The Forgotten Eidolon

Jan moved swiftly through the winding tunnels, each step bringing him closer to the unknown city of Atris. His ribs ached from the fight, and his breath came in measured exhales as he pushed forward. The parchment given to him by the masked figure was still tucked in his belt, its presence a reminder that he wasn't moving blindly—he had a direction now, a purpose, even if it was wrapped in mystery.

The air grew fresher. The darkness of the underground passages thinned as a faint glow beckoned him forward. An exit.

He emerged onto a narrow mountain ledge, high above a sprawling valley. The sky stretched wide before him, painted in the dim hues of early dawn. Jagged cliffs lined the horizon, their peaks hidden in mist. Far below, a winding road carved through the valley like a scar.

Jan took a slow breath, adjusting to the open air. He had escaped the caverns. But was he safe?

Then—movement.

A faint sound reached him, distant but clear: the rhythmic march of boots.

Jan ducked behind a rocky outcrop, his body tensing. Below him, on the mountain path, a patrol of dark-cloaked figures moved in formation. Their steps were controlled, their movements precise. Their armor was adorned with silver sigils, faintly glowing in the dim morning light.

They weren't simple guards. They were searching for something—or someone.

Jan studied them carefully. Their faces were obscured by veiled helmets, and each carried a weapon—a mix of swords and crossbows. But what caught his attention was the figure at the center of the group.

Taller than the rest. Their presence commanding. Unlike the others, they wore no helmet. Instead, their face was concealed behind a silver mask, its surface featureless except for a single vertical slit where their eyes should be.

Jan's grip tightened on the rock beneath him. Another one.

Just like the figure in the caverns. Just like the one who had tested him.

A cold realization settled over him. He wasn't just being hunted. He was being observed. Studied.

The patrol halted. The masked figure raised a hand, signaling silence. Then, slowly, they turned their head—directly toward Jan's position.

His pulse quickened.

They know I'm here.

Jan didn't hesitate. He moved, keeping low, slipping into the shadows of the uneven cliffside. He needed distance. Needed a plan.

The patrol adjusted. Some of them broke off, moving toward his direction. Tracking him.

Jan gritted his teeth. They were fast. Too organized.

He needed to act. Now.

He scanned his surroundings. The cliffside was treacherous, full of sharp drops and unstable ground. The patrol had the advantage in numbers and equipment—but Jan had the terrain.

A risky idea formed in his mind. He exhaled slowly. No other choice.

Jan darted forward, deliberately breaking cover. The patrol reacted instantly—shouts echoed as they moved toward him.

But Jan wasn't running away.

He ran toward the edge of the cliff.

At the last second, he dropped into a controlled slide, his body scraping against loose gravel as he plunged downward. Rocks tumbled around him as he slid down the steep incline, using his arms to stabilize himself. The air rushed past him, the ground below rapidly approaching.

Then—

Impact.

He hit the lower ledge, rolling to absorb the force. Pain flared through his shoulder, but he pushed it aside. He was still moving. That was all that mattered.

Above, the patrol hesitated. The terrain was too unstable for them to follow directly.

Jan took the chance. He sprinted toward a narrow path between the rocks, disappearing into the valley below.

For now, he was ahead. But he had no illusions.

They would keep coming.