Slowly, carefully, they made their way across the quarry floor. The pit stretched out around them, a rough oval of uneven stone and loose gravel, silent except for the faint scuff of boots against rock.
The ground was treacherous, littered with fragments of shattered stone, worn smooth by time and weather. The occasional misstep sent pebbles skittering away, the small sounds unnervingly loud in the hush. Someone muttered a curse under their breath, quickly swallowed in the weight of the moment.
Del’s mind flickered to an idle thought.
‘Why did they stop using this place?’
Quarries didn’t just shut down unless the rock was spent, or something worse had happened. The thought curled in his mind like a whisper of unease.
At least they knew the quarry itself was empty. And Lars was still above, his bow at the ready, watching over them like a silent sentinel. That should have brought more comfort than it did.
‘What the hell have you got yourself into, Del?’
He exhaled through his nose, carefully skirting around a large boulder that loomed in his path.
‘I swear, when I get out of this, that fucking computer is going in the bin.’
The dark mouth of the cave yawned ahead.
As they closed the final distance, the air changed.
It wasn’t just a drop in temperature—it was a shift, a bite of unnatural cold that crept beneath skin and into bone. The chill radiated outward from the cavern’s entrance, seeping through fabric, settling in the marrow. It felt old. Unwelcoming.
And the darkness... wasn't right.
Even from just outside, the firelight from their torches barely touched the interior. It wasn’t a natural dimness—this was consuming. The shadows beyond the threshold seemed to drink in the light, devouring it, refusing to give anything back.
Del swallowed. This place does not want us here.
He reached for Misty, nudging at her presence cautiously.
Nothing.
She didn’t respond. No shift of thought, no pulse of reassurance.
His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword.
Beside him, Elara tapped his shoulder. “I can see in the dark pretty well,” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “Something all elves can do.” A small, self-deprecating shrug. “Not as well as dwarves, but we don’t spend our time hiding under mountains.”
Del turned to her, already guessing where this was going.
“You’re suggesting you join Misty in scouting ahead?” He kept his voice even, but concern bled through.
She nodded, slipping her bow from her back in a single fluid motion, fingers already pulling an arrow free.
“One of us has to,” she said simply. “And I can move without giving myself away by needing a torch.”
She was right. He hated that she was right.
His jaw tightened.
‘Why am I surrounded by such brave people? I don’t deserve it, that’s for sure.’
He glanced at Paolo. The militia leader didn’t look any happier about the idea, but he had no better alternative.
Del exhaled through his nose and gave her a reluctant nod.
Elara didn’t wait. She moved into the black without hesitation, her form swallowed by the cavern’s maw in seconds.
And then, nothing.
The wait was painful.
Every breath dragged. Every heartbeat stretched.
The cold pressed in from the cavern ahead, a slow, insidious thing that seemed to steal the warmth from his body. The stillness clawed at his nerves.
No sound. No sign of movement.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Not even Misty.
Del clenched his jaw. His instincts screamed at him—this was wrong, wrong.
Five minutes.
That was what he allowed.
Five minutes of silence.
Five minutes of staring into the dark.
‘You’re being melodramatic, Del. Pack it in.’
He tightened his grip on his sword.
‘Fuck this.’
Ignoring every horror film warning his brain was shrieking at him, he signalled the others forward.
Steel whispered free from scabbards. Torches flared to life, their flames guttering slightly in the damp air before steadying.
Before stepping in, Paolo touched his shoulder. “If we need to fall back, we do it quick. No getting lost in these tunnels.”
Del nodded. “Agreed.” He glanced at the men. “We move slow, we keep the torches low, and if you see anything weird—say something.”
Murmured agreements rippled through the group.
Del stepped forward, and the others followed.
At first, the tunnel was manageable.
The floor was smoother than he expected—worn by years of use, polished by the footsteps of the long-forgotten workers who had once hauled stone from this place. The walls were a strange mix of natural cavern and roughly hewn edges, where hands had widened passages or carved into veins of valuable rock.
The deeper they went, the worse the silence became.
Sound played tricks. Footsteps echoed, bouncing unpredictably, warping in the tunnels until it felt like something was moving behind them, beside them, ahead where no one was.
Somewhere in the distance, water dripped.
A slow, rhythmic plink-plink-plink, the only sound beyond their breathing.
And the cold.
The cold seeped. It coiled into bones, turning breath to mist, numbing fingertips even beneath gloves.
Del exhaled slowly. The air was changing.
The scent of must and damp rock grew stronger, tinged with something else—smoke.
Listwort.
Faint, but growing.
They were getting close.
Then—the tunnel split.
A narrow passage veered sharply to the left, barely wide enough for two men. The main tunnel continued forward.
Paolo hesitated. “Side passage?”
Del studied it. The left path looked different—damp, the walls lined with old wooden supports that had warped over time.
“Dead end?” Jake suggested.
“Only one way to find out,” Del muttered.
He motioned for a few men to check it while the rest held position.
The smaller tunnel was cramped, forcing them to move single file. The air was stagnant, thick with something foul—like old rot buried beneath stone.
Then—
Scraping.
A low, hollow scrape from somewhere up ahead.
Everyone froze.
Del’s heartbeat hammered.
Then, after a tense few seconds—
Nothing.
They pressed forward another dozen steps.
And found a dead end.
Collapsed rock.
No sign of anything living.
Just… silence.
Paolo exhaled sharply. “Let’s move back.”
They turned—
The scraping sound came again.
Behind them.
Del whipped around, sword raised.
Nothing.
A heartbeat stretched—
Then—
Something clicked in the darkness.
Jake swore. “We’re leaving. Now.”
They hurried back to the main tunnel.
Del didn’t look over his shoulder.
He didn’t want to know what had been behind them.
Behind Del, the scuffle of a boot against a loose stone shattered the uneasy quiet, followed by a muttered curse as one of the men stumbled. The sound rang out too loudly, bouncing off the tunnel walls in strange, fractured echoes.
Del whipped his head around, heart hammering—only to find the man righting himself, muttering under his breath, face half-shadowed in the flickering torchlight.
He exhaled sharply and pressed forward.
The tunnel was playing tricks on them.
The shadows leapt and twisted as they moved, flickering wildly in the torchlight, shifting into impossible shapes that disappeared the moment they were properly looked at. Every step felt too loud, every movement somehow watched.
Del’s eyes swept the walls constantly, searching for things that probably weren’t there.
A flicker in the distance.
His heart slammed against his ribs—
Something’s there.
His sword arm tensed, fingers gripping the hilt—
Only to realise a moment later that it was nothing. Just another cruel illusion cast by firelight.
‘Paranoia is not a good look, Del. Worry about the real shit, not the imaginary stuff.’
He swallowed the lump in his throat and kept moving.
The tunnel tightened, the walls narrowing.
They were forced to string out further, the group shifting into two narrow lines, pressed together just enough to still wield weapons if needed. The air grew heavier, thick with damp stone and the growing musk of something else. The smell of old things.
The sound of dripping water continued, an eerie, inconsistent plink that came from no discernible source. It echoed oddly, warping with their footsteps, making it feel like the sound was coming from beneath them, or worse—above.
A sharp gasp cut through the silence.
Then, in a tight whisper—
"Del? Get up here."
Elara.
Del’s breath hitched.
His body reacted before thought could form, muscles tightening as he pushed forward, moving through the men ahead without care. He didn’t run, but it was a near thing.
His mind spiralled through the worst possibilities in the space of a heartbeat.
‘Please be okay. Please be okay.’
He rounded a bend and found her crouched low on the tunnel floor.
Beside her—Misty.
Del’s stomach dropped.
The small ginger form was curled into a loose coil, nestled against the rock. Soft, rhythmic sounds escaped her—a mix of gentle purrs and barely audible snores.
His heart pounded. His brain struggled to make sense of the sight.
Misty. Asleep.
No tension in her form, no alertness. Just… resting. Clutched in her paws was a small bag, the scent of Listwort unmistakable even from where he stood.
Del crouched fast, reaching out—but not touching her.
The others gathered close, watching.
Elara’s voice was quiet, almost uncertain. “She’s breathing fine. She’s… just asleep.”
Del swallowed hard, pulse thrumming in his ears. Misty never just slept. Not like this. Not in the middle of an unknown space, near a danger they knew was real.
His mind scrambled for an explanation.
Was the Listwort affecting her? Did she find this and…?
His gaze lifted toward the tunnel ahead.
The flickering of a fire danced along the stone walls, shifting shadows deep in the passage beyond.
They were close.
Too close.
Del’s jaw tightened as something heavy settled in his chest.
Whatever waited for them beyond that bend, Misty had reached it first.
And she hadn’t been able to fight it.
He exhaled slowly, then, voice low and firm—
“Can you wake her up?”
They couldn’t afford to hesitate any longer.