The moon hung high in the ink-black sky, its pale glow barely cutting through the oppressive darkness that cloaked the narrow streets. The young woman's breath came in ragged gasps as she darted through the labyrinth of alleys, her footsteps echoing against the brick walls. Her heart thundered in her chest, fear gripping her like an iron vice.
She cast a panicked glance over her shoulder, her wide eyes searching the shadows. Nothing. Yet she could feel it—a presence, relentless and suffocating. She stumbled over loose cobblestones but caught herself, her fingers brushing against the damp wall for balance.
The alley ahead offered no solace, its narrow confines claustrophobic. She veered into an offshoot, collapsing behind a dented trash bin. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her mouth, muffling the sobs threatening to escape.
Silence. Deafening, eerie silence enveloped the space, broken only by her shallow breathing. She dared to peek around the bin, scanning the deserted alley. Relief trickled in, a fragile, fleeting thing.
Then, a sound. A faint shuffle from the opposite end. Her head whipped around, and her breath caught in her throat. A figure emerged from the shadows, slow and deliberate. In its hand was something dark, glinting under the sparse light. Blood dripped from the object, pooling onto the ground with sickening regularity.
The figure stepped closer, its movements calculated and unhurried, as if savoring the moment. The woman's mind screamed for her to run, but her body refused to obey. Her voice returned in a guttural cry as the figure loomed closer.
A blood-curdling scream tore through the night, slicing through the silence like a blade. It reverberated down the empty streets, swallowed by the consuming dark.
The city returned to quiet, but the dread lingered, heavy and unshakable. Somewhere, the gears of fate turned, setting into motion a story that would pull unsuspecting lives into the labyrinth of the thirteen relics and the horrors lurking beyond the veiled doors.
***
The piercing alarm broke the tranquility of dawn, its shrill tones reverberating around a modestly furnished room. A groan escaped from beneath a mound of blankets as a hand emerged, fumbling to silence the offending sound. With the press of a button, silence returned, broken only by the soft rustling of sheets as Clara Dale stretched, her limbs splaying across the bed.
"Clara!" A voice called out from downstairs.
"Coming!" she replied, her voice still laced with sleep.
Dragging herself out of bed, Clara shuffled to the bathroom, the tiles cold under her feet. She splashed her face with water, the chill jolting her fully awake. Her reflection stared back at her—a young woman with dark hair that curled just enough to give her a slightly unkempt look, her hazel eyes still heavy with the remnants of the night.
Her morning routine was a practiced rhythm: brush teeth, wash face, tie hair into a loose bun. Once satisfied, she threw on a fresh shirt and a pair of comfortable jeans before heading downstairs.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she descended into the warm, bustling café. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, bathing the wooden floors in a golden hue. The place was already alive with the hum of conversation and the clatter of mugs and plates.
Clara grabbed an apron hanging by the counter, tying it around her waist as she surveyed the café. The tables were nearly full with early risers—office workers in crisp shirts sipping lattes, a group of students huddled over textbooks, and an elderly couple sharing a plate of pancakes.
"Morning, Clara," a customer greeted her as they entered.
"Morning, Mr. Thompson!" Clara replied brightly, her signature smile in place.
Behind the counter, Felix Locke worked with the energy of someone who thrived in chaos. His dark hair was perpetually messy, and his glasses slid down his nose as he poured steaming milk into a cup with practiced precision.
"Clara, you're late," Felix teased, sliding a perfectly foamed cappuccino across the counter to a waiting customer. "What, did you stay up all night daydreaming again?"
"Unlike you, Felix, I have a life," Clara shot back, grabbing a tray and heading to clear a table.
"Is that what you call it?" he quipped, smirking as he arranged a platter of croissants.
Their bickering filled the café, a familiar soundtrack that the regulars had come to expect. Clara shot him a mock glare, which Felix returned with a wink.
"Enough, you two," Aunt Melissa said gently, stepping out from the kitchen with a tray of freshly baked muffins. Her presence was a balm—soft-spoken and kind, with a warm smile that made everyone feel at home. She set the tray on the counter before reaching up to flick both Clara and Felix on the forehead.
"Ow!" Felix yelped, rubbing his forehead.
Clara grinned, dodging her aunt's playful reprimand. "He started it."
Melissa chuckled, shaking her head. "Clara, focus on the tables. Felix, the pastries won't arrange themselves."
"Yes, ma'am," they replied in unison, exchanging sheepish looks before returning to their tasks.
The morning passed in a blur of activity. Clara moved between tables, greeting customers and taking orders, while Felix worked behind the counter, juggling coffee orders and playful banter. Aunt Melissa floated between the two, her calm demeanor keeping everything running smoothly.
By noon, the café was quieter, the breakfast rush giving way to a more relaxed crowd. Clara leaned against the counter, sipping a glass of water as she glanced around.
"Another successful morning," Aunt Melissa said, wiping her hands on a towel.
Felix leaned over the counter, smirking. "And all thanks to my stellar barista skills."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Please, you'd be lost without me."
Melissa laughed softly, the sound warm and soothing. "I don't know what I'd do without you two. But don't let it get to your heads."
As Clara and Felix bantered, a shadow passed by the window. For a fleeting moment, Clara thought she saw a figure lingering just outside—a glimpse of dark clothing and a faint outline of a face. She blinked, and it was gone.
"Clara?" Aunt Melissa's voice broke through her thoughts.
Clara shook her head. "Nothing, just...thought I saw someone."
Felix raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, returning to his work.
As the warm glow of sunset faded into twilight, the café buzzed with renewed energy. The amber light streaming through the windows gave way to the soft, golden glow of the overhead pendant lamps. Clara adjusted her apron, smoothing the creases as she moved from table to table, greeting the evening crowd.
The dinner rush brought a different vibe. Office workers trickled in after long shifts, eager for a hot drink and a moment to unwind. A group of friends claimed a corner table, their laughter mingling with the soft hum of conversation. Couples sat close, sharing desserts and quiet whispers, their hands brushing over cups of tea.
Felix manned the counter with his usual flair, his hands moving deftly as he prepared drink orders. He was in his element, chatting with customers while juggling requests for lattes, espressos, and hot chocolates.
"Felix, can you handle a double shot of espresso and a peppermint mocha at the same time, or is that asking too much?" Clara teased, sliding past him with a tray of steaming mugs.
"Clara, I'm a coffee artist. Watch and learn," Felix shot back, his grin mischievous. He grabbed two cups, pouring the espresso with practiced ease while frothing milk for the mocha.
Clara rolled her eyes but smiled, setting her tray down at a nearby table. "Your ego's going to outgrow this café one day."
"Good thing the café's cozy," Felix quipped.
Aunt Melissa emerged from the back with a fresh tray of cookies, her warm presence instantly calming the bustling space. She paused by the counter, scanning the room with a satisfied smile.
"You two are doing great," she said, setting the cookies in the display case.
"Thanks, Aunt Melissa," Felix said, glancing up. "Clara's still a work in progress, though."
"Hey!" Clara protested, earning a laugh from both her aunt and Felix.
The evening wore on, the café filled with the comforting aroma of coffee and baked goods. Clara moved seamlessly between tables, her interactions warm and genuine. She chatted with Mr. Thompson, who had returned for an after-dinner tea, and helped a young couple decide between cheesecake and chocolate mousse.
A soft jazz playlist played in the background, its soothing notes weaving through the gentle clatter of dishes and low murmurs of conversation.
Around nine o'clock, the crowd began to thin. Clara wiped down a table near the window, glancing outside at the dimly lit street. It was quiet, save for the occasional car passing by.
"Busy night," Felix said, leaning against the counter.
"Tell me about it," Clara replied, joining him. She leaned her weight on the counter, stretching her arms.
"Another good day for the books," Aunt Melissa said as she approached. Her eyes sparkled with pride as she placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Thank you both for your hard work. I couldn't do this without you."
Felix pretended to wipe away a tear. "Aw, Aunt Melissa, you're going to make me cry."
Clara smirked. "You're impossible."
As they shared a laugh, the café door jingled, signaling another customer. Clara straightened, ready to greet whoever walked in. But to her surprise, it was a regular—Mrs. Winters, a kind elderly woman who always ordered chamomile tea.
"Good evening, Mrs. Winters," Clara said warmly.
"Good evening, dear," Mrs. Winters replied, her smile as gentle as ever. "I hope I'm not too late?"
"Not at all," Felix said, already preparing her usual order.
The café remained lively until the clock struck ten. As the last few customers sipped their drinks and lingered in conversation, Aunt Melissa began tidying the back area. Clara and Felix handled the front, clearing tables and sweeping the floor.
By the time the final customer left, the café felt serene again, the air heavy with the comforting stillness of the night. Clara locked the front door and turned off the sign, flipping it to "Closed."
Felix stretched, letting out a dramatic yawn. "Another day, another dollar."
Clara laughed, pulling off her apron. "If you're that tired, I'm surprised you're still standing."
Aunt Melissa appeared, her hands on her hips. "Alright, you two get some rest. Tomorrow's another day."
"Goodnight, Aunt Melissa," Clara and Felix said in unison.
They both went upstairs and into their rooms. Clara went to the balcony into the cool night air, and she looked up at the sky.