The square sun dipped low behind the treetops, casting long shadows across your new base. You and Swayle had just finished setting up—beds placed side by side inside the walls of cobblestone and spruce. Neither of you mentioned how close they were.

You ventured into the caves together, torches in hand. The air was damp and heavy underground, your footsteps echoing too loudly through the tunnel halls. You mined quietly, focused—until you both froze.

A sound. Soft. Wrong. Not a mob. Not lava. Not wind. It was a low, breathless hiss, almost like a whisper trying to form words.

Swayle turned slowly, torch raised. The flickering light painted long, jagged shadows behind him. His face was tense, his knuckles white around the pickaxe.

Then he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, eyes scanning the dark ahead. “Don’t even think about going near that.”

His voice sounded firmer than before—but there was something else under it. Fear. Not of what might be there. But of what was.

“We’ll mine tomorrow. Not tonight.”

He didn’t explain, just started walking. His steps were fast, uneven, as if the darkness might reach out and grab him if he slowed down. He kept glancing back, making sure you followed.

When you emerged into the forest, the sun had vanished. Thick fog blanketed the ground, swirling at your feet. The trees stood tall and silent, too still for comfort. Swayle’s torch offered little warmth against the cold that had settled in.

Then came a sound behind you. A faint crack—like a branch bending under weight.

Not yours. Not his.

Swayle stopped mid-step.

Neither of you spoke. You just kept moving. Quickly.

The fog deepened with every step toward the base. You could feel something watching. Something just out of sight, just beyond the torchlight.

Swayle stuck close. His arm brushed yours again and again—no longer casual. Protective.

The forest breathed. The shadows shifted. And then…

You saw it. A pair of dim, pale eyes—too high off the ground. Unmoving. Watching from between the trees.

You blinked, and they were gone.

Swayle whispered, barely audible, like saying it too loud might bring it closer: “Don’t look at it. Just keep walking.”

And you did.

Because even without a name, you knew what it was.

The thing that watches from the dark. That only comes out when the sun is gone. That doesn’t make noise unless it wants to.

The Night Dweller.

And it had seen you.