She’s sprawled on the ground, her leathers torn and dirt-streaked, her face pale and her eyes wide. A small cut bleeds from her forehead, the crimson liquid mixing with the dust in a macabre pattern that makes my stomach twist. Her dagger lies in the palm of her hand, no longer glowing. But she’s breathing. She’s alive. Relief hits me like a physical blow, and I don’t hesitate, scrambling across the floor of the chasm to her side, the fire in my hand forgotten as I kneel down.
“Alette,” I growl, my voice ragged, more harsh than I intend, almost a snarl. I try to touch her, but she flinches, and I drop my hand. “Are you okay?”
She turns her head slightly until her gaze meets mine, and something inside shifts, forming a connection that I can’t quiteplace. She blinks up at me, eyes clear yet haunted, and my breath catches in my throat. I was expecting fear. Pain. Tears, even. But she just nods, slow and steady, her expression unwavering, a picture of calmness amidst the chaos.
“Yeah,” she answers, her voice shaky but resolute, and it strikes me, how composed she is in the face of danger. “I’m fine.”
I blink at her, momentarily stunned. I’ve seen fae women crumble at far less, shatter under the weight of their emotions over things I wouldn’t even bat an eye at. Fae are strong, yes, but they also shatter so easily, like fragile glass, after a lifetime of perfect lives. They can’t handle the weight of real danger. But Alette... she’s different. There’s a strength in her that I didn’t expect. But maybe I should have expected it. The goddess wouldn't have chosen a weak person to guide us, after all.
I have to admit, a small part of me is impressed.
But I don’t have time to think about it. I need to make sure she’s truly okay, despite the fact that I know she doesn’t want me touching her.
My free hand moves over her, checking her arms, her legs, her ribs. The instinct to assess her wounds floods through me. There’s a hint of a newly blossoming bruise on her cheek, and I don’t like the way her lip trembles when I touch it. Her skin is cold to the touch, unnervingly so, and her body is still trembling ever so slightly.
She’s okay. Physically. But then, challenges like this are just as much a mental test as they are physical. I learned that in the wars between the fae.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask again, my voice softer now, but not as gentle as I wanted to sound.
She doesn’t answer right away. There’s a pause that stretches on longer than it should, as if she’s contemplating how to answer. I watch her closely, studying her eyes as she meets mygaze again, and I feel something unseen wrapping between us in a way that frightens me.
“Yes. Don’t worry, I’ve been through worse.”
Has she?
“You guys okay down there?” Sylvian calls from above.
“I think so,” I respond, “but we’ll need a rope or something to get out.”
“Rope, right, we could– oh, fuck.” There’s fear in his voice.
“What’s wrong?” Alette calls out.
“The vines! The vines are fucking alive!”
As if his words brought the danger to life, the vines begin to writhe and twist like snakes, hungry for something to consume. The feeling is unsettling, and I tug Alette closer to my chest. Her tiny, cold body is a reminder that there’s something precious I have to protect.
To my surprise, she pulls away from me, lifting a hand that’s still clenching that damn dagger, a dagger that’s no longer glowing, and before I can react, she’s swinging it at something behind me.
“Watch out!” she warns, her voice sharp and urgent.
I spin just in time to see Alette cut a vine in half with her blade. Part of it crashes to the ground behind me, right near my shoulder. The other half shoots at me over and over again, but it’s not quite long enough to reach me now. I only feel a moment's relief before movement in front of me catches my attention. The remaining vines are thick, their tendrils twisting and writhing like live snakes, and I watch the way they move,feelthe palpable hunger in the air.
They’re coming for us. I know it. And they’re not going to stop until we’re dead.
Instinct kicks in, a primal urge to protect Alette overwhelming me. I coax the fire in my hand to expand, to form a ball. Without hesitation, I hurl it at the nearest vine. Flameserupt brighter than before, illuminating the darkness, crackling and hissing as they consume the plant in an instant. An acidic scent fills the air, but I can’t focus on that.
The vines aren’t done.
There’s no stopping them. As I hurl fireball after fireball, each burned vine twitches and begins to grow back before my eyes. Not just that, but for every one I burn, two more take its place, relentless in their advance.
Alette is beside me. She has a sword, no longer a dagger, with a shocking full gleaming blade of bone. It cuts through the encroaching vines with surprising skill. The contrast between her delicate frame and the strength she wields is striking, but even with her at my side, I don’t see a way out of this pit filled with snake-like vines.
“Damn it,” I mutter, frustration bubbling up within me as I sweep another wave of fire toward the vines, desperate to keep them at bay. “They just won’t stop.”
Sweat beads my brow, the heat of the flames battling against the oppressive chill of the pit. I can do this for a while. I know what it is to fight with every ounce of one's strength. The problem with this is that, unlike my other enemies, the vines don’t seem to be tiring. There’s no end to them, no relief in sight, and my sense of urgency grows with each passing moment.
“Guys!” I shout, a warning in the word.
