The days blurred together as the ship continued its endless journey north. Henry fell into the rhythm of life aboard the Saint Lovehart, taking his turn at the oars, helping prep meals in the galley, and standing watch during the quiet hours of the night.

The crew was a motley bunch - sailors, adventurers, former soldiers. Hard men with weathered faces and strong arms. Henry was the odd man out, a bookish sort more at home in a library than on the deck of a ship. But he did his part without complaint, determined to pull his weight.

Provisions were growing sparse as the journey stretched on, far longer than expected. Fishing provided some relief, but it was never enough to properly feed a crew of twelve hungry men. belts were cinched tighter, faces grew lean and hollow. Henry stretched the rations as far as he could with beans, hardtack, and the occasional stringy catch from the river.

The landscape changed slowly the more they progressed in their journey. The river grew narrower, the shores less green. The plains stretched on endlessly, but in the distance, a singular mountain now rose up to pierce the horizon. Plumes of smoke drifted lazily from its peak.

Henry found himself staring at that distant mountain for hours as he worked the oars. It was a welcome break from the endless flatness of the plains. He wondered what lay beyond it, if it marked the boundary to a new land. He daydreamed about standing atop its summit and gazing out at some undiscovered country.

One grey morning, Henry asked Bob about the mountain as they ate a meager breakfast. "That's the Northern Volcano," Bob said through a mouthful of hardtack. "No connection with our mission, just an obstacle we have to pass."

Henry listened intently as Bob explained their course. The river flowed directly through the heart of the Northern Volcano, in a narrow chasm the crew called The Abyss. Sheer black rock walls rose on either side, blocking out the sun and sky. Passage would be treacherous, requiring precise navigation to avoid running aground.

The crew set to work preparing for the challenge ahead. Axes and blades were sharpened to a keen edge in case they needed to cut free tangled lines. The few cannons aboard were cleaned, loaded, and run out, ready to punch holes in any obstacle. Sails were taken in and reinforced, as even a small tear could doom them in the tight confines of the pass.

Grim determination settled over the Saint Lovehart as she sailed ever closer to the towering volcano. The mood was tense, with little of the usual banter between sailors. All hands were required on deck, ready to respond instantly to any crisis. The ship had survived many dangers, but none so great as the passage before them.

Henry busied himself checking provisions and securing cargo. But his eyes kept drifting to the volcano looming larger with each passing hour. It filled the horizon now, sunlight glinting off the snowy peak while columns of smoke trailed into a clear blue sky. He tried to imagine what awaited them in those rocky depths. Bob's tales of shadow creatures and treacherous shoals filled him with dread.

The river carried them inexorably onward, straight toward the sheer cliffs of the Northern Volcano. A vast opening appeared, like the maw of some giant beast waiting to swallow them. One final check was made that all was in readiness.

"Hold fast men!" Bob bellowed. "We've braved worse than this and lived to tell the tale!"

The crew raised a hearty cheer in response. Henry gripped the railing tight as they entered the pass. The black walls closed in around them, shutting out the world beyond. They were committed now to The Abyss.

The ship glided smoothly through the dark chasm, the crew tense and alert for any sign of danger. But the passage remained wide and deep, the black waters undisturbed.

After some time, the walls of the abyss began to widen around them. The inky blackness receded and the narrow canyon opened up into a vast cavern, easily wide enough for several ships to navigate side-by-side.

Bob and Henry exchanged puzzled glances. This was not the treacherous, rock-strewn route through the volcano's heart that they had expected. Henry peered upwards but could not make out the cavern's ceiling, it disappeared into darkness high above them.

The Saint Lovehart drifted slowly onward through the massive underground space. The crew whispered amongst themselves, unnerved by the strange turn of events. Then a light appeared in the distance, a small flicker of orange dancing across the cavern walls.

As they drew nearer, it became clear the light was emanating from a cave carved into the side of the abyss. And it was not alone. All along the cavern walls were openings of varying sizes, and in many of them danced the warm glow of firelight.

Bob ordered the ship brought as close as safely possible to the nearest cave mouth. He studied it intently, one hand drifting down to rest on the pommel of his sword. Henry moved up beside him and followed his gaze. The light flickered and danced, occasionally blocked as some unknown shape passed before it.

"What do you make of it?" Henry asked.

Bob chewed his lip, considering. "Could be survivors from some lost ship. Or it could be those shadow creatures I told you about, trying to lure us to our doom."

Bob ordered the crew to drop anchor and take in the sails. The Saint Lovehart gently bumped against the rocky cavern wall as she lost headway.

"Keep a sharp eye out, lads," Bob said as he peered towards the distant caves. "We don't know who or what dwells here."

The crew stood tense and silent, hands drifting down to rest on belaying pins and cutlasses. All eyes were fixed on the mysterious lights dancing along the cavern walls.

After some time, a lone figure emerged from the nearest cave mouth. He stood looking out over the dark waters for a long moment before raising a hand in greeting.

Bob and Henry exchanged glances. This was no creature of darkness, but whether he could be trusted remained to be seen.

Bob turned to Henry and two of his most trusted crewmen, Jacob and Martel. "You three, with me. We'll go ashore and see if we can figure out who this stranger is."

The four men climbed down into the ship's rowboat and began pulling for the rocky shore beneath the cave mouth. As they drew closer, the bearded stranger raised his hand in greeting once more. He was an elderly fellow, with a mane of white hair that fell to his shoulders and a long, braided beard that reached his chest. His simple white robes gave him the look of a scholar or a mystic.

When the rowboat bumped against the rocky landing, Bob leapt ashore, hand resting casually on the hilt of his cutlass. The stranger bowed deeply as they approached.

"Greetings, travelers," he said in a reedy voice. "We have long awaited your arrival."

Bob and Henry exchanged glances. This was not the reception they had expected.

"You were expecting us?" Bob asked.

"But of course!" the stranger replied. "It was foretold in the prophecies that one day a ship would find its way through the Abyss to our sanctuary."

He turned and beckoned them towards the cave mouth. "Come, you must be weary from your travels. Food and lodging await you."

Bob hesitated, still wary of some trick or trap. But the stranger seemed genuine. With a nod to his men, they followed him into the cave.

It opened into a network of tunnels and chambers carved from the living rock. As they passed open doorways, Henry caught glimpses of simple living quarters and rooms stacked high with scrolls and books. Other white-robed men gazed out in curiosity as they passed.

At last they emerged into a grand hall, with a roaring firepit at its center. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread made Henry's mouth water after weeks of hardtack and salt pork. Rich carpets and tapestries adorned the walls. It was a paradise compared to the cramped quarters aboard the ship.

Henry savored the tender meat and crusty bread, washing it down with deep swallows of the fruity red wine. It was the first proper meal he'd enjoyed since boarding the Saint Lovehart what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Around the great firepit, a dozen men in white robes laughed and conversed, welcoming their strange visitors with generosity and good cheer. But Captain Bob remained aloof, nibbling at his food and sipping conservatively from his wine cup. His eyes continuously scanned the room, alert for any sign of deception.

Jacob and Martel showed no such restraint. They tore into the feast with gusto, cheeks bulging with food, faces growing increasingly flushed from the wine. Their raucous laughter echoed off the cavern walls.

After the plates were cleared, ornate decanters of brandy were passed around. As Henry sipped the fragrant liquor, a group of women entered the hall, their silk robes swishing softly as they walked. They glided gracefully around the room, refilling cups and flashing warm smiles.

Henry found himself captivated by one who paused before him. Her jet black hair framed an oval face with eyes that sparkled like onyx in the firelight. She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"More wine?" she asked, her voice as melodic as a songbird. Henry nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. She smiled and filled his cup to the brim with more of the sweet red vintage.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As the night wore on, the hall grew louder and more boisterous. Jacob and Martel were deep in their cups, singing bawdy sailing songs at the top of their lungs. Even some of the reserved men in white robes were laughing uproariously.

But Captain Bob remained detached, slowly nursing his second cup of wine. His eyes met Henry's, and his look conveyed the same thought - something about this place did not feel right. There was an artificiality to the revelry around them.

Henry stifled a yawn, the warmth of the fire and the lateness of the hour overtaking him. Several of the women glided over, urging the visitors to retire for the night and enjoy soft beds after so long at sea.

Henry found himself in a cozy stone room, a welcome respite after so long crammed into the cramped berth aboard ship. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and a comfortable looking bed was piled high with furs and quilts. It was a far cry from the swaying hammock that had been his bed for endless nights.

The beautiful girl in the silk robe glided into the room behind Henry. She smiled invitingly, letting her robe slip off one shoulder.

"Stay with me tonight," she purred, moving closer. Her fingers reached out to caress Henry's arm.

He hesitated, tempted for a moment by her obvious charms. But Captain Bob's wary look back in the hall was still fresh in his mind. Something about this place did not sit right.

"Thank you, but I should really get some rest," Henry said gently, stepping back from her touch.

Disappointment flashed briefly across the girl's face, but her smile quickly returned. "As you wish. Sleep well." She turned and slipped quietly from the room, closing the door behind her.

Now alone, Henry let out a sigh and looked around. The room was simple but well appointed. The large bed dominated the space, draped in luxurious quilts. A writing desk sat in one corner, stocked with parchment, ink and quills. The fireplace gave off a comforting warmth and light.

Along the back wall, Henry noticed another door. He crossed the room and turned the wrought iron handle, revealing a spacious bath chamber beyond. A stone pool was fed by a gentle waterfall that spilled down the far wall. The sound of the cascading water was soothing. Henry had not enjoyed a proper bath since departing on this arduous journey. The chance to wash away the grime of travel was sorely tempting.

He stripped off his worn tunic and trousers and slipped into the deliciously warm water. The aches and pains of weeks aboard ship melted away as he sank up to his neck. It was pure bliss. Henry lingered in the bath until his skin was pruned and the water had gone tepid. Finally, refreshed and relaxed, he climbed out and toweled off.

Henry paused as he caught sight of himself in the tall bronze mirror mounted on the wall. It had been many weeks since he had seen his reflection. A stranger's face looked back, gaunt and weathered from the arduous journey. His once bright eyes were dull and sunken, framed by dark circles from many a sleepless night. The black hair that tumbled past his shoulders was matted and unkempt. A thick beard obscured the lower half of his face, giving him a feral, untamed appearance.

He turned and examined the rest of his reflection. His body bore the scars of their arduous journey. Thin white lines crisscrossed his back and chest, remnants of old lashings from the storm-tossed deck. Other scars told tales of close calls with pirate blades and sea creature attacks.

Henry's eyes drifted down to a strange marking on his right shoulder blade. It portrayed the skeletal structure and muscular system under the skin's surface, rendered with flawless anatomical precision. The tattooist had adeptly shaded the design, creating the illusion that the outer layers had been peeled back, revealing the raw bones and tendons underneath.

It was so realistic that Henry reached up and gingerly touched the tattoo, half-expecting to feel the ridges and grooves of actual bone under his fingertips. But of course there was only smooth skin. He traced the outlines of the rendered scapula and clavicle bones, marveling at the precision of the artistry.

The tattoo must have taken hours, maybe even days to complete, requiring a steady hand and intricate skill with the needle. Henry twisted, trying to examine the entirety of the tattoo in the mirror. As he did, the flickering firelight caught something he had not noticed before. In the hollow of the rendered collarbone was an inscription in tiny calligraphic script. He leaned closer to the mirror, angling his body to try and make out the writing.

Henry stared at the intricate tattoo on his shoulder blade, tracing the outlines of the rendered bones. As the firelight flickered, he noticed something strange - the inscription in the hollow of the collarbone seemed to shift before his eyes. The tiny letters rippled and changed, reforming into the word "Dreamwalker".

Henry blinked in surprise. Was it just a trick of the unsteady light? He leaned closer, watching intently as the letters continued to morph and undulate. Before his unbelieving eyes, they spelled out a new message: "He is coming."

A chill ran down Henry's spine at those ominous words. The message lingered a moment more before the letters faded away entirely, leaving only the anatomical tattoo behind.

Unease growing, Henry hurriedly dressed and left his quarters. He needed to find Captain Bob immediately. Something was very wrong here. The captain had been right to be suspicious of their hosts and Henry cursed himself for not heeding the warnings.

He rushed through the torchlit tunnels, nearly bowling over one of the robed men in his haste. Henry stammered an apology without slowing. At last he came to the heavy wooden door of the captain's quarters. He pounded urgently on the planks.

"Bob! It's Henry. Let me in, quickly!"

He heard movement within, then the door creaked open. Captain Bob stood there, shirt half-unlaced, his face lined with worry.

"What is it, lad?"

Henry hurried inside, slamming the door shut behind him. "We have to get out of here, now!" he whispered harshly. "This place is all wrong. We're in terrible danger."

Bob's eyes widened at Henry's dire warning. He crossed the room in two quick strides and barred the door.

"You were right to be wary of this place," Henry finished. "We should gather the crew and flee back to the ship straight away."

Bob nodded. "I fear you may be right. There is a sinister air to this sanctuary that I misliked from the start. But we must tread cautious, lest we alert our hosts and find our escape cut off."

He peeked out through a crack in the door. The hallway beyond was deserted. "Come, but go quietly," Bob whispered. "It may not be too late to get the crew out of here unnoticed."

They crept down the torchlit passage, senses strained for any sign of the white-robed denizens. But the tunnels were eerily silent, their footsteps echoing off the rough stone walls.

At last they came to the sleeping quarters assigned to the crew. Bob paused, hand on the latch. "Ready your blade," he murmured. Henry loosened his cutlass in its scabbard and nodded.

Bob threw open the door. Inside, the room was empty, the crew's hammocks untouched. The men were nowhere to be seen.

Exchanging an ominous glance, they quickly checked the other nearby chambers. All were similarly vacant.

"Where could they be?" Henry wondered aloud, unease growing.

Bob's face was grim. "I fear treachery is afoot. We must find the crew and flee this place with all haste."

They continued searching, steeling themselves each time Bob opened a door. But all the rooms were deserted.

At last only one unchecked chamber remained at the end of the passage. They approached it slowly, blades drawn. Bob tried the latch. Locked.

He met Henry's gaze then slammed his shoulder against the sturdy wooden door. It burst inward with a crack of splintering timber. Inside, the room was empty.

Or so it first appeared. Then Henry's eyes were drawn to the ceiling. He recoiled with a shout.

There, upside down on the ceiling, were Jacob and Martel. Their arms and legs were splayed at impossible angles, faces contorted in horror.

Bob's oath rang out in the silence. "God's blood, what evil is this?"

Before either could react, a cold voice spoke from the doorway behind them.

"Leaving so soon?"

They whirled to find the white-robed leader watching them, an unpleasant smile on his face. Half a dozen more robed men flanked him, regarding Henry and Bob with cold malice.

Bob's blade came up. "Stay back, hellspawn! I'll see you all in perdition for this."

The leader chuckled. "Brave words, captain. But I fear your voyage ends here." He nodded to his acolytes. "Take them."

Bob and Henry found themselves quickly surrounded by the white-robed men. Though they stood back to back, blades flashing in the torchlight, they were greatly outnumbered. For each man they managed to cut down, two more took his place. A heavy blow struck Bob's wrist, sending his sword skittering across the stone floor. Henry fought on desperately, but a club to the back of his knees brought him crashing down. Strong hands wrenched his own blade from his grasp.

Panting and disarmed, they were hauled to their feet and marched down a winding passage. The white-robed men said nothing, their faces impassive behind their hoods. At a junction, two more cultists appeared, carrying the limp forms of Jacob and Martel slung over their shoulders. Even in unconsciousness, Bob's men bore looks of stark terror.

Deeper and deeper under the mountain they were taken, descending via crude stone steps into echoing caverns far below the sanctuary above. The air grew colder, carrying a faintly sulfurous odor. They passed natural pillars of stone and formations like giant teeth jutting up from the cave floor.

At last the passage opened into a vast chamber. Massive stalactites hung from the ceiling, glistening with moisture in the torchlight. The cultists forced their prisoners onward, toward the center of the cavern and the horrific sight that awaited them there.

A great stone altar, stained black with old blood, stood before a towering idol chiseled from the very rock of the mountain. This was a sacrificial chamber, and a sinister purpose seemed all too evident.

The prisoners were forced to their knees before the towering idol. Henry winced as the stone floor scraped his skin through his trousers. Beside him, Bob let out a muffled groan as a cultist wrenched his bad arm up behind his back.

Heavy footfalls echoed through the cavern then, and Henry lifted his head. His eyes went wide at the sight approaching.

A striking woman strode into the chamber, her voluptuous form wrapped in a dress of crimson silk. Raven hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, and her ruby lips curled into a smile as her dark eyes scanned the prisoners. She moved with predatory grace, swaying hypnotically with each step.

The white-robed cultists immediately fell to their knees before her. "My lady," the leader intoned reverently.

The woman said nothing, merely raising one delicate hand in acknowledgment. She moved past them and came to stand directly before the prisoners. Henry stared up at her, struck by her unearthly beauty even as a primal fear gripped him. There was something deeply wrong here.

The woman's smile widened, revealing two sharp fangs behind her full lips. Henry's blood turned to ice.

In one swift motion, she reached down and hauled Martel up by his tunic. The sailor was still unconscious, head lolling limply to the side. With terrible tenderness, the woman tilted his neck, then sank her fangs into his throat.

Martel jerked awake with a strangled cry which quickly turned to wet gurgles. His limbs spasmed briefly, then went still as the monster drained him dry. She let his lifeless body slip from her grasp to crumple on the cavern floor.

The woman turned her bloody smile on the remaining prisoners. Bob tensed, hands clenching into fists behind his back. Henry trembled, unable to tear his eyes away from the vampire's hypnotic gaze. She looked from one to the next, savoring their fear.

"Now then," she purred, "who shall be next?"

A sudden tremor shook the cavern, sending loose pebbles raining down from the ceiling. The vampire paused, head cocked to one side. Another tremor followed, stronger this time, making the stalactites quiver and shed dust.

There was a loud crack overhead and a perfectly circular shaft of light appeared high above, bathing the cavern in brightness. Henry and Bob squinted against the glare as shouts of alarm erupted from the cultists. They peered upward, shielding their eyes. Far above, it looked as if a section of the mountain had been cleanly sheared away, opening a direct path from the surface down into these buried depths.

Then something blocked the light. A shadowy figure dropped into view, silhouetted against the bright hole overhead. It fell rapidly, then landed nimbly in the midst of the confused cultists with scarcely a sound.

Details were hard to make out with the light behind it, but the creature appeared feline, with a lithe, muscular body covered in dark fur. Wicked claws extended from its beast-like paws, and its face was a mix of sharp teeth and intelligent, glowing red eyes.

Then the silence descended. No one dared to move a muscle, frozen in place by the sudden appearance of the feline creature. A tense stalemate hung in the air, as the cultists held their breath, uncertain of how to react to this unexpected intruder in their midst.