Brakenus slammed against the wall as a halberd of pure Light sheared its way straight through his line. It took one of his men by surprise and sent him hurtling out of sight with a blood-curdling scream, as the magic cleaved straight through his armour. The rest of his contingent remained still, either holding themselves against the walls like him or hiding behind piles of rubble. Only when the Light faded completely and the lingering darkness returned was there any movement at all.

Brakenus adjusted the cloth around his mouth to cough up some dust, then grimaced. "Anyone else get caught?"

Nobody said anything, and most shook their head, but he noticed one swordsman at the back limping as he caught up to them.

"You, it nicked you, didn't it?"

There was hesitation, but eventually he nodded. Brakenus saluted him. "I commend you for your valour. Take care of the fallen and follow the route back to the extraction point."

The swordsman bowed his head. "Of course, sir."

With an injury like that, he'll just slow us down. And the last person, too slow to keep up, is lying a few metres back.

I'm so tired of watching young people die.

Still, it was a blow, and not the first. He'd asked Alatanus for three dozen of his best and, while he had provided, neither of them had truly known what he'd be in for the moment he set foot in this accursed place.

Lingering magic, the likes of which he'd never seen, was hidden down every hallway and able to be triggered in an instant. Spears of Light, envelopments of Darkness that had them walking into walls and down wrong turns, two women had fallen afoul of some sort of Void Magic, and they'd never even found the bodies.

Adding the injured, he had ordered to go back alongside the dead, and he was down to barely half of what they'd set out with. And he knew that of the four groups wandering these ancient hallways, his was by far the slowest.

Well, it was either that or be lost down here forever. He nodded to one of his men, who reached into his pocket and began tying a bright orange and yellow ribbon to a nearby root. He may not know where he was going, but he at least knew exactly where he'd come from, and if it came to it, he could order his followers to retreat while being assured they'd make it home.

And that first part wasn't true anyway; he did know where he was going, at least partially. He'd felt the burst of mana rushing down the hallway like everyone else, and even if he'd forgone bringing any strong mages with him, he had enough training to track the residual strains to their origin. He was close. Which meant Keleiva was close as well. She hadn't descended without any magic-users.

That was a mistake. With Soul Steel and that other sword in play, I disregarded the efficacy of mages.

"What you say is true."

"I don't need your commentary," he muttered.

"Sir?"

"Nothing. We head left here."

And anyway, with a place like this, how was he supposed to have predicted such an outcome? Lingering magic, using spells of the Absolute Powers as well. He'd never read about anything like this, and especially not of a dungeon filled with the most opposing forces on Andwelm.

It must be pre-Collapse, which makes it more than ancient. Mythological, at that point. And what on Andwelm could its purpose have been?

They'd passed many rooms, each of them more varied than the last. Armouries, guardrooms, rest stops with seemingly infinite supplies of water, none of it added up, and he'd heard those who followed him reciting theories to one another as the days went by.

At least I think it's been days. It might have even been a week. I underestimated how hard it is to keep track of that down here, and no doubt my circadian rhythm is all off.

Some of them claimed it was a long-forgotten bastion of the Carathiliar that had been swallowed by the earth itself, and on Platerno, the God of Earth's, orders no less. The only Carathiliar had been sent back already, so there was none to dissuade them from that idea.

He'd heard one woman point out the tube-like holes in some of the hallways and liken them to a snake, which was an observation he had also made. Where she'd lost him was when she concluded that the entire structure had been built by actual garden snakes and had then been sized through divine intervention.

Most of their theories went like that, notions that went from reasonable to ridiculous, with degrees of evidence sprinkled in, and always ending with some godly intervention to justify it all. Even though they were his people, and they shared the same pale skin, it made his own itch.

Gods, gods, gods. That was what it always came back to, wasn't it?

"Such is the nature of mortals, to seek solace and safety in higher powers." "Was it not so for you, once?"

"You know the answer to that, so be silent. The dead, long and dusted, are better company."

And he meant that. Of the murals that he passed, most were shattered or ruined beyond recognition, but those few that he could make out painted a picture of whatever sort of people had resided here in those times before. And it was equally unsettling as it was inspiring.

Half-snake, half-man hybrids, or maybe fully serpentine people? It was hard to say; the carvings tended to vary in their depiction of what he assumed were its original inhabitants. The serpent-like nature of the halls and tunnels had been a keen observation even he might have missed.

But what he saw that only a few of his followers did was that, after you looked beyond their foreign and monstrous appearance, the carvings painted a picture. He saw great heroes triumphing against the odds, leaders raising their people to worry with nought but a single shout, banners rising high as their nation cheered as one. He saw glory amongst the dead and dusted.

And now he stood amongst the ruins of their civilisation, unnamed and forgotten, a foreign entity to the lands it had predated.

I wonder… the Carathiliar of the next century, or the following millennium and beyond that into a new Age… I wonder if they will remember Talradius. If they will remember what we were before our skin was snow and our eyes cracked. If they will remember our name, our people, our culture, anything.

Or if all they will remember is the corpse of a land we left behind. A scar upon Andwelm itself, left as a reminder by our foes.

He shook his head and focused again. There was a time and place for such thoughts, and now definitely wasn't either.

"Do you wish for an answer, son of Talradius?"

He paused.

He actually paused, for a brief, eternal second, so short that no one around him even noticed after he continued walking.

You really are a cruel being.

They came to another bend, and he felt the residual flow lead him right. It was fading by the hour, but it wasn't the only thing he'd been tracking. Disturbances in the dust, the burnt remains of campfires; he found just as much evidence of Keleiva as he did the Demons.

A ripple of mana hit him. He threw his hand up. "Spell trap!"

His followers dived away or pushed themselves against the walls as a thin spear of Light spun through the air, gleaming through the darkness as it approached them. One look to the side told him he'd strayed too far to the middle. There wasn't enough time.

The spear met a wall of mana with a bang that made the hallway shake. He held it there, despite its power and momentum, for a few more seconds as he ran to the side. Then he collapsed one 'end' of his mana, letting the Light scrape against it just enough to change its trajectory.

It speared straight into the ceiling. Dust and dirt fell, making everyone cough even more and forcing him to draw back the cloth he kept between his face and helmet entirely.

When the shaking finally subsided, he did a quick check of his men before turning to continue marching. This time closer to the edge of the rooms. That had been too close for comfort, and even if he could deflect every Light spell that came his way, he'd be starved for mana by the time he had to fight something real.

"That was close. A few more inches and that might have taken someone's head."

"Thank Kraton, it was only one. And that we've survived this far. What sort of place is this?"

Their words continued to amble their way into his ears. Whether they intended to or not, there wasn't much you could hide in empty, echoing hallways unless you were using hand signs.

Thank Kraton. Hmph, Kraton would see you dead and bloody if he thought it was amusing enough. As if the Gods had anything to do with blind luck.

It was always about gods in the end. Whether you were the 'younger' Talradians who held as closely to Kraton as the Carathiliar did, or even the few remaining ancients who still recalled a time before, when they'd looked to the stars at night and worshipped the moon. It was all the same in the end, just mindless fanaticism that gave up everything. Choice, purpose, free will, all for the sake of the gods.

He raised a hand for all to be silent, and thereafter, he only heard the sound of their boots scrapping against the stone floor. Walk in silence, follow the trail, rest for a few hours, dodge more spells, send another injured party member back; it all became a blur. And as time went on, the constant shadows leaping out at them and the silence began to take its toll on many.

The Talradians took it better; they had all been too young to remember the Destruction, but they carried the same heavy burden they all did. The darkness was no enemy to be feared, but as much a comfort as the light of the sun was, so to speak. Though in those moments beside the fire as the others rested, Brakenus heard them long to see the stars again, and of missing the smell of nature or anything that wasn't dust.

The Carathiliar weren't as well adjusted. The tree-leaping and plains-hopping folk felt claustrophobic in this environment. And it was well they should, being cramped in like this, he imagined it was torturous. He respected that they'd stayed this long, whether it was out of respect for him, a desire to see Demon's bleed, or the threat to Keleiva's life.

With the greatest threat being her and her insatiable desire to be disobedient.

The Carathiliar alone had to carry torches when there wasn't any of that strange gooey substance on the walls. He tried to steer them away from those as much as possible while remaining on track. When they'd first come across them, it had been a blessing, a reprieve from the monotonousness for the Talradians, and a welcome sight of natural lighting for the others.

Then a single Light spell had nearly blown them to pieces after all the slime had ignited, and now the sight of it was met with trepidation and ware.

And yet...

And yet the light spells were perhaps the tamest out of the three he'd encountered. The deadliest if caught off guard, but when everyone was on high alert and he was leading them at the front, it became easier to spot them and respond quickly enough to avoid unnecessary harm.

The void spells were a step above that. Rarer, but impossible to predict or even notice before they happened. One second you were standing there, the next, you vanished.

I am not ashamed to admit that I was lucky. That the room it had teleported me into was half destroyed and easy to get out of was a boon I do not take lightly.

"Was it luck, destiny, or chance that the outcome was as you described?" "I would very much like to know your answer."

I'm sure you would. And I'm sure you already know what it is. He sighed and felt the urge to rub his nose, even if it was impractical. Two of those meant the same thing. Luck and chance. And as for destiny… ask any Talradian what he or she thinks of destiny.

When he didn't get a response, he simply grunted and moved on.

Last on the list of magic they encountered, and in his opinion, the worst, was the Abyssal spells.

The Darkness. The few times that they'd walked into one, it had felt… different to the rest. Maybe that had to do with the fact that it managed to cloud even his vision, which certainly threw off the other Talradians. They hadn't encountered it enough, it seemed. But even to him it felt strange. Raw and uncontrollable, less like a spell and more like a wave or rushing power trying to knock over everything, without rhyme or reason.

His point was made mere hours later, his reckoning, when the room they'd been looking through was suddenly enveloped in blackness, so thick and tangible it was almost begging to be cut. He went still, but through the surprised cries, he could hear others walking into each other.

Don't get pulled into the Darkness. Don't follow it. Ignore it.

It was temptation made manifest, trying to lure them into its embrace with familiar shapes. He held his mana in a concentrated cloud around him, and when it brushed against the dark mass, he imagined it as both sweet and sickening.

A tendril rose and tried to latch onto his leg. He brushed it aside. Then another rose, and another, and he swatted them away with more force. Then he thought he saw a hand raise in the 'fog' but ignored it.

When the spell finally dissipated, he was thankful that none of his own had been drawn into it. They had concluded what had happened to those who'd been teleported by Void spells, even if they had never been able to find them. But the Abyss?

He still wasn't certain what became of you when you walked into its clutches. They had found neither body nor trace, physical or magical, of those who had.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was too intuitive for a spell that had been laid out thousands of years ago. It felt like the most alive thing they had come across.

And to add to that strangeness, he had never known Abyssal Magic to be affected by mana or manipulated by it. However many decades walking Andwelm's soil had reinforced such teachings in him, and yet here came this place to challenge them.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

I do not believe we ever should have set foot here. Its discovery was a happenstance. Maybe it should have stayed buried.

"Happenstance, or fate?" "Chance or luck?" "Are these things not the same to you, interchangeable?"

He ignored it, instead removing his helmet for a minute to rub his face and get some feeling back into it. He was getting distracted; this place was distracting. He had one goal here: find Keleiva, return her safely to the surface. He had made that clear before his descent that her safety was of the utmost priority. And though he had not said it outright, he hoped the message was clear.

Killing Demons was not the goal. And if it was a choice between getting to them or her, he wouldn't hesitate, and he expected none of them to either.

As time crawled on, the never-ending halls continued to live up to their name. How a place this large had remained untouched for so long baffled him.

If he had any solace, it was in they were on the right track. Twice again, they had found the remains of a burnt-out fire, and the number of traps going off was marginally less than before. Now, he was not entirely sure that was the case, as no one had been keeping a strict count of how often they passed them, but if he was right, it meant that one of two things had happened.

One, they had wandered into an area that was sparsely protected for whatever reason.

Two, the traps that should have been going off had already been triggered recently and needed to recharge their mana from whatever was supplying them.

He believed, compiled with other evidence, that the second was most likely. There was no reason to believe that they had found themselves in a miraculous trap-free area of the dungeon, and it would make, frankly, no sense if they had.

That faint sense of optimism, an ageing man's hope, died when they turned a corner, still following the residual traces of mana that were getting denser and denser. He looked up and gazed at the vast hall, larger than any other they had come across, as it expanded before him. Tall pillars, ruined murals, statues, he took it all in immediately, before his followers had even realised what it was they were looking at.

And at its centre was a cluster of crystals bathing the room in a red light. To the untrained ordinary eye, that was where the description ended, but when Brakenus and any other mages looked at it, they saw something very different.

The largest collection of mana crystals he had ever seen, worth more in gold than a small city. The residual mana led here, to where a spell had been set off. A spell supplied by those crystals.

It's no small wonder I felt it from so far away. I wonder what sort of spell required that much power.

His rambling thoughts and the chatter of the others were background noise to him. He picked a large stone off the floor, just big enough to fit in his one hand.

He threw it against the wall. With a boost of Gravitational Magic, it reached a greater acceleration faster than it could have otherwise. It turned to dust the instant it impacted the wall, and it happened so fast that half the group were looking around to see what had happened and were ready to back away from possible traps.

"Comb the hall and nearby corridors for any evidence or remains. And give me space to think."

He got the obligatory 'yes sirs' and was left alone with only his thoughts. Well, not entirely alone.

"Mortals will often lash out in similar ways when overwhelmed by a key emotion." "Did it make you feel better?"

"I was hoping the rock would fare better against the wall," he muttered through his grinding teeth. "You know what this is, don't you?"

A dead end. Tracking the mana was the only thing that had got them this far, and now here he was, at its source, with hundreds of possible routes to take and nobody to tell him which was the right one. No traces of the Keleiva or the Demons.

The chains wrapped around his arms were rattling as his arm shook, hands clenched into fists. If he weren't wearing gauntlets, he'd have drawn blood with his own fingernails by now.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything? Wax poetically about my predicament? Because I can only assume that whatever it is you have to say will be less than useful."

"You know I cannot answer."

"Naturally." He knew his voice was echoing and that his Hunters would hear him, but what was the point? It wasn't like they would ask about it or say anything that might be seen as countermanding him. They were like ants, following him without hesitation or question. Was that all that became of their last generation?

"I'm deviating, I need to focus. There has to be something here that will tell me where to go. A lead, a hidden passage, anything. What sort of spell was set off to begin with? That is as good a start as any."

And the best place to start looking was the source of it. As he stepped forward, he drew upon his mana, coalescing it around his feet and upper back. With a lot more grace and delicateness than he'd shown the rock, he began floating up towards the conglomerate of crystals.

Once, there had been a time when levitating himself would have been taxing on his mind and required more thought to perform. Years had seen to it that he could do this naturally, in the same way one might breathe.

Once he got close enough to the crystals, he lessened the mana around his back, letting him lower himself until he was practically horizontal, still staring up at the crystals but with a lot more clarity.

"Obviously, these have to be ancient," he muttered to himself, "I thought they might have been placed here by men – snakes – but if these pieces of rock and their shape tell me anything, I think this is a natural cluster."

Behind the crystals, where you would expect to find stone bricks, was instead stone and dirt. Which meant that, rather than being shaped to fit the room, the room itself had been shaped to fit them.

He ran a finger over one of them. Cold to the touch. Now, what had they been used for?

"Sir, a word? I think I found something."

He rotated round and saw one of his Carathiliarian Hunters looking straight up at him. What he hadn't noticed before was the positioning of the crystals, which were directly above the gathering of statues he'd noted before. He lowered himself to the ground.

"Sir, I just happened to notice that these three statues-" he gestured to them, "-well, they're all damaged and broken in spots. I thought it was obviously just due to time, but then I saw this one, and it confused me because there's barely a mark on it."

He was right. The statue they were standing in front of, centred between the other three, was barely marked by time. He would run a finger over it to check for dust, but he would have to trust his gut on that one because there was no chance he was laying a hair on it.

The appearance wasn't what he had expected, but it certainly looked monstrous enough, and the trident was a telltale sign of who this was.

His magic pulled his helmet off his head a fraction, enough to free his mouth. Then he spat on the statue and let it fall back on him.

"Good job noticing this. It was a good call. Leave me, please."

The Carathiliar was staring at him with wide eyes, but he nodded and made himself scarce. Brakenus wasn't sure who he was more afraid of.

Melgos. If I had a hammer and the time, I would knock it down, along with the others.

Inspecting the ground showed him displaced dirt and dust, as well as scratch marks around the base of the statue. So that's what it had been? Revealing the statue? That was worth all that mana?

And here I was starting to admire them. In the end, these snake people are slaves to religion like everyone else.

He looked side to side and found more gods staring down at him. Lathtar with his tome, Mayare and her spear, Frandwil and his blade…

He paused beside Mayare. A second thought had popped into his mind. Putting aside the ridiculousness of using that much magic for a statue, who in this dungeon could figure out how to execute it? Who would even want to?

He ran a hand over the Athniuthian script.

Yserama, Lady of Life.

Undoubtedly, Mayare, the Goddess of Light. A name that was coming up more and more often now.

"The Angelica…"

There was a man he believed might have investigated this place thoroughly, perhaps even poked enough holes in it to truly understand. And he was a devoted follower of the gods, if nothing else. When it came to his other… claims, Brakenus was less certain. It was not exactly every day that you came across men claiming to be fallen immortals. Then again, he had seen worse and stranger.

But an Angelica? He saw the visage of the guardians of the Light, as bright as the sun itself, as they descended through the shadow and destruction. Perhaps one of the truly beautiful things Andwelm had yet to butcher beyond recognition.

No, he did not see an Angelica there. And delusions of grandeur notwithstanding, that man was a threat, and a skilled combatant to boot. The only weakness he had been able to get a glimpse of was his reluctance to go through with the act.

He could have killed Keleiva multiple times, I know it. One does not cross blades with someone like that without getting a glimpse of their skill. Why didn't he?

Sympathy? Cowardice? Morals? That last one he scratched off the list immediately. He had allied himself with the Demons, and good men had died at his hand regardless.

"A strong foe. He might even be stronger than the Demon, if it weren't for the Soul Steel. And House Elevar can be tricky, harder to predict what stunt they may try and pull."

He finished his rotation of statues beside the Dark God himself. Frandwil stared down at him, but he didn't so much as flinch. He reached out to touch the edge of the scar running down his chest.

"Fascinating. Especially for a place undoubtedly pre-Collapse in origin. Perhaps it was not entirely uninhabited in those early years of the First Age."

Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. The world around him began to spin and twist, like he was rotating in the air again. His hand darted to his sword, but the voice spoke.

"Be calm."

"What?"

Everything vanished. The hall, his Hunters, the statue, everything. Complete and utter darkness surrounded him. No, it was Darkness; he could feel the Abyss brushing against him, like an awful force of nature exerting pressure on him where he stood.

This can't be a spell; it feels completely different.

He tried to push against it with his mana, but it didn't budge. It was different from the other spells he had encountered here, but only because it was what he had expected from them. This felt like the Abyssal Magic he'd seen before; unmoving and uncontrollable. But knowing the difference was cold comfort.

There was a shift in the Darkness. He darted his eyes around to look for other movement but saw nothing. There was nothing; he could barely see the movements of his hands when he put them in front of his face. But- no, there was something out there. He could feel it. A cold and foreign presence resting on his mind.

Then a voice.

"Brakenus of House Ulvargen. Second Prince of Talradius. General of the Degormanus."

He spun around to face the voice. There was nothing there.

"What are you? How do you know me?"

"You carry royal blood in your veins. Powerful blood."

"There is no such thing as powerful blood."

"Oh, but you are wrong. There is power in everything, my dear, lonely, poor, dead man."

The hair on his arms rose. "What did you say?"

The Darkness swarmed, shadows rising and falling until he saw a shape. A shadow within the shadows.

It was formless, with unclear dimensions and no reason behind its appearance. But now he saw it, and he tried to back away immediately.

Except there was nowhere to go, and even though his legs were moving, no space was made between them.

"I am merely stating the obvious, so that we might advance beyond such pleasantries. Because you are dead. As dead as your kingdom, your people, and your ever-so-charming older brother."

He felt a twitch at his belt. The shapeless form raised a familiar object out in front of him, which he could now see. The mirror reflected the blank stare of a corpse at him again, as it always had.

"What are you?" he repeated.

"An interested party. Splendid, we have made great time exchanging greetings with one another. Now, shall we crack on, him?"

His stomach lurched, and he had the uncomfortable sensation of being pulled. It stopped suddenly, and he stumbled, looking down at his hands and body, which he could finally see again. The Darkness remained, though, but he at least had his own body as a reference point. It no longer felt like he could fall into it forever, even if that was a real chance.

"As I understand it, your people give gifts to one another when meeting for the first time. This is true, yes?"

He turned to the faceless mass. He nodded without a word.

"How fascinating. Unfortunately, it seems neither of us came prepared for this, so I propose a compromise. As a gift to me, you will listen to what I have to say with neither scepticism nor dismissal."

"And what do I get in return?"

"How does a more pleasing form sound?"

He didn't wait for an answer. With a snap, a pair of red eyes appeared from the shadows, staring intently at him, and the rest of the mass followed suit. It took form, remaining in a state of pure Darkness, but Darkness shaped into the rough approximation of an older man, like him. He even had a walking stick in one of his hands.

"And now the exchange of gifts has begun, and my side has been fulfilled. As agreed, will you listen to me now, Brakenus Ulvargen?"

He wasn't sure he wanted to. Everything about this screamed of a scale that he didn't want to get involved with. On the other hand, whatever this being was had complete control over the Abyss around him, and he didn't like his odds if it got nasty.

He nodded. "I will listen."

"Brilliant. I will just get to it then, huh? You've reached a dead end, so to speak. Not much of a lead on where to head next, unless you plan to place your eggs in the luck department."

He tilted his head.

"And I've got this hunch that you aren't that sort of man. You seem committed, practical, and determined to achieve your goals."

"Whatever the cost."

Whatever the cost. Those words that he'd been muttering to himself for days were suddenly thrown back at him with a force. He was offering him aid of some sort. The question was, was whatever he was offering worth it?

And would he take it anyway?

"And you are offering me some advice, then? A hint?"

The form laughed.

"Oh no, no, no, nothing quite so cryptic. No, I'm offering you a much better deal. I will lead you to that which you seek."

He didn't skip a beat. "And what do you get out of this?"

There was more laughter.

"See, I like you. You're quite a straightforward chap, aren't you? Really get right to the meat of it. Well, you see, Brakenus Ulvargen, I am in somewhat of a predicament myself, actually."

He wanted to rub his face and sigh, but instead just nodded.

"Go on."

"To cut an incredibly long and arduous story short, I've found myself just as turned around in this place as you are. Perhaps even more so. In exchange for helping you, all I want is your help finding the exit."

"I… what? How exactly do you know where Keleiva is, enough to confidently lead me to her, but you cannot find the exit yourself?"

He swore the figure huffed.

"The details are too complicated for your mortal mind to comprehend."

"I'm not a child, I can comprehend a lot just fine, thank you."

"No, I mean the details are literally too much for your brain to comprehend. It would just pop. Like a grape."

He made a motion with his hands and manipulated a bit of the shadow to 'pop' somehow, just to make his point. Brakenus' mouth widened somewhat.

"I… see."

"Well, you don't, but that isn't your fault. Don't feel too bad about it, old sport, there a just some design choices that… never mind. Where was I?'

"Pop like a grape."

"Right. Let's just say that I have greater-than-average knowledge about this temple complex and its current inhabitants, but leaving unaided would not be… wise for me. Get the idea?"

"I think so. So, in summary, you want me to take you, a… being who won't give me his name, identity, race, or anything else for that matter, to the surface. In exchange, you will lead me to Keleiva, whom you claim to be able to find easily, and I'm supposed to agree to this all based on your word? And, I almost forgot, to necessitate this deal, you whisked me away using the Abyss. Did I miss anything?"

"That, without me, you have no way of finding your niece and the Demons who threaten her. I'm your best chance, lad. And it's as I said… whatever the cost."

Whatever the cost.

Whatever the cost... You know, now would be a good time for one of your sage and obscure soliloquies.

He got no response. The figure tilted its head again, and the eyes stared at the 'ceiling' for a second.

Huh, could have sworn I heard… never mind. So, we got a deal or what, Brakenus Ulvargen?"

He stretched out a hand, darker than shadow and night, neither liquid, solid, or gas.

He'd had read fairy tales read to him as a child, and read the ancient poems as an adult. Where both agreed was that it was unwise to shake the hands of a mysterious entity offering you a bargain.

But if even half of what he said was right, this really was his best chance.

The Demons have Soul Steel blades. If just one cuts here, if they manage to draw a single drop of blood… we are all condemned to death, but that is a fate far far worse.

He slowly raised his hand.

The formless form's head twitched. He turned around and cursed under his breath.

"Drat, not again. I wish he would stop doing that."

He saw a twinkle in the Darkness, a twinkle that grew larger and larger before he finally saw it was a wave.

A wave of pure Light burst around them, banishing the Darkness for a second before it returned in force. Then another burst came. Then another. It was a complete onslaught of Light, coming in like the tides of the sea, wave after wave.

And the nameless being backed away, swatting away any of it that came close to him with a grimace.

"I'll take your silence as a yes then, Brakenus Ulvargen. Yes? Yes. Okay, because this is getting a bit tiring."

In an instant, he was back in the grand hall, standing before the statues, as if nothing had happened. Then his stomach lurched, and he staggered as whatever had happened caught up with him.

"Everything okay, sir?"

He waved away the concern of his followers, who didn't seem to have noticed anything amiss, save for his response. How quickly had that all happened, and had it all happened in his mind? That uncomfortable feeling in his stomach made him doubt that.

"I'm fine. Prepare to move out again, on my mark."

They left and began to gather the others, but he wasn't paying much attention to them. Instead, he was staring down at his hand, still slightly raised in front of him.

I almost shook it, I would have shaken it if given the chance. Is this it, then? The right choice?

"You have asked me that same question more times in recent memory than before." "What makes you believe that there is any difference between a 'right' and 'wrong' answer?"

Most men would tell you that the right answer leads to a better ending for them.

"You are not most men."

They still hold out hope for a happy ending. So be it.

When his Hunters finally gathered at the entrance, he wondered what he was supposed to look for and if the entity had been speaking the truth. Had the deal been made?

He found his answer when he stepped into the hallway and saw a tiny sliver of shadow that he wasn't able to see through peaking at him from around the corner. When he followed it, he found a dead end in the hallway.

A dead end, save for the circular cut in the wall that stretched farther than his eyes could see, and was most definitely not made for Human, or Human-adjacent, travel. And based on the murals and engravings he had spent hours passing by, he felt he could make a good judgment call on who might have used them for getting places, once.

The chances of it being trapped were minimal, but not impossible. The chances of getting lost in it forever were quite a bit higher. If not for the small speck of shadow slithering in a decidedly un-shadowlike way. He swore it was waving at him.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his helmet, and checked his swords. Then, chains rattling on his arms, armour shifting with his weight, he lifted himself into the hole and began walking.

"Whatever the cost, right?"

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