Silence falls. Remaining darts drift like lost snowflakes, then fade.
I spit glass, shift back to human; knees wobble. Blood seeps from dozens of slices. But Carmilla—she kneels motionless, palm still on mural. Eyes rolled white, features lax. Lattice along throat now spreads to cheekbone like delicate frost bloom. Sweat beads her brow.
I seize her shoulders. “Stop.” No reaction. I slam fury into voice. “Carmilla. Out of trance, now.”
The chamber floor rumbles again—tout quake traveling deeper. Another cavity opens, disgorging second slug embryo. This one larger, molten veins visible inside.
I summon last of energy, flash-shift to half-bear, thrust shoulder into Carmilla. She topples but my body cushions. Her eyes blink, clearing fog. She groans, reaching to throat.
“Glyphs… needed finishing,” she slurs.
“More guardians coming.” I point. Slug hauls itself free, dripping molten rivulets that cool mid-air to obsidian needles.
She sits upright, grips my sleeve. “Don’t crush. Its shell holds text.”
“Text can be read after it stops breathing.”
“It doesn’t breathe. It channels.” She pushes up, staggering. I steady.
She draws rune in blood from her fingertip, flings it. Symbol blossoms into net of blue-white chains that lash slug’s body, pinning it. It thrashes, but cannot break runic iron.
Carmilla stumbles to pedestal, breathing hard. “Quick. Let me see core before it solidifies.”
I stay close, claws half-out. She pries slab aside further, exposing layer of runic etchings inside slug’s belly. Eyes flick over them. She translates aloud, voice faint.
“Drain hearts. Sever skies. Flesh of seers for seal.” She sags. “They fed oracles to lock Narkarath.”
My stomach knots. “Your ancestors died here?”
“Many.” Tears glisten but do not fall. “And it still failed.”
The slug’s inner light dims; chains tighten until it shatters, harmless. Dust spirals, then settles.
Carmilla sways. I catch her. Blood trickles from her ear—price of translation trance merging with guardian fight.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“For what?”
“Dragged you into another tomb of ghosts.”
Ghosts never bothered me—failure does. I scoop her into arms; she’s lighter than she should be, bones brittle under skin. Up close, crystal bloom pulses like slow heartbeat.
“You nearly broke,” I mutter. Anger at guardians, at dragons, at the cosmos boiling inside chest. “We leave. South route is shorter; pack ledges I carved outbound.”
She protests weakly. “Inscription… incomplete.”
“Alive oracle is more useful than full inscription. We return later with entire council.” My growl brooks no dissent.
She rests head against collarbone, eyes fluttering shut. I feel spark of bond, faint but present.
I gather gear, sling her pack over my other shoulder. We exit chamber, stepping past shattered darts and shards that crunch under boot. At the gate slabs drift closed behind us of their own accord, almost gentle after violence, as if shrine concedes round one.
Outside, wind has stilled. The ledge sparkles with frostbows—sun hitting ice crystals. For a heartbeat the scene appears tranquil, but chasm gloom below hides hungry currents.
Carmilla stirs. “We learned much.” Her voice thread-thin.
“We learned you bleed for knowledge,” I counter. “And I bleed defending it. We need allies.”
