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A tugging sensation pulls me forward before I realize I’m walking.

This is it. The Cave of Silence is here. I can feel it.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the rushing water drowns out all sounds. I tug off my boots and unclasp my cloak, then set them at the bottom of the arch. The wind whips my hair across my face, and the mist threatens to choke me.

I pause at the edge of the water and stare straight ahead.

“This is foolish.”

I take a step.

“I hate heights.”

I take another step, the water up to my ankles.

“I couldn’t even swim last year.” A manic chuckle escapes my lips as the water rises to my chest. It’s not cold, I realize with a start. It’s warm. Like the Source springs. I continue to laugh as tears well in my eyes. The blood from my hands washes away, along with the aches in my muscles. An instant euphoria.

I let the tears fall fresh and gasp for air. It’s too much.

It’s all too much.

I press forward, bobbing underwater and back up again.

The sun is past the noon position. I’m running out of time!

I suck in as deep of a breath as my lungs will allow and swim beneath the waterfall. The current presses me down instantly. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.

Arm over arm, I swim forward, the weight of the waterfall pushing on my shoulders. Back. Legs. Feet. Then…

…I’m weightless once again.

I swim toward the surface, lungs screaming for air. I gasp the second I break through the surface and—fucking Hels!

Half of the cavern is carved from within the mountain itself, while the other half is a giant dome of glass covered in glowing etchings of a script I don’t recognize. A dead language from the Old World? Water is rushing along one side of the glass and disappearing over an edge—that must be the side I entered from.

I swim closer to the center of the cave. Eventually, my feet find purchase, and I climb up onto the flat stone floor that forms a crescent around the rock side of the cave.

“Wow,” I breathe, taking it all in. There is something so unnatural about this place. Primal and ancient and yet it sings of magic all the same. It’s eerily silent beyond the dripping of my wet clothes. It must be the magic—not even the rushing of the waterfall can be heard here.

Here, here, here…

A distinct pull on my consciousness tugs me forward. Carved in the middle of the mountain wall is a dark archway.

“Well that’s not fucking ominous at all.”

Hesitantly, I walk forward and unsheathe my staff. The purple light of the Cebalrai Stone staves off the worst of the darkness, pulsing against the shadows as if actively battling for its glow.

The tunnel is long and narrow. The farther I walk, the more chaotic the etchings seem to get, glowing faintly as I pass. A tingling sensation slithers down my spine. Despite walking as lightly as possible, my steps echo against silence. My breathing becomes ragged and shallow.

Breathe in, and out.

“You can do this,” I whisper to myself and immediately regret it because the walls echo back, “You can do this—you can do—you can— you.”

I grimace. An involuntary shiver moves through my shoulders. Maybe I should turn back. There isn’t anything here but ancient writing on walls.

A distant light pulses ahead.

My feet pick up tempo, and I raise the staff higher until I charge through an opening.