Eldritch Guidance-Intermission XX

Thom, a mutant goat man, sat in his usual spot at a corner table in the Cait House, a quiet observer amidst the bustling activity. The teahouse was swarming with patrons, and Lise, along with the other staff, were rushing to fulfill the endless orders coming in. Thom couldn’t recall anything unusual about the day, no special events or promotions, so he deduced that it was just one of those random days when a surge of customers flocked in.

His sharp eyes followed the ebb and flow of the crowd—mutants and non-mutants alike, constantly entering and leaving. Some claimed tables, waiting for their orders to be filled before swiftly grabbing their food and vanishing into the streets once more. Thom couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm in the chaos. It was on days like this that he was thankful not to be one of the staff members at the forefront of the operation.

Although he blended in as just another quiet customer, Thom wasn’t merely a patron. He worked here, though few outside of the staff knew that. Early every morning, he would arrive before sunrise to bake the bulk of the bread and pastries that the teahouse sold. After that, he’d settle into his usual spot, pretending to be nothing more than a regular customer while secretly fulfilling a much more subtle role: that of a bouncer in disguise.

While his imposing goat-like figure might have made him seem intimidating, his job rarely required him to intervene. Most of the time, the peace in the teahouse remained unbroken. Eld Street, where the Cait House was located, had a reputation among locals. The Nighthound gang was particularly active in this part of the city, and it wasn’t uncommon for troublemakers to mysteriously vanish if they caused any issues. In fact, the rumors of the Nighthounds had made Thom’s role as a bouncer largely redundant. The troublemakers knew better than to stir up trouble here.

To the casual observer, Thom appeared to be just another worker at the Cait House, quietly watching the world go by. Beneath the surface, however, he was far more than that. Thom was a member of the Nighthounds, the notorious criminal syndicate that ran much of the city from the shadows. His official role in the organization was that of a "Daywalker"—a member who held a legitimate job by day and lived an unremarkable life like any average citizen. Daywalkers like Thom blended seamlessly into society, making them nearly impossible to identify as anything other than ordinary people.

Daywalkers had a crucial role within the Nighthounds—a role that few understood, even within the organization itself. Their primary task was to infiltrate Graheel society, living in plain sight and gathering intelligence for the syndicate. It was thanks to the Daywalkers that the Nighthounds had earned their reputation as masters of information collection. They were the silent eyes and ears embedded in every corner of the city, quietly observing and listening, unnoticed but ever-present.

Thom’s current role was no different. Sitting in his usual spot in the Cait House, he didn’t just pass the time as a silent observer; he was actively working, though few would have guessed it. Most people saw him as just another customer, perhaps a bit odd due to his goat-like features, but nothing out of the ordinary. In reality, he was listening in on conversations that could provide valuable intel for the Nighthounds. Every snippet of dialogue, every casual remark, could hold the key to something important—something that might tip the balance in the Nighthounds’ favor.

His large, sensitive goat ears made the task remarkably easy. As the staff and customers moved about the busy teahouse, Thom adjusted his position ever so slightly to better catch the flow of conversation. His ears twitched with precision, their shape and size allowing him to tune into specific voices and conversations without anyone ever noticing. It was a skill he had honed over the years, making him a master at eavesdropping.

Collecting information as a Daywalker came naturally to Thom. With his sharp senses and ability to blend into his surroundings, he could listen, observe, and report back to the Nighthounds without breaking a sweat. However, the other half of his responsibilities as a Daywalker was far more troublesome and often left him uneasy. If Thom had been stationed anywhere else in the city, his job would have been simpler—just information gathering for the syndicate. But Eld Street was different.

Eld Street came with an additional, cryptic order: “Keep people away from the red-eyed man with the white dog.”

This directive wasn’t just an individual task but a coordinated effort among all the Nighthounds patrolling and hiding on Eld Street. Every operative had the same instruction: ensure that John interacted with as few people as possible, and, above all, avoid interacting with him directly yourself.

Thom, however, had failed that last part of the directive long ago. It was almost impossible not to. John frequented the Cait House regularly, and every time he visited, he seemed drawn to Thom’s usual table. On more than one occasion, John had seated himself across from Thom, initiating casual conversations that felt disarmingly normal. Over time, Thom found himself enjoying these interactions. John was polite, warm, and had a friendly demeanor that made it easy to talk to him. Thom couldn’t help but think that, under different circumstances, they might have even become friends.

Yet there was something that kept Thom at arm’s length—a constant reminder that any deeper connection was out of the question. It wasn’t the orders from the Nighthounds that stopped him. No, it was John’s companion: a creature that, to all appearances, looked like a white-furred dog but was anything but.

The dog followed John everywhere, its presence as constant as the shadow of its master. To most, it seemed harmless, even endearing. But to Thom, the creature was a source of unshakable dread. Every time his eyes fell on it, his body reacted instinctively. The hair on his goat-like arms bristled, his pulse quickened, and his blood ran cold. It wasn’t fear, exactly—it was something deeper, primal, like an alarm screaming from his mutant side to the very core of his being. Whatever that "dog" was, it wasn’t natural, and Thom’s entire being knew it.

No matter how innocent the creature tried to appear, Thom couldn’t shake the sense that it was a monster cloaked in fur. He couldn’t explain it, but he didn’t need to. The warning came from something ancient within him, a primal survival instinct. The only thing that kept him grounded during John’s visits was the knowledge that the creature never seemed hostile—at least not yet. But its mere presence was enough to keep Thom from letting his guard down entirely.

Even as Thom maintained his casual demeanor during his conversations with John, he always felt like he was balancing on a razor’s edge. So when John decided to visit the Cait House today—of all days, when the shop was at its busiest—Thom’s unease surged to new heights. The bustling crowd left little room for subtlety, and the task of keeping John from interacting with anyone felt nearly impossible.

Fortunately, Lise, ever quick on her feet, had managed to usher John into the VIP room at the back—a space reserved exclusively for him. It was one of the few accommodations the Cait House made to comply with the Nighthounds strange directive. The private room provided a controlled environment, ensuring John could enjoy his visit without unnecessary interactions, and, more importantly, allowing Thom to breathe a little easier.

As Thom sat quietly, his sharp eyes tracking the bustle of activity around him, a sudden chill crept over his body. It wasn’t the kind of chill brought by a draft or an open window—it was deeper, sharper, a cold that sank into his very bones. His breath fogged the air before him, and his sensitive ears twitched as if trying to catch an elusive sound.

He glanced around the teahouse, searching for the source of the disturbance, but what he saw made his blood run colder. The room darkened unnaturally, as though the light itself were retreating. Shadows began to stretch and crawl from the corners, pooling together in an ominous display that defied logic. The warmth of the teahouse vanished, replaced by a biting cold that prickled the skin under his fur. Strangely, none of the other patrons seemed to notice. They carried on with their conversations, their laughter and chatter undisturbed, as if nothing had changed.

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But for Thom, the world was unraveling. The familiar sounds of clinking cups and murmured voices faded into a suffocating silence. Even the movement of people seemed to slow, like a distorted dream. Then, piercing the eerie stillness, the clear chime of the store’s bell rang out—a sound that now felt impossibly loud and singular. Someone had entered.

Thom turned toward the door, his heart pounding in his chest. Standing in the entrance was an elderly gentleman, finely dressed in a suit. His crimson eyes glinted unnaturally as he leaned lightly on a cane adorned with a silver skull as its pommel. The man exuded an aura that sent every instinct in Thom’s body into overdrive.

The stranger stepped inside, his movements fluid and deliberate, yet no one else seemed to notice his presence. Not a single head turned, not a single gaze followed him. Thom’s ears caught the sound of his footsteps, but even they were unnatural—rhythmic and resonant, like the steady beating of a heart with each step.

As the man approached, Thom remained frozen in his seat, every muscle in his body taut. The stranger walked past him without so much as a glance, heading directly toward the door leading to the VIP room at the back of the teahouse. Thom’s eyes followed him, unable to look away, but his breath caught in his throat as the man reached the door, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

Before disappearing entirely, the man paused. Slowly, he turned to face Thom, his red eyes locking onto Thom’s with a gaze that seemed to pierce straight into his soul. A smile spread across his lips—calm, knowing, and utterly chilling. Thom’s instincts screamed louder than they ever had before, even more intensely than when John’s dog was near. His heart raced as though it might give out, but he remained paralyzed, unable to move.

The man raised a single finger to his lips, the universal gesture for silence, as if commanding Thom not to speak about this. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he closed the door behind him. The click of the latch echoed unnaturally in Thom’s ears.

And just like that, everything snapped back to normal. The shadows receded, the cold dissipated, and the vibrant noise of the teahouse returned as if nothing had happened. Patrons laughed, chatted, and carried on, blissfully unaware of the surreal event that had just unfolded.

Thom sat in stunned silence, staring blankly at the door the man had walked through. His mind raced, struggling to process what he had just witnessed. He replayed the scene over and over, trying to make sense of the impossible. But no matter how he turned it over in his mind, one thing was clear: that man, whoever—or whatever—he was, didn’t belong in this world.