Brock's breath gets knocked out of him as he hits the cold, cracked stone of Level 2. He pushes himself upright, covered in whatever that black goop was, heart pounding in his chest like a drum.
The narrow path ahead radiates faintly with the same runes as before—like veins of magic coursing through the stone. But it's not the door that grabs his attention.
It's the man.
He's sitting casually in a wooden chair that seems to be from the 50's —something straight from an old cabin, chipped and worn. The shadow's coil around him makes him hard to see.The man looks… normal. Too normal for this place. He has a Clean-cut beard, and short hair spiked up, eyes closed as if deep in thought. He's dressed in a black suit with no visible wrinkles, no dirt like a businessman.
He doesn't look at Brock when he speaks, not even opening his eyes.
"Rough landing," the man says calmly. "They usually are."
Brock opens his mouth, but he says nothing. The man gestures to a second chair that wasn't there before—now sitting just across from him.
"Sit. Before they come back."
Behind him, the whispers come back. The children. The shadows. Watching. Brock falls to his knees and yells. "make them stop!" still on his knees
"I can't" the man murmurs
Yelling Brock curls in a ball while all the veins start latching onto him. One of the whispers come louder "stop"then every whisper goes silent
Brock stands and asks who the whispers are, but ignoring the question the man says again "Sit down"
Brock hesitates. Then sit.
"Who… are you?" Brock asks skeptical of him. The man finally opens his eyes.
They're hollow.
Not empty—hollow.
"You can call me Harrow," he says. "I've been waiting for you."
"Waiting for me?" "Have you been watching me?" "Do you control these creatures?" "Do you know the silhouette?"asking a million questions Harrow looks furious
Stating that later he will answer all the questions he looks over to Brock
Putting his hand out he tells Brock to rewind his sentence. Brock looks confused and adds which one, very snappy he yells "The silh-!" Taking a deep breath he then restates "the silhouette. You said you can see the silhouette"
"Yeah, he looks similar to these shadow people." pointing at the other shadows
Brock's eyes narrow as he studies Harrow's gaze. The man's presence is unsettling, his demeanor is calm yet commanding. Brock's mind races with more questions but he stays silent.
Harrow leans back slightly "The silhouette you speak of," he states at first before stopping, his voice low and deliberate, "is not merely similar to these shadow beings. It is their creator, their master."
Brock's brow furrows. "What do you mean? Are you saying this silhouette controls them?"
With a face steady as stone Harrow mentions. "The silhouette is an older entity, one that has existed in the old books for ages now. Many cultures have whispered of such beings—the shadow people, as some call them."
Brock's mind flashes to stories he'd heard, tales of figures glimpsed from the corner of one's eye, always vanishing when looked at directly. "Shadow people? You mean those stories about dark figures that everyone sees in peripheries.
Harrow nods slowly. "Precisely. They are manifestations of the silhouette's will, extensions of its essence. To confront the silhouette is to confront the source of these shadows."
A chill runs down Brock's spine. "Why me? Why have I been drawn into this? No one else can see him."
Harrow's gaze intensifies. "Because you have the sight—the ability to perceive what others dismiss. The silhouette has taken notice of you, and thus, so have its shadows."
Speaking of this Brock gets more chills as Harrow continues to explain how people dismiss these shadows but Brock can see these due to being more socially aware and has a keen eye
Brock's fists clench. "So what am I supposed to do? How do I fight something that's not even really there?"
Harrow's expression softens slightly. "Understanding is the first step. Know your enemy, and you will find its weaknesses. But be cautious—the silhouette is devious and will exploit any fear."
The shadows around them seem to thicken, pressing in closer. Brock takes a deep breath."Then tell me everything you know about this so-called silhouette."
Harrow's eyes close briefly, as if in contemplation. When he opens them again, there's a hint of something—sadness, perhaps? "Very well. But be prepared, kid. The path ahead is filled with darkness."
As Harrow begins to recount the origins of the silhouette, the air grows heavier, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on them.