At night, in some unknown place.
In the darkness, a kerosene lamp lit itself.
The dim yellow flame flickered once inside its glass shade, then steadied, illuminating a small patch of hazy space around it.
Stone slabs covered the floor, rough bricks lined the walls, and beside them was a staircase that stretched beyond sight.
This place looked like a basement, but deeper, colder, and with more stagnant air than an ordinary basement.
One kerosene lamp after another lit up, outlining an oval space in the darkness.
The space was not large, perhaps enough to hold twenty or thirty people.
There were no windows in the walls, only a low iron door, with no light seeping through its crack.
Gradually, figures emerged from the darkness.
They were as if they had directly "condensed" out of the air.
At first, they were blurry outlines, as though someone had swiftly sketched them onto dark paper with charcoal.
Then the outlines became clear, lines turned into solid forms, and colors shifted from transparent to opaque.
Within seconds, more than a dozen people in black robes appeared out of thin air within the halo of the kerosene lamps.
They stood in a circle, facing the center.
Their hoods concealed most of their faces, leaving only their chins and mouths exposed.
After the Black-Robed Cultists met, no one spoke. Only the faint sizzling of the kerosene lamp wicks could be heard.
The person standing in the center was a head taller than the others, and the texture of his black robe was slightly different, resembling subtly lustrous satin. Dark silver patterns were embroidered along the edge of his hood, glimmering faintly in the firelight.
"Half a month has passed, yet the Shadow Thief has not returned. The collection of life force has been interrupted for