The magic here is untamed and ancient—powerful enough to keep anyone who isn’t seeking this place from finding it.
“This feels like walking through my history,” Dezi muses, his voice echoing slightly against the stone. “Catacombs like this were once a haven for my kind, as you all know.”
“Don’t forget tombs,” Tiernan adds, his voice low as he grins at us briefly. “Your lot loves hanging out with the recently and not-so-recently deceased.”
“He’s not Beetlejuice,” Fi mutters under her breath. “At least his people don’t have a form where it’s acceptable to lick your own butthole.”
“On that lovely note,” I snort, “We need to focus—and no, I can’t believeI’msaying that out loud.”
Tiernan sputters in response to us both, and Khol has to cover his mouth to keep from howling into the cavern.
No wonder our girl is always humming about clowns to the left and right.
Silence descends as we press on, a band of interlocked fates guided by the thin beams of our flashlights. Each step takes us further from the world we know and deeper into the unknown, where every shadow could hold a secret and every whisper of wind might speak of ancient, powerful things.
It only takes a few more minutes before Khol sees a doorway on his side. As we approach, the beam of my flashlight dances over a sea of pottery, each piece etched with symbols that seem at odds with the next. A Greek amphora shares shelf space with an Egyptian Canopic jar, and a Norse drinking horn perches beside a Mesoamerican ceremonial bowl. It’s a jigsaw of pantheons, displaced in time and space. None of this belongs together, much less in Faerie.
“Since when did Faerie turn into a museum for the divine?” Dezi says, his voice laced with confusion. He’s echoing my surprise and I can’t help but return his shock expression with one of my own.
“One full of oddly chosen items at that,” I reply, examining a Celtic torc that seems to thrum with latent energy.
“Maybe some crusty old Fae liked to collect souvenirs?” Fiadh suggests, but her tone is uneasy, not quite joking. “Your people are a bit like crows with your bargains and shiny distractions.”
I give her a non-plussed frown, shaking my head. “Not like this. It’s weird, even to me.”
We shuffle onward, our shoes scuffing the stone as we enter a chamber that feels more like an armory. Swords and shields from different ages line the walls: bronze spears beside Katana blades, medieval flails near Ottoman bows. Tiernan lifts a set of fang and claw guards, his brow furrowed.
“Never thought I’d find shifter gear in a place like this,” he mutters, turning the guards over in his hands. The metal glints ominously under the flashlight’s glare.
“Nor I,” I say, feeling the weight of history pressing in on us from allsides. “Shifters trust my people even less than the rest of the supes. You’re all too blunt and direct to deal with us.”
Tier chuckles. “Or you’re too fucking tricksy and it bores us to death playing word games over shit like whose round it is.”
Fiadh gives us a stern look and Dezi joins her, quieting our banter as we move on again. Our path leads us to yet another room, this one sparkling with riches that should be locked in vaults or displayed in galleries, not gathering dust in forgotten Faerie ruins. Dezi’s eyes catch the glint of jewels set in an amulet, and he steps forward, muttering about this being a lost vampiric artifact.
“Dezi, don’t,” Fiadh warns sharply, grabbing his arm. “Remember Aladdin? Cave of Wonders?”
“Last I checked, animated films aren’t exactly doctrine,” Dezi retorts with a wry twist of his lips. But he halts, eyeing the treasure with newfound caution.
“Want to test that theory?” Fiadh asks, arching an eyebrow. “I’m sure being entombed forever would be super cool.” Dezi shrugs, conceding her point and she grins, skipping ahead a little.
The antechamber we enter next is expansive, its ceiling lost to shadows above. My light reveals intricate carvings and vibrant paintings that depict races I’ve never seen referenced in any book or scroll. The artwork tells stories, though of what, I cannot guess.
This place is such a jumble of various pantheons that I can’t grasp who or what built it.
“Great,” Khol groans, eyeing the checkered floor around the altar. “I smell puzzles.”
“Most likely,” Fiadh agrees, stepping closer to examine the murals, her hand hovering just above the painted scenes as if feeling their essence.
“Careful now,” I warn. “No telling what kind of tricks this place hasup its sleeve, especially if you’re right and some greedy ass Fae was hoarding shit here.”
“Duh,” she replies without looking back. Her confidence is reassuring, even as it nudges me to be extra vigilant.
The altar stands silent, surrounded by vases that feel deliberately placed. I glance at Fiadh, who nods. We both understand—this is a game of intellect and consequence.
“Look for clues, but take it slowly,” I suggest, and we disperse, each of us scouring the walls, hunting for the key that will unlock the secrets of this ancient, enigmatic chamber.
Khol’s footsteps echo softly as he circles the perimeter, his eyes scanning every inch of stone. Tiernan is a shadow flitting between the murals, tracing the outlines of figures and symbols with a careful finger. Fiadh stands still in the center, her eyes closed, lips moving silently as she calls on her magic. I can almost see the threads of her power weaving through the air, delicate and probing.
