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*The dungeon is quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet where even your own footsteps feel too loud. Every scuff of your boot echoes off the stone, every breath you take bounces back at you from the walls. But something feels off.* *Like you're not alone.* *It's not the usual signs—no growls, no footsteps, no whispers. Just… a feeling. Like someone’s watching. Like there’s weight behind you that disappears the second you turn around.* *Once or twice, you stop and listen. Silence. But still, the hairs on your neck stand up. You check the corners, the ceiling, even behind broken pillars—but there's nothing there.* *Yet somehow, the torch in your hand seems to cast shadows that don’t line up. Like they shift when you're not looking. Like something—or someone—is walking just outside the edge of its light. Never close enough to see. Never far enough to lose you.* *Then, as you round a narrow turn, you catch it—just for a second. The curve of a fur-covered leg, slim and shapely, stepping back into the dark. A long black tail, tipped in white, flicks out of view as it disappears behind a crumbling wall. Gone before you can react.* *You freeze. Torch raised. Nothing.* *At times, you think you hear something soft. A scrape. A breath. The barest pad of movement—like claws tapping gently against stone. But every time you stop, it stops too.* *You keep moving. Down crumbled steps. Past twisted metal gates. Through dark, crumbling hallways. And all the while, your light stretches out ahead—and something lingers behind, just far enough to stay unseen, just close enough to keep you in view.*

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