Gerral groped blindly through the pitch-black tunnel with his right hand, his fingers brushing the damp, jagged walls. His left hand gripped Nora's wrist tightly as if she might vanish into the darkness if he let go. Their staggering steps echoed hollowly as they stumbled forward until they found light pricking from an opening. A cavern's mouth yawning wide awaiting them.
When they reached the cavern, the realization struck Gerral like cold water—his bare form stood fully exposed beside her, sweat bathing his trembling limbs. He released her hand and retreated into the tunnel.
Minutes later, Gerral reappeared from the shadows, wrapped in a makeshift covering of twisting roots. The vines clung to his body, some adorned with tiny blossoms that glimmered faintly in the cavern's dim light. His ears burned red with embarrassment, but he held his head high as if daring anyone to comment on the floral embellishments of his peculiar attire.
The new cavern mirrored the one they had fled from—the same brooding slab overshadowing a water-filled hollow—but now a stream of silver liquid spilled down the weathered rock face. The stream chuckled across the mineral-streaked stone, its dancing path vanishing into fissures like the last notes of a song.
"Nice fashion," Nora quipped, her tone light but unmistakably amused.
"Ahem," Gerral cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze as his face turned a shade brighter than the flowers adorning his makeshift attire. He shifted awkwardly but squared his shoulders.
"We should keep moving," he urged, hoping to draw her eyes away.
Tap-tap-tap. An approaching sound echoed.
His fingers twitched, ready for action. The sound of the approaching footsteps swelled around them—not the dragging gait of monsters, but brisk and hurried strides.
Then, a shout cut through the growing tension, bouncing off the walls. "Young Mistress!"
Nora spun toward the sound. "Connor? Clark?" she called, her voice wavering between hope and uncertainty.
Two figures burst into the cavern, their movements hurried and chaotic. Mud smeared their clothes, and the strain of their journey was etched in the sweat glistening on their brows. Connor stumbled to a halt, struggling to catch his breath. Clark pushed past him with more force, his stern expression softening momentarily as relief flickered across his features.
Both men bowed, their chests rising and falling with labored breaths.
Gerral shuffled Nora behind him. He clenched his fist, and the vine twisted. He reached for her wrist, but she shoved him aside.
"Young Mistress! Thank the gods, you're safe!" Clark exclaimed, his eyes darting over her face and figure, searching for signs of injury. Connor stood close beside him, his focused gaze never straying from Nora. Neither man spared Gerral a glance.
Gerral edged toward the brook, bare feet grinding against stone. The guards' arrival didn't slow the water's ceaseless drip… drip… drip into the pool below.
"Monsters attacked you earlier?" Clark clarified. His gaze swept across the cavern, the light catching the edge of his sword. "Dead or still lurking?"
Nora nodded. "It chased us into the tunnel, but then…it vanished."
Clark's head swiveled toward the branching tunnels. "Which one did you come from?"
Nora raised a trembling finger toward the rightmost tunnel. Clark's nostrils flared as he inhaled, stepping forward. A guttural incantation rumbled from his throat, and the air around him shimmered as if distorted by heat. His pupils flared into brilliant blue flames, casting eerie reflections across the cavern walls.
With his enhanced vision, Clark peered into the dark passage. The intricate details of every crack and crevice became as clear as daylight. Suddenly, a gnarled face erupted from the shadows, shrieking with an ear-splitting intensity. Pale tendrils dangled from its jaw, quivering as its foul breath fanned Clark's cheek.
He recoiled. Instinctively, his palms raised. A tempest roared down the tunnel. The blast crumbled the bedrock and sent chunks of the ceiling cascading downward. Dust surged into the cavern, swallowing the air in a suffocating cloud.
As the rumble faded, Clark stood panting, the blue glow still flickering in his irises. His fingers clamped his sword as he waited for what beast or monster to emerge.
But, instead of a roar or a shrill, a soft giggle floated out of the passage. The sound was faint, teasingly playful.
Teeheeheeheeheeheeheehee.
The soft giggle drifted from the passage again, accompanied by the crunch of rubble beneath heavy paws—crisp and deliberate, like a predator treading carefully on thin ice. All eyes locked on the shadows as the pawsteps neared.
The wolf emerged first: silver-grey fur rippling like mercury, amber eyes sharp as shattered gems scanning the cavern. Its rider leaned low over the beast's neck, laughter still bubbling from her lips as her ponytails swung wildly. She patted the wolf's shoulder, and the creature paused—not docile, but coiled like a crossbow cranked to full tension.
The girl's eyes sparkled with mischief as she studied Clark, her lips quivering into a sly grin. "What a warm welcome," she said, her voice husky and tinged with mockery. "I hope you won't be this… explosive… every time."
Connor darted forward, daggers drawn. Nora and Gerral crowded behind him. Clark didn't budge, his grip tightening on his sword. "Name," he barked. "And state your intention."
The wolf shifted. The girl tilted her head. She leaped from the wolf's back, landing lightly on the balls of her feet as if weightless. "Who indeed," she teased. "As for my intentions… Let's just say I'm here to play."
"Then you've got the wrong person," Clark snarled, surging forward in a flash. The blade sliced through the cave's gloom, aimed straight for the girl.
The wolf moved. Its claws slashed against Clark's blade. Sparks scattered. The girl stood back, watching the chaos unfold with a lazy, amused smirk. "What's the rush?" she drawled. "We've got plenty of time."
Her taunt hung as Connor's daggers darted from the shadows, aimed at her back. She spun gracefully, the blade grazing nothing but empty space. A card flickered between her fingers—Bzzzzzzzz—it sliced through the air toward Connor's throat, humming like an angry wasp.
BOOM!
The card detonated on impact, slamming Connor against the stone wall. He crumpled, a ragdoll on the floor, gasping—short, sharp intakes of air—like a beached fish flailing for life. Fingers scrabbling the rockface, desperate to rise. Dust rained from the jagged cracks in the wall where he'd struck.
The girl's playful demeanor vanished as she loomed over him. "Shouldn't have done that," she purred, fanning a deck of cards across her palm like a peacock fanning its feathers.
Connor rolled sideways as the first card embedded itself where his throat had been, the ensuing blast showering him with rubble. He dashed; a series of explosions marked his path. The cavern groaned in protest, stalactites trembling above them as concussive waves stirred the air.
She advanced, cards peeling from her deck in rapid succession. "Run all you want," she laughed, a fresh card spinning deftly between her fingers. "It just makes the game more fun."