"Here lies Kragnir, King of Argon, Son of Isen the Frost-Bound, Guardian of the North," Nora read aloud, her voice echoing softly in the cavern.
Gerral frowned, his brow creased with confusion. "How can you even read these letters?"
"These are ancient texts known only by educated scholars," Nora prided herself.
"An educated scholar? You?"
"What? Do you think I'm the same as you—a backwatered peasant?" Nora shot back—eyes flashing with discontent. "I happen to be a noble, thank you very much."
Gerral hesitated, lips parting to retaliate, but the words caught in his throat. His expression softened. With a faint sigh, he closed his mouth and managed a weak, defeated smile, meeting Nora's gaze without a word.
"Where are the others?" He asked the educated scholar.
"I don't know," Nora admitted, scanning the cavern for any sign of life. "You're the only one I've come across. We must have gotten separated when the storm hit. If this is Kragnir's tomb, then we're inside the dungeon. Jareth said this area was frostworms' territory—low-level monsters. Everyone should be safe."
Gerral shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "He also said the journey would be smooth. Look where that got us."
Nora's expression hardened; she shuffled closer to him—too close. "Are you blaming Jareth?" she snapped in his face. "Jareth has been with the Dawn for as long as I've been alive. He would never put me in any kind of danger."
Gerral blinked at her pale face. He noticed how her lips moved with each sharp word, her brow furrowed around her glaring eyes, and even the soft warmth of her breath hitting his face as she spoke. His face turned slightly red, and he gulped.
"You don't look so good, Nora. Are you feeling alright?" he said, turning away from her intense gaze.
Her demeanor shifted abruptly at the stings of his words. She stepped back and distanced herself, crossing her arms and staring into the shadows.
"Anyway," she said after a moment, her tone clipped, "we should keep moving. Standing around here won't get us any closer to finding the others—or getting out."
Gerral nodded. "Lead the way, princess."
Nora smirked at the jab and quickened toward a nearby tunnel, then stopped abruptly, her gaze fixed on the darkness ahead. After a beat, she began patting herself down—frantic—as if she lost some treasure.
"What's wrong?" Gerral asked.
"My magic bag," she muttered. "I can't find it. It must have been lost during the storm."
"Did it have anything important in it?"
"Not exactly…but without it…"
"Without what?"
"Never mind." She turned to face Gerral. "Perhaps you'd like to lead the way?"
"Sure." He stepped forward and poked his head into the passage. "But I can't see a thing in this darkness. We'll need your magic to light the way."
"That's what I said."
"What did you say?"
"I said without it…"
"Without what?!" Gerral's voice tinged with irritation.
"Without the lamp, I can't illuminate the dark," Nora mumbled softly.
"What? You're a light mage! All you need is mana for a lamp!" Gerral exclaimed, baffled.
"That's what I said!" Nora's voice rose in exasperation, feeling both irritated and embarrassed. She added, softly this time, "I can't use my magic without being in the light…"
Gerral blinked, still confused, but let the matter drop when he noticed her flushed face. "So, what do we do now?" he asked carefully.
Nora let out a defeated sigh, sinking into a squat. She pressed her hand to her reddened face, spreading her fingers as though to shield herself from his gaze. For a moment, she looked vulnerable, like a chastened child caught in the act. Something about her posture struck Gerral, unexpectedly endearing in its unguarded honesty. He couldn't help but smile faintly.
"I guess we don't have a choice," Gerral said as he walked past her, heading toward the nearest crystal on the wall, way above his head. He reached out, aiming for the crystal.
"Vine Spears!"
Roots sprang from his arm, twirling toward the crystal, piercing it deeply and shattering it completely. A large fragment fell directly toward Gerral's head—he caught it before it could smash him. The faint glow of the crystal bathed his face as he turned to Nora.
"Here," he said, handing her the radiant shard. "Do you still want me to lead the way?"
Nora snatched the crystal from his hand with an annoyed huff. She rose and stormed into the shadowy passage ahead without missing a beat.
"Hurry up, slowpoke!"
Gerral chuckled, her impatience oddly amusing. Shaking his head, he quickened his steps, trailing after her into the darkness.
—
"Here lies Kragnir, King of Argon, Son of Isen the Frost-Bound, Guardian of the North," Sylas said solemnly, tracing the letters carved on the ancient tombstone. Beside him, Milla and Emma squinted at the intricate script in a mix of confusion and curiosity.
"How can you read this gibberish?" Milla asked, her tone skeptical.
Sylas grinned mischievously, shrugging. "Hehe… I made it up!"
Milla's expression turned stern, and she slapped him on the head. "Don't just make things up!" she scolded. "For once, I thought you might actually be a genius."
"Ouch! That hurt, you brute!" Sylas yelped, rubbing his head dramatically—then retaliated with a quick flick to her forehead.
"Hey!" Milla exclaimed, launching at him. Sylas dodged, darting behind the tomb for cover. His grin widened as he peeked out from his hiding spot, taunting her.
"Catch me if you can!"
Milla growled in frustration and chased after him, circling the tomb as their shouts and taunting laughter filled the cavern. Sylas zigzagged around the ancient stonework, using it as cover while Milla tried to corner him.
Emma giggled softly as she watched their antics. Finally, Milla had enough of the chase and stomped her foot; a solid stone wall rose behind Sylas. He turned sharply, only to slam his face directly into the conjured barrier.
Before he could recover, Milla followed up with a swift kick to his butt, shattering the stone wall and sending Sylas tumbling to the ground. He landed face-first, buttocks arched up, teeth clashing against the unforgiving rock floor.
"Gotcha!" she declared triumphantly.
Sylas rolled over, legs sprawled awkwardly as he rubbed his jaw, his face twisted in pain. "That really hurt!" he gurgled weakly.
Milla raised one eyebrow, releasing a terrifying aura that silenced him instantly. He curled his leg and pulled himself up. Their playful exchange had come to an abrupt and amusing end with his defeat.
Trying to contain her giggles, Emma said, "where are we?"
"In a tomb," Milla replied matter-of-factly, gesturing toward Sylas, "according to this genius."
"We need to find Alan and the others," Emma said, looking around the chamber. "But there are so many tunnels. Which one should we take?"
Milla's gaze swept across the tunnels. She marched toward one, took a deep breath, and shouted, "ALLLLLLAN!!!!" Her echo reverberated through the tunnel. She paused to listen, then repeated the process, moving to each tunnel until all had been checked.
She pointed confidently to the first tunnel with her thumb. "This one."
Emma's eyes sparkled with admiration. "How do you know?"
"She made it up," Sylas commented.
Milla whipped around, her foot stomping once more in irritation. Sylas ducked instinctively, bracing for another scolding. "I'm an earth mage—I can feel the vibrations on the floor. This tunnel has a deeper vibration. There could be another room at the end."
Emma nodded, but a new problem arose. "How do we see in this darkness?"
"Ha! You're lucky you have me," Sylas declared with exaggerated bravado, planting one fist on his chest. "I happen to be a light mage."
With a flourish, he stretched his arm, curling his fingers. Arcs of electricity crackled around his hand, gradually forming a glowing orb. His palm radiated light, illuminating the surrounding darkness like a makeshift torch.
Using Sylas's sparking hand as their guide, the group ventured into the shadowy passage, each step carrying them deeper into the unknown.