Arianna hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Darkness swallowed her vision. She lay gasping on cold, damp earth, her palms scraped raw, the scent of moss and ancient stone clogging her nose. The air turned cold, rushing past her like a shrieking wind. Rocks grazed her arms and legs. She hit something hard—a narrow ledge—and bounced off, crying out in pain as she continued to plummet. Slowly, painfully, she rolled onto her side. Every muscle ached. Dirt coated her gown; the green fabric was torn at the hem. She coughed and forced herself upright, clutching her arms to ward off the chill. It was dark. Not the gentle darkness of night, but something thicker, older. It pressed in on her from every side, humming with secrets.
She swallowed hard. "Hello?"
Her voice cracked.
It echoed strangely, the sound bouncing off walls she couldn't see.
No answer.
Arianna tried to steady her breathing. She'd fallen—truly fallen through the earth itself. She remembered roots ripping, the ground splitting, blackness rushing to swallow her whole. She looked up, but there was no hole above her now. Only solid rock. No way back. Pain exploded in her ribs. Her vision went white, then black again. She lay there gasping, half-blind, unable to move. Every breath was a knife.
*Where am I?*
She turned in a slow circle.
Above her, there was no sign of the hole she'd fallen through—just a ceiling lost in shadows, covered in pale growths that pulsed like weak, dying hearts She was sealed in. Trapped.
*Calm down,* she told herself. *Think.*
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammering. She was alive. Bruised, battered, but alive.
And she wasn't entirely blind. As her eyes adjusted, she realized the dark wasn't absolute. There was a pale glow emanating from fissures in the cavern walls—veins of shimmering crystal that pulsed softly like a heartbeat.
The light was eerie but enough to see by.
She forced herself to stand.
The cavern was massive—vaulted ceilings lost in shadow, jagged stalactites hanging like teeth. A narrow path snaked forward, flanked by black stone and those glowing veins.
For a moment, she hesitated. She could stay here, shivering in the dark, or move.
She chose to move.
She pressed a shaking hand to her ribs and whispered a word of healing. Warmth spread beneath her skin, closing the worst of the bruises, but it was cold comfort here.
Her breath left clouds in the chilly air.
Her footsteps echoed wetly on the stone. As she walked, she touched the cavern wall. The crystal was warm under her fingers. She felt magic in it—old, resonant, humming like a song she half-remembered.
She shivered.
*Where am I?*
The stories had called it the underworld. The realm of the dead. The light from the fungi seemed to dim the longer she looked, as if the world itself wanted her blind.
She could feel magic here, but it was foul, heavy, tainted.
The stories she'd heard as a child—the underworld where the dead wandered, where monsters fed on lost souls—they seemed like childish fairy tales compared to this.
This place *hungered.*
She'd never believed them, but for old tales, she believed. and thoughts ran through her. * Would it be that the monsters ate her father?* The path twisted, leading her deeper. At times, the walls narrowed so tightly she had to squeeze sideways. At others, it opened into vast chambers littered with skeletal trees of bone-white crystal.
In one such chamber, she stopped, breath caught in her throat. A pool of black water lay in the center, perfectly still. The crystals around it cast ghostly reflections on its surface.
She approached carefully and looked down.
Instead of her face, she saw visions—fleeting, flickering images like smoke:
A city of black spires under a blood-red sky.
A man with silver eyes was watching her from the shadows.
Hands reaching for her across a river of fire.
She jerked back, heart pounding.
The images vanished. The pool was just water again. *I'm dreaming,* she thought wildly. *This isn't real.*But the ache in her bones told her otherwise.
She forced herself to continue. After what felt like hours, she heard… something. Voices. Low, sibilant. Not speaking any language she knew, but unmistakably alive. She slowed, pressing herself to the cavern wall. Peering around a bend, she saw them: two figures in dark cloaks, their faces hidden, standing by a strange stone arch carved with symbols that glowed red.
A gate.
They were arguing. Their voices slithered like snakes, words twisting in the air.
She caught only fragments:
"…shouldn't have opened…"
"…she wasn't meant…"
"…he'll be furious…"
Arianna's blood went cold. *They're talking about me.*
She backed away slowly, trying not to make a sound. But her foot slipped on loose gravel. The scrape echoed like a shout. Both figures fell silent. One turned sharply, and for a moment she saw glowing red eyes under the hood.
"Who's there?"
Arianna ran.
She didn't know where she was going. The tunnels twisted wildly. She felt them chasing her—heard boots striking stone, the hiss of their voices.
Her heart thundered.
At last, she burst into another chamber—this one vast and open, with a high ceiling that glowed with thousands of tiny, phosphorescent lights like stars.
She froze.
It was… beautiful.
For a single breath, she forgot her fear, staring up at the imitation sky.
But they were close. She heard them behind her.
She stumbled forward, searching for any exit.
And found one.
A narrow tunnel at the edge of the chamber. She darted into it, scraping her arms on the tight stone walls.
Behind her, the voices grew fainter.
They were searching, but they hadn't seen where she'd gone.
She collapsed, gasping.
Her arms bled from cuts. Her gown was ruined. She felt tears sting her eyes.
*Mother,* she thought desperately. *Where am I?*
She forced herself to breathe.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her dirty hand.
She wasn't dead.
And if this was the underworld, she wasn't the only one here.
That gate. Those cloaked figures.
Who were they?
What did they want with her?
And why had they said she wasn't meant to come?
She shivered.
Arianna wasn't a warrior. She was a healer. But she wasn't helpless. She pressed her palm to her bleeding arm. Whispered old words. Warmth flowed through her, closing the cuts. She drew a steadying breath.
"Get up," she whispered to herself.
She rose slowly.
And she walked on, deeper into the realm of the dead. Somewhere ahead, she sensed movement. A presence. Watching her. Not the cloaked hunters. Something older. Something powerful. And in that presence she felt, inexplicably, the promise of safety. Of destiny.
Of… love?
She shook her head, unwilling to believe it. But she kept walking. Because there was no way back. Only forward. Into the mystery. Into the underworld.