I try to remember how to address a nymph in the proper manner. "I am DARK NUNS. Are you from here?"

"You mean this dirty troll pit, in particular? No. I have a house above." She blinks. "Had a house. Which reminds me—I need to find someone. And ask him why he destroyed my work."

We still haven't been properly introduced. "As you know, I am DARK NUNS, and you are?"

"Not impressed," the nymph says. "Surely you must recognize me. I am Melaxu, the philosopher."

You offer a slight shake of your head, and she sighs. "I suppose everyone I once knew is dead. Anyway, a man in a brown hood and cape burned my scrolls and destroyed my work. I believe the trolls serve him. Unfortunately, nymphs are not built for life underground. I must return to the surface and reconsider my approach. Why are you here, anyway?"

"My mother wanted me to scout the troll tunnel. It's strange–she never mentioned you."

"You should have asked her about my grandmother," Melaxu says absently. "They fought together once. I wonder how many trolls they killed, back when the trolls swore themselves to Hareetha. In those days they practiced cannibalism as a sacrament, to honor Acamon, the god of destruction. Now I think they do it because they have become beasts. Oh, did you not know? If you die here, they will eat you. They have been eating each other."

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While she talks, Melaxu grabs a dripping candle from one of the dead trolls and uses it to light a piece of moss-covered, soggy-looking wood. Somehow it catches, blazing with a clean green-gold flame. For a moment you think you see something moving inside the wood, but you cannot look directly into the fire.

The nymph wears a wide sky-blue shawl tucked into a belt, a white tunic fastened with an ivory fibula that falls to mid-knee, and plain sandals. Everything is exceptionally crafted, but not in the style of your tribe.

Footsteps echo from somewhere, but you cannot tell where.

"They'll find us," Melaxu says, handing you the mossy torch. "We're leaving."

She navigates you back to the tunnel where you awoke. Together you make your way upslope. Two people have no difficulty surmounting the rock face, and in moments you can smell pine and see dangling roots. The unworked stone gives way to signs of more recent excavation. You're in the old tin mine, exhausted and abandoned some time before your family arrived.

The pressure on your mind retreats. Perhaps dark gods sought you for their own purposes down here. If so, they seem to be losing their hold on your soul.

But then you hear more trolls, their excited voices echoing off the rocks and support beams. The two of you wait in silence until their footsteps fade. The nymph looks terrified, as if she might flee into the darkness at any moment in a desperate attempt to reach the surface. Though it might just be the torch's green light making her look sickly.