“Perhaps,” Revelin replies, sheathing his sword with a flourish. “But now they know not to trifle with us.”
We exchange glances, a silent agreement passing through the group: stay alert, trust no one, and be ready for anything. With our path cleared and hearts racing, we press on, deeper into the unknowable heart of the forest. The canopy thickens above us, and the air grows heavy with the scent of moss and ancient earth. We tread lightly over a carpet of fallen leaves, our steps muffled by nature’s hush. The underbrush gives way to an unexpected clearing, where a large pool reflects the sky like a mirror, disturbed only by the cascade of a waterfall. The mist dances in the sunlight, casting rainbows that seem almost otherworldly.
This place holds power—ancient power, if my instincts are correct.
“Look.” Fiadh’s voice slices through the tranquility as she points towards the veil of water. Shadowed by its shimmering curtain lies the outline of a cave. “We can’t pass this by. It might as well have a sign saying ‘old magic shit here.’ Which also means it could be a trap, I suppose.”
I catch the flicker of hesitation in the others’ eyes; the same unease ripples through me, too.
But Fiadh is resolute, her weapons sliding into their sheaths with a definitive click. She stands with her shoulders squared, a silent challenge that none of us can ignore. “We have to go in.”
“As you wish, witchling,” I agree, my curiosity piqued despite the flutter of warning in my gut. “Let us see what secrets it holds.”
We navigate around the pool, the sound of the waterfall growing thunderous as we approach. Each step feels like a commitment, a pact sealed with the unknown. We reach the cave’s mouth, a gapingmaw beckoning us into darkness, and I look out at the water behind us. Hopefully, we don’t have to get soaked to find whatever is hidden here.
I’m neither in the mood to be dripping wet, nor to tangle with any mer-folk.
Fiadh extends her hand, her fingers weaving through the air. A soft glow emanates from her palm, casting light upon the jagged walls as we enter the cave. The coolness wraps around us like a cloak, the damp stone floor slick beneath our boots.
“Stay close,” she murmurs, leading the way with her spellbound luminescence.
Revelin beams, taking her hand to kiss her knuckles. “You’re getting good at that, lass.”
The cave narrows before opening into a wider chamber. My ears tune to the steady drip of water, the quiet whispers of the forest locked away beyond the stone. I haven’t let go of the vampire yet; no, my inner demon is needed for occasions like this. I’d prefer not to showcase parts of it in front of the witchling yet, but if I have to, I will.
“Look at these,” Revelin breathes, his fingers grazing symbols etched deep into the rock. His touch seems reverent, understanding. “These are not just carvings. They’re an ode to ancient Fae magic—like a story told in swirls and runes.”
“Protective wards,” I murmur, recognizing the patterns among the arcane script. “Someone wanted to keep something out... or in.”
A clatter echoes behind us, and we spin to find Khol standing over a pile of bones, bleached white by time. His expression is grim, lips pulled back in a hiss. “This place is a grave,” he says, and I can hear the truth in his voice.
“Or a warning,” Tiernan adds quietly, his eyes scanning the dim recesses of the cave.
There’s no going back now; we simply have to accept that whatever is here might seek to harm us.
We’ve ventured too deep, drawn by the lure of the unknown. With each step forward, we bind ourselves to the cave’s history—its magic, its mysteries, and its dead. I shoot looks at each of the other men, warning them to keep their guard up so we can protect our mate.
“Let’s press on,” Fiadh decides, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Whatever lies ahead, we face it together.”
So, deeper into the heart of the earth we go, where secrets wait entombed in shadow. We edge around a bend, and I almost collide with Khol as he halts abruptly. Before us, a natural archway looms, veiled in a verdant cascade of vines.
“What do you make of this?” I ask, my voice hushed against the cave’s silence.
“An entrance,” Khol grunts, his muscles flexing as he tears away the stubborn greenery. The vines give way with a series of snaps and rustles, revealing a chamber that swallows the dim light. “Though to what, who the fuck knows?”
Stepping over the threshold, we’re greeted by an air of solemnity. An altar stands sentinel in the center, bathed in a halo of soft luminescence. Atop it rests a book, its cover dulled by dust, yet from within its pages emanates a faint glow.
Nowthisis very Temple of Doom.
“Careful,” Fiadh murmurs, her hand raised in silent warning.
We all sense it—power, ancient and undisturbed, woven into the very fabric of the room. The two magic users walk up to the tome, studying as they circle the stone altar it rests on. Both are silent as they look, and I assume they’re checking for booby traps or malevolent spells. Once they clear it, the Prince approaches first, opening the dusty old book carefully. When nothing happens, he gestures for all of us to come closer.
Revelin leans in close as he turns pages slowly, his expression a mix of awe and reverence. “These maps...” His finger traces the intricate lines and symbols. “They chart the courts of Faerie with precision I’ve never seen. But this one...” He taps on a page bearing a map none of us recognize, its edges frayed with age. “It’s unfamiliar, lost to time, perhaps.”
“Or hidden for a reason,” I suggest, eyeing the cryptic pathways and markers. “Your peoplelovea good mystery.”
“Either way, it’s ours now,” Fiadh says decisively, snapping the book shut. Its glow wanes, as if sealing its secrets once more. “These maps may help us figure out exactly where the damn artifact thingy is in each Court. I’m not leaving it behind.”
