The place he came across now was an attack on the senses. Compared to the dour life above, the underground exploded with life. Luminescent mushrooms hung from the ceiling. A lush grass covered his feet, quite comforting in his opinion. But oddly colored, stark yellows and mesmerizing gray’s combined to make the grass of his path.

He began to hear scurrying now, and noises of animals. Birds, sweet things with high pitched songs. There were cicada’s too, and as he looked to his side there were even deer prints.

Once again, the walls were gone but this time the exit did not disappear. The ceiling stayed, but it was carved in a beautiful way. Arches that accentuated life, spring’s of water had appeared around him, and there was even a group of people sitting around a small pond. They spoke joyfully, not caring of the man at all.

A dragonfly flew past him, looking for a place to lay its eggs. A wind caught him, and he could only open his eyes in shock. There was a tree, confining itself to the cave’s ceiling as best as it could. It seemed like a place meant to be, a testament to the endurance of life.

The man looked around, once again not knowing where to go. So he approached the crowd, ready to once again ask for guidance.

“Hello there! Uh, I was wondering do you know how to go deeper? I’m looking for…” He thought about how the dragon told him to search for his name, but disregarded asking directly. His name existed deeper in the cave, it would not be in a place with such reverence for life. It would be at the culmination, the bottom of the cave. “Well I’m looking to see how deep this can go, I suppose.”

To this the party gathered at the pond stopped their merry conversation, and turned to the man with dogged eyes. But the moment they looked him up and down, they instead opened their eyes with delight. “We’ve been waiting for you! We heard your footsteps!” The group gets up all together, surrounding him quickly. They were sizing him up from every angle, admiring but not intruding. One was unbelievably fascinated by the crown, a bald one with a hunched posture.

That brings us to their face, which the man realized was obscured in a truly visual spectacle. He couldn’t make out any defining features, they were simply an amalgamation, shifting with almost every moment. It caused him a quiet headache, though he didn’t wish to be rude.

“Uh, please? Do you know a way down?” He repeated, hoping that their reverence for him would allow him an answer. No one did, until one started speaking in quite a high voice.

“Oh, you endured the sands! How hard that must have been, no wonder you’re a king.”

These words hurt him in a way he didn’t know. Others began to speak.

“I saw the winds, but you got away! Haven’t you considered yourself quite a hero?”

He was a coward, he ran. Someone was there, there could have been others. Was he a hero for running away? He’d never admonished himself for the act, but to be praised? He didn’t understand.

“You stared the Reaper in the eyes! You’ve conquered death, you must fear nothing!”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The reaper spared him. She decided his fate, whether to live or die. To say he conquered death, and even fear was foolish. Why the very winds made him frightful.

“And who can forget the king carrying out the fairies final wish? It tugs at the heartstrings, the empathy of the man does it not?”

This made him ill. The Fairy was full of life in its last moments, and yet he was being praised for his arbitrary decision to follow him? They spoke clearly of his journey, but he’d seen it so differently. Was he wrong? The doubt introduced itself into his mind, and he felt himself begin to fragment as the Spirits continued to speak.

“You faced the dragon and outwitted him, coming to the cave for safety. A wise choice, you are quite a man!”

“Have you not forgotten your reverence of the dead at the height of the dunes? Only a pious man could do such a thing!”

“And what of-and what of-And what of-” A constant repeating of his acts, examined and praised. He felt a gear shifting in his head, one of arrogance and conceit. He thought he stood above, that he was the king of the desert. He thought his journey was a grand one, and that he had a grand goal.

And then his eye caught the dimmed light, still following him all this time. It’s glow was nothing of significance, he’d made sure of it himself. But it still cast its light, as dim as it was. With dedication and no second thought, the light sat there above them. And as the voices continued to surround him, he thought of the light, and only the light.

“Your words… they’re empty. A king, he doesn’t worry himself with his actions being mighty, or empathetic. He views the world with a steady heart. It is my dignity to explain that fact to you.” He’d had enough. Like the light, he would shine no matter how dimly. He would take it upon himself to lead, and tell the stories of what he’d seen.

And then he felt one of The Spirits grab the hilt of the knife from his side, jumping back as it unsheathed the knife. Not swinging it wildly, but simply examining it in intense detail. The Spirit that grabbed the knife had a bald head, and his face was rapidly forming into a coherent one. And immediately the man understood, this was The Coward.

“I KNEW IT!” He yelled ferociously, looking at the knife with a maddened dementation. “You say you are a king, and you act like a king with your crown and your talk of dignity! But see this, a relic from a corpse taken without any act of mercy! A king you say you are, but really, a thief you are!” And the Coward rose the knife high, and the spirits all stared in conjunction.

There was an eerie silence for a long time, and the man wanted to defend himself. To say he had simply taken it as a way of preserving the Coward’s legacy. But the Coward’s words had stunned him. He was right. He had gone back for the knife, and hadn’t even given a moment’s courtesy to the body.

Was he afraid of blood splashing onto his cloak? This thought drilled into him, and he could only look in a stupor.

The Spirits, after their communal examination of the knife, grabbed the man with as much force as they could. The man did not resist, his eyes were hazy and the crown upon his head drooped more than it ever had before.

The Coward snickered with confidence, fading back into obscurity and dropping the knife at the side of the pond. The spirits were taking him, not down further into the cave, but deeper into their domain. The grass changed from yellow and gray to red with no vibrancy. The light changed, it no longer came from the mushrooms but from the floor in a ghoulish mist.

The man had no concept of time, his daze continuing for a long while. Eventually the Spirits threw him, without about as much force as they could, over a stone ledge.

And this was where the man would meet the thing known as the Shade, as its eyes now bored into his soul, and each of its 6 arms began to constrict around his body like a spider would in its web.