I reach out, twisting more Shadowweave around Nyx, forcing the cloak tighter. My temples throb, a dull pulse with every shroud I weave. I’m okay, for now, but the effort to keep these cloaks in place while we’re underground will hurt.
“That’s going to leave you dry for the fight,” Therion warns.
“Then we’ll make sure we end it quickly.” Another lie. Another gamble.
We move silently from a distance, avoiding the usual locations of scouts and soldiers that typically patrol the outskirts of The Joining, despite none being visible. We dismount at the cliff’s edge, still shrouded by the dense trees on the fringe of the Galreth region. The tunnel’s entrance stares at us at the bottom of the jagged cliff we need to climb down. It’s nothing but a scar in the stone—jagged, dark, and waiting—easily overlooked by passersby. I suspect they’re waiting for us at the bottom of the cliff. It’s the perfect location—nowhere to go, easy to surround us.
Elyssara glances toward the empty plains, jaw tense. “Still no patrols.”
“Which means they know exactly where we’re going,” Therion mutters.
Her fingers twitch toward her dagger—subtle, but I notice. She doesn’t like this. Neither do I.
I tighten my grip on my blade. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”
We begin our descent down the rocky cliff, the jagged stone scraping at my palms as I lower myself down. Loose gravel slips underfoot, tumbling into the abyss below. Every movement feels too loud.
At the base, the tunnel gapes open like a broken jaw—dark, cold, and still. I can taste the damp in the air, the copper tang of old blood lingering in the stone.
Elyssara steps to my side, her voice low. “Feels like a trap.”
“It is.” I don’t bother lying.
The wind howls through the pass, fierce and biting—like it knows it’s the last wild thing left alive here.
Merrik’s boots thud on hard-packed dirt. “Smells worse every time I come here,” he grumbles, waving a hand in front of his face. The stench of damp earth and old blood rises thick from the darkened entrance.
Jax’s eyes dart around, alert and on edge. “If this place doesn’t kill me, the fucking smell will.”
“We’re not alone,” Therion states with certainty, slicing through the arbitrary complaints.
Elyssara brushes past me toward the tunnel, her fingers skimming the boulders. Her jaw’s tense, but there’s fire in her step.
“You sure this is the best route?” she asks, voice low.
“It’s the only route.” And it’s true. The Joining’s surface is a blood-soaked chessboard—the minute we step into open ground, we’re fucked.
Therion and I brandish our weapons, moving with stealth through the pass. Ronyn has climbed boulders to find a higher vantage point, arrow nocked and ready to loose.
Elyssara moves with the grace of a warrior, haired intricately pulled back from her face in a warrior’s braid—the way she always has it when she knows she’ll fight, and it’s godsdamned mesmerizing—Jax watching her back with her hands poised and Seren between them, armed with her crossbow. We move as one through the pass, ready to fight our way into the tunnels.
But no one’s here.
We can hear the murmurs of soldiers from above—playing cards, drinking, sparring—but nothing else. No hitching breaths, or scrape of metal. Just... silence.
Therion signals to enter the tunnels, and we all follow his lead.
The tunnels swallow us whole—dark, wet, suffocating. The air is heavy, a cloying dampness that sticks in my throat. Every boot step echoes too loud, the sound bouncing off the jagged stone walls.
Before we move through the tunnels, I twist more Shadowweave around Nyx, the magic clawing at me—each shroud feeling like it rips a thread of magic loose inside my chest. My vision darkens atthe edges, a cold sweat slicking my brow. But I force it tighter. I can’t drop it. Not yet.
The space is tight, the walls rough, gouged with deep claw marks—some old, some fresh. Water drips from somewhere high above, the droplets a stark reminder of the deafening silence.
Therion keeps his sword raised, eyes flicking over every shadow.
Elyssara’s eyes dart up the tunnel walls, the sharp angle of her jaw tense. “The echoes are off. Something’s wrong.”
“I know,” I grit out, but we’re already too deep.
