Fabien just raises an eyebrow, licking the saltwater off his lips before shaking his head. “Not once—not in all my fucking years of hunting for the Lady’s artifacts.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Vinicola cuts in, his face twisted in something between awe and disgust. “This doesn’t look like a place anyone comes out of alive.”
My eyes follow his to the spot where he’s staring, mouth half-open like he’s seen death itself. And hell, maybe he has, because when I catch sight of it, even I feel the damn chill.
Above those pillars? Three cages. Bone cages, hanging like trophies waiting for their next prisoner.
“Are those…humanbones?“ Vinicola stammers, taking a cautious step forward.
“Aye,” I reply, eyeing the cages, their ribs twisted and fused, holding the unmistakable curve of femurs and vertebrae. “All that’s missing is some poor bastard inside.”
“Look at the top of each cage,” Gypsy murmurs, her voice barely above a breath. “See that metal bar binding them to the walls along the whole length of the cave? Some kind of mechanism…”
Like fate’s a cruel joke, Vinicola steps forward, his boot landing on a hidden stone slab. A low rumble rolls through the cave, echoing as his face twists in panic, trying to pull his foot back. But it’s already done.
The sound of grinding stone fills the air, a faint tremor rising beneath our feet. I shoot Gypsy a look, but before I can say a word, thin streams of water start seeping up through cracks in the stone, winding across the ground. Then it surges, pooling faster and faster, lapping up to our ankles.
Damn it. Not this again…
“Well, shit,” Fabien mutters, casting a wary glance at the looming pillars. “Whatever you set off, I’d bet it’s rigged to send us to the same fate as these poor fuckers.”
Vinicola’s frozen, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, staring down at his foot like it’s turned traitor. “I didn’t… I mean… this wasn’t supposed to happen, right? Surely… surely this is just a mistake.”
Gypsy snorts, though her face is taut with focus. “You wish.” She darts to the three cages, running her fingers over them with quick, sharp movements. “There’s something here…”
She crouches, tracing faint grooves at the bases of the pillars, grooves almost invisible beneath the rising water. Each pillar has a small, round hollow, as if meant to hold something important.
“Here,” she says, nodding toward the indentations. “We need something to place in these hollows. Whatever it is, it controls these cages…”
Vinicola looks at the water rising around his calves, his nervous grin fading fast. “Any clue what we’re supposed to put in them? Because unless it’s my endless regret, I’m a bit low on options.”
Fabien shakes his head, lips twisting into a dark smile. “Look closer—there’s a pattern here. The height of each pillar… it’s intentional.”
He points to the bases, and I finally catch on. Each one’s a little different in height.
“Three of us will need to tie ourselves to these pillars,” he continues, the words rolling out like he’s giving orders for our last rites. “Then, I’d say those cages will come down to trap us. One last play at survival.”
“Uh-uh,” Gypsy mutters. “The water’s going to rise up to above us. These pillars—they control how much air we’ll get, depending on how high or low each of us is trapped. The lower the cage, the less time the person inside has to breathe.”
A chill settles over me as the realizations dawns. Yet another damned race against time. Figures.
“And the third person?” I ask, not letting any hint of nerves slip.
“They have to place something into the hollows,” Rancour replies, as if it’s obvious.
I turn, scanning the cave. Fine. So we just need to find something to shove in those holes before any of us end up gasping for air. Maybe, if we move fast enough, we’ll beat the whole drowning bit.
I start searching, eyes darting over every inch of stone, every shadow. But there’s nothing—no stones, no tokens, not even a cursed coin lying around.
My gaze lands on the pool, the one shimmering right next to us, and then another, darker one just a few paces off. Gypsy steps forward, studying it with me. She crouches, dipping a hand into the water.
“That’s where the current is,” she murmurs, her hand pulled down like it’s caught in something. “Feels like there’s a whirr down there. Strong enough to drag a person under.”
I meet her eyes, and in that second, I know we’re thinking the same thing. One of us has to swim down, fight the pull, and fish out whatever it is we need.
“I’ll go.” I say it without a second thought.
Whoever goes will have to hold their breath longer than the ones tied to those cursed pillars—and they’ll need strength to handle the current. But my lungs? They’re built for this. Honed by years of diving wrecks. This ismyelement.
