Adventure of Parker 1

Parker still has Kaelith in his grip when the shadows at the altar begin to thicken. They stretch upward like wet smoke, then knot together into a dark, weeping specter.

It mirrors Oryn’s bowed shoulders and strained face, as if his sorrow has been peeled out of him and given shape. The ward above the altar flickers hard, hungry for air.

Kaelith goes still in Parker’s hands, eyes wide. The room’s cold does not come from them. It comes from the thing drinking at Oryn’s despair.

The specter turns toward Oryn, weeping without tears, and the ward shudders between them like a strained thread ready to snap.

Parker shoves Kaelith aside. They stumble out of his reach as his blade flashes up toward the black shape over the altar.

The strike tears through cold vapor. The specter splits, then knits again with a wet, sorrowful hiss, as if the blade has cut mist and memory both.

Oryn throws a hand over the altar stone, grimacing as the ward flares white around the traced line in the dust.

The thing surges back from the blade, rippling toward Oryn again while the ghosts outside the lodge press faintly at the barred door.

Parker steps in front of Oryn, shoulder to shoulder with the altar, and drives the specter back with a fresh cut of steel. Cold vapor bursts across his blade and stains his sleeve with frost.

The dark shape recoils from Oryn’s face, its hunger dragged off course by Parker’s body blocking the reach. The traced line in the dust glows again under Oryn’s hand.

Parker presses harder, forcing the specter away from the altar as its shape tears and reforms around the edge of his strike.

Outside, the barred door rattles once, then stills. Inside, the specter hangs between Parker and Oryn, stretched thin and glaring, as if deciding which heart to wound first.