The cavern mouth was barely visible until they stood before it — a jagged split in the stone ridge, overgrown with sickly vine and bone-white fungus. Wind whistled through it like a whisper of teeth, but Ian felt no presence inside.
Not yet.
"It's empty," he said without looking back.
The swordsman grunted. "How can you tell?"
"I'd be able to hear it breathe."
They said nothing to that. Just followed him inside.
The cavern sloped downward, dry underfoot but streaked in strange, dark moss. A natural hollow, half-devoured by time.
Its ceilings reached higher than expected, the air still and stale. Bones littered the far corner — old, brittle, not human.
The woman raised her staff. "It'll do."
The swordsman swept the entrance with a practiced gaze, then began placing rune wards.
Simple perimeter sigils — defensive, not offensive.
The support mage followed, murmuring incantations under his breath, fingers glowing with arcane blue.
Ian didn't help.
