Moltrin's Hollow had seen better days.
The small trade town, once a bustling stop along the merchant's path to the northern capitals, now lay in uneasy silence. A single Church banner hung over the gate, weather-worn and fraying. Watchmen leaned against posts, bored, inattentive.
Cedric walked through the main street cloaked in a worn hood, the stolen chainmail beneath his cloak giving him the look of a passing sellsword. He'd dulled the Church insignia with soot and mud, enough to pass a glance.
> Disguise Status: Partial Success
Threat of Exposure: Low (Current Level: 4/100)
He scanned his surroundings. Stalls half-empty. Eyes tired. People walked with quiet urgency, avoiding strangers and sidelong stares. It was the kind of place where everyone had a secret and no one asked questions.
Perfect.
He ducked into the tavern—The Ashen Mare—the only building with life still in it. The smell of old ale and damp wood hit him first. Inside, a few scattered patrons sat hunched over drinks, heads low.
He took a seat in the back, facing the entrance. Watching.
Waiting.
Minutes passed before the tavern door creaked open again.
A young woman entered, her cloak dark, her boots worn but well-made. She carried no visible weapon—but Cedric noticed the subtle bulge of steel hidden in her boot and the faint shimmer of a magical ward etched across her shoulder. Her presence didn't match the rest of the Hollow.
Neither did the way her eyes found his—sharp, too focused for coincidence.
She approached his table without hesitation.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked.
Cedric gestured slightly, his posture unreadable. "Go ahead."
She sat, eyes never leaving his.
"I saw you come in through the east road," she said, voice calm. "That route's been cold for years. No merchant uses it."
"I'm not a merchant," Cedric replied evenly.
"No. You're something else." She leaned in. "You're carrying a Church-issue shortbow, but no holy pendant. And your armor's been altered—hastily, but enough to fool idiots."
Cedric remained still.
"What do you want?" he asked.
The woman smirked. "Information. Trade. Protection. I'm open-minded."
> SYSTEM ALERT
UNKNOWN MAGIC SIGNATURE DETECTED.
Name: LYNNE ALBRECHT
Class: [Unregistered]
Mana Affinity: Arcane | Shadow | Threadweaving (Minor)
Disposition: Wary / Curious
Threadweaving? Cedric's brow twitched. She could see the threads too—at least in some way.
"Who are you really?" he asked.
Lynne leaned back. "I used to be an apprentice magister in the capital. I studied forbidden theory—things the Church didn't want written. When they caught on, I vanished. Been moving ever since. But lately…" She lowered her voice. "There's been whispers. About the old system. About a demon lord awakening earlier than expected."
Cedric said nothing.
She tapped a finger on the table, then added quietly, "If that's true, and if he's not the monster they expect him to be… I'd rather serve the truth than the lie we've all been fed."
> Potential Ally Identified.
Trust Level: 17/100
New Quest Unlocked: "Shadows That Speak"
Earn Lynne's trust. Learn what she knows about the Church's forbidden research into the System's origins.
Cedric studied her for a moment longer, then offered a single nod.
"Fine. We trade. But I don't give trust freely."
"Neither do I," Lynne said with a grin. "But I have something you want."
She slid a scroll across the table—old, cracked leather binding etched with strange script.
Cedric took it slowly, unrolling just enough to see one word burned into the page:
"THREADKEEPER."