Rumors were starting to spread, smoldering along the dry grass in outspread patterns, catching fire like kindling in the wind, blazing like a patch of woods gone up in flames. Everyone in Duncaster heard about the infamous Prince of Blood who attacked Septic Eel, the most powerful guild in the city. People on the street would look at Adventurers funny, giving them the stink eye if they were Rogues. Everyday citizens turned into watch dogs, barking at the slightest offense. Even children joined in, playing make believe games about a new magic that had surfaced, chasing each other and pretending to manipulate their very own blood. For Unknown, this put a smile on his face. But for Allister…she had a dozen new reasons to despise him.

From his own observations, Unknown gathered that his identity had spread, and with his identity came the protests outside Red River. Naturally, Septic Eel had turned the tables and put on another mask, spreading their own rumors about how they were attacked at random, how their poor guild was assaulted by an absolute monster.

People were livid. Terrified. They heard a mixture of truth and outright lies about the assault on Crow’s Watch, and were afraid of the same thing happening to them. Thus, they demanded Red River hand over Unknown to the authorities immediately, and of course, the useless Captain Fitzgerald wore the smuggest shit-eating grin on his face as he brought a warrant to the doors of Grimshackle Manor, fully intending to arrest an old acquaintance who, until that point, always one-upped him. Too bad Unknown wasn’t inside the guild anymore. He would’ve loved to see the look on that man’s face. But as he hid in plain sight in the crowds, he abandoned the area before anyone caught on to his presence.

As days past, the protests got so bad that Allister abandoned the manor altogether, sneaking herself and every member of the guild out with her in the dead of night. Where they went next eluded Unknown, but he didn’t care. She’d come to him eventually.

As for him, his goals had not changed, and while he trained day by day, he devoted a similar amount of time to trailing Amelia, making sure she didn’t get into trouble. Her party had a knack for that sort of thing. They’d jump into water without knowing the depth. And while that was usually a bad thing, learning the hard way could often produce the best results later, so Unknown expected their failures to bloom into successes in the future.

On the tails side of Duncaster, Unknown haunted Septic Eel like a phantom, trailing Darkfire most often. Illusionists were dangerous for many reasons, but that one especially was a wild card. His accomplishments and skill were well known, but his history? That was under lock and key. In due course, Unknown would crack the code and sift through every detail he could find, but not until the guild was primed and ready. He had plenty of dirt left to gather if bringing them down was a priority.

“Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me,” he remarked while gazing over Duncaster from his South District safehouse; it was a single room on the top floor with no doors, only accessible from the window.

The city smelled ripe with opportunity. Even the wind agreed, as it carried the scent of a new era on its curving flow, and the sunset murmured through the rooftops.

Another day drifting out, another night of rest pulling in to harbor.

He grinned.

“At least I’m staying busy.”

******

Of all the places Unknown frequented in Duncaster, the Noose was most useful. Of course, that was before everyone knew his name. Even the criminals were scared of him now, and while that was nothing a little intimidation couldn’t fix, the extra steps to gathering information were tedious. Even Bacchus had his reservations about working with the Prince of Blood, but even so, money did the talking. It always did.

Unknown was looking for information on Dead-Eyes; he already knew common stats like which classes it slew most often, the typical hours of its dormancy, and the theories surrounding its age. But he had recently stumbled upon an interesting piece of information while sifting through the city archives that mentioned the creature’s past. Apparently, Dead-Eyes had a master, and that master was believed to still be alive. The concept stemmed from several lines of a hundred-year-old text that read:

…in the reaches of the tower sleeps The Dreaming One, whose time never ends and whose control extends to that of the Guardian. Do not wake him. For when his eyes open, the dead will be enraged…

Obviously, Unknown didn’t expect Bacchus to know anything about The Dreaming One, but he expected to find out who did. He had already asked Gil outside the city, but the old man knew just as much as he, which equated to nothing more than a name.

As luck would have it, Bacchus knew of an old historian, someone who collected tales and traded them like currency to the right buyer; information was priceless, after all. And after an extra 15 buckles, he pointed Unknown in the right direction, leading him to a woman named Constance Mildred on the southside of Duncaster at a home that bordered the city wall.

“Keep your head down,” Bacchus told him as they parted ways in an alley.

Unknown turned back for a single moment, only to smile and accept what trouble came his way. “Right back at you.”

In the hours that followed, he located Constance at her fifth-story flat around midnight, creeping through her house that was messy and layered with stacks of books, scrolls, maps, portraits, and alabaster statues. The air was dry with the scent of paper, and when he creaked through the door to her private study, a fire burned strong as she sat at a table, studying the night away. Unknown approached from the rear, put a hand over her mouth, and as she screamed, he told her to relax—all he wanted was information, nothing more.

As she sputtered out fearful words and answers, the conversation that followed dipped into the realm of legend, as she had heard of The Dreaming One from more than one source. In fact, many books mentioned the entity, though none of them knew what it was. It was like a spirit drifting over the pages of time, haunting passages that were seeming unrelated.

In one account, The Dreaming One had a physical form and walked among the ancient cities of the Spire. In others, it was ethereal by nature, either incapable or unwilling to become tangible, yet it was always a peaceful, harmonious creature, there only to contain the Guardian—whom Constance assumed was Dead-Eyes. She insisted that its location was currently unknown, but she suspected The Hallways of Illusion, an incredibly dangerous portion of the Spire that only the strongest Adventurers could survive.

“S-Somewhere,” she nodded fiercely, her hair a mess. “S-Somewhere inside the Hallways. That’s all I can tell you, I swear.”

She kept a safe distance from him and stayed in the fire’s light, which danced upon her skin while casting Unknown in shadow, since his back was turned to the flames.

“Please, just leave me alone…” she pled. “I’ve hurt no one.”

After she spilled her guts about the mystery, Unknown felt satisfied enough to let her be. She was right, after all. She hurt no one. Kept to herself. And after a few empty threats, she’d be tight-lipped the rest of her life, never speaking a word of that night or the topic they discussed. Therefore, he decided to leave, but not without promising to pay another visit someday. It was wise to stick close to people of value.

And as Unknown exited her home and reentered the streets of Duncaster, he brooded on The Dreaming One. What was its purpose? Where did it come from? Was it human? Vixen? And if it had the power to contain Dead-Eyes…did it have the power to free the beast as well? For all these questions, he knew there could be only one answer: Unknown had to find The Dreaming One and learn the truth himself. Then, if chance gave him the time of day, maybe he’d find a weakness in Dead-Eyes. An advantage other than his own skills. For in the coming days, he would delve into the final passage of Dark Castle and challenge the greatest monster known to Kathra—and for that he needed all the help he could get.