and crumbling walls. Doors were shut tight, windows boarded up, and not a single lantern lit her way. A faint smell of mildew clung to the air, mixing with something more acrid, a mixture of burnt oil and old blood.

Rachel kept her pace steady. She knew better than to hesitate in a place like this.

She passed by a broken fountain choked with weeds, where a faded carving of a winged figure stared upward with hollow eyes. Further in, she could hear the quiet murmur of low voices, the sound of bottles clinking, and the faint shuffle of someone following too far behind to confront her but too close to ignore.

Rachel did not look back.

Instead, she turned down another narrow lane, stopping only once she reached a half-collapsed building with a crooked sign that read The Heathens Shadow. The wood was rotted in places, and a single red thread was tied to the handle of the door.

She looked up at the place with a face that was a mixture of disbelief and twisted amusement.

"Really subtle. Instructor wants to meet me at a place where dead bodies might be a decoration choice"

She gave three quick knocks, then paused, then two more.

There was a pause long enough to doubt she got it right.

Then the door creaked open just enough to let her slip inside.

It was darker still within. The air was thick with smoke, not from tobacco but from something heavier. The scent was a strong opioid, a drug to escape reality, something she wanted no part of. Figures lounged in the corners, eyes gleaming in the gloom. No one spoke. No one needed to. She was not here for them

Rachel walked deeper into the room, the floorboards groaning under her weight. The smoke curled and shifted, creating the illusion of motion even where there was none. She felt the weight of eyes on her but ignored them. No one stepped forward. No one spoke.

There was a table in the corner. On it sat a candle, melted down to a stump, and beside it, a folded piece of parchment held in place by a smooth black stone.

Rachel approached it cautiously. She glanced once around the room. No one moved.

She picked up the note.

The handwriting was neat and precise.

You arrived late. Sit. Observe. Learn.

She scoffed under her breath.

"No name, no greeting. Real warm welcome."

She dropped into the lone chair beside the table. The smoke made her eyes sting, but she kept them open. Her instincts screamed to stay alert. Whoever sent the note was still watching. She could feel it.

The minutes stretched.

Some of the figures in the corners shifted occasionally, speaking in low voices or laughing at jokes too quiet to catch. None of them looked at her directly. None acknowledged her presence.

Eventually, a different kind of movement caught her eye. A thin thread of white powder had been poured in a circle around the chair she sat in. She hadn’t noticed it before.

Rachel’s gaze sharpened.

"You think this is funny?" she muttered aloud.

No answer came.

Instead, one of the figures at the far end of the room stood, walked toward a nearby wall, and tapped it twice.

A panel opened.

A tray was pushed through the opening, then the panel shut again.

On the tray was a small book bound in dark leather, a vial of ink, and a metal pen with a cracked nib.

Rachel did not move.

Eventually, she rose, walked over, and picked up the book. The cover was blank. Inside, the first page had a single sentence.

You want to learn? Then start recording what you see.

Rachel let out a breath and glanced once more at the wall panel.

"So this is how it’s going to be."

She turned the page.

The rest was empty.

With a sharp scratch of metal, she dipped the pen and began to write.

No instructor appeared. No voice guided her. But the smoke whispered, and the shadows shifted, and Rachel began to understand that the lesson had already started.

The first thing she wrote was simple.

This place stinks.

She paused. Her hand hovered over the page, then slowly continued the sentence with something more honest.

The people in here have either forgotten how to feel or have given up trying. They reek of decay, not from rot but from resignation.

The words were not beautiful. But they were hers. Truth had a weight to it, even if it came from a cracked pen and a stolen moment in the dark.

She flipped the page and kept going. Every entry felt like a whisper pulled straight from the smoke. She wrote about the man with a scar that split his face in two, the way he kept laughing at nothing, the girl who leaned against the wall with a silver chain wrapped around her fingers like a rosary. The one closest to her had a spider tattoo that moved slightly each time she blinked, though she couldn’t be sure if it was real.

Time passed. How much, she didn’t know. Her ink thinned. Her eyes grew heavier. Still, no one came forward. No one asked her name. No one offered her a lesson.

And yet, something inside her had already shifted.

It was as if she was seeing something more...or more like she was seeing from the shadows