The convoy trudged along the narrow, well-trodden path that wound through the forest, the sound of the wagon’s wheels creaking over uneven ground filling the otherwise quiet air. The road wasn’t paved—just dirt and fallen leaves flattened by countless journeys before theirs. For hours, they moved through the dense trees, the branches closing in above them like a canopy, blocking out most of the sky. Eventually, the path led to a small clearing. Before them loomed the mountainside, a steep and rugged wall of rock that seemed utterly insurmountable. Stick tilted his head back to take it all in, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The mountain looked impossible to climb, and yet Becket urged the carriage and wagon straight toward it. Stick furrowed his brow. Something seems… off.
His eyes landed on a square-shaped section of the mountainside—three meters tall and wide, just a shade darker than the surrounding stone. He stared at it, puzzled, as the carriage came to a halt in front of the odd patch of rock. Becket wordlessly climbed down from the driver’s seat and approached the square. Without a sound, he disappeared behind it. Stick exchanged a bewildered glance with Shadis, who was just as clueless as himself. A tense silence settled over the group. Then, Stick noticed movement—slow, uneven. The square section of rock started to roll upward in fits and starts. He stretched his neck, peering closer, almost falling out of the wagon. Becket was behind the massive stone drape, pulling on a heavy chain to lift it. As it rose, a cave was revealed—an entrance swallowed in complete darkness. No, not a cave. A secret tunnel!
Becket gave a few more strong pulls until the gap was large enough for the carriage to enter. He climbed back onto the wagon, following the carriage inside. Once they were all in, he hopped off and lowered the stone drape, sealing them in darkness. The sound of the horses scuttling filled the cavernous tunnel, their hooves restless on the stone floor. Becket appeared beside the wagon with a lit torch, its flickering flame casting long shadows on the walls. He murmured to the horses, calming them with gentle pats. Up ahead, the carriage’s windows suddenly glowed with a faint light, illuminating their surroundings. An oil lamp burned inside, its flame casting an eerie glow that was… purple?
The carriage began to move again, and Becket clicked his tongue, scrambling back into the driver’s seat of the wagon. He fumbled with the torch, trying to wedge it into a holder on the side. As the carriage pulled further ahead, he clicked his tongue in frustration and snapped the reins, urging the horses to keep pace. The air in the tunnel was thick, stale, and difficult to breathe, pressing in on them like a weight. Stick couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls were closing in around them. It reminded him of the tunnel he dug with PP. But this one’s different.
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The tunnel itself was unnerving—perfectly smooth, its height and width unwavering the entire way. The stone surface had a precision that was unnatural, almost as if the mountain had been cut through in a single motion. It looked like it was punched through… but that was impossible.
image [https://i.imgur.com/Sj34Nzf.jpeg]
"They must have used Lord Alastair’s work,” Shadis commented quietly from beside him, sensing his amazement.
Stick raised an eyebrow. “It does seem magical.”
“No,” Shadis scoffed, shaking his head. “No magic. There’s no mage that can do something like this. He’s a great inventor.”
Stick blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”
Shadis stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Lord Alastair came up with all kinds of sophisticated machinery for the mines in the Dragon’s Spine.”
“Really? And we have to use pickaxes?”
Shadis chuckled grimly. “I suppose when it comes to slaves, Carnifex is not rolling out the expensive equipment.”
Stick stared ahead, trying to wrap his head around it.
“Although… this does worry me,” Shadis added, his voice lowering.
Stick glanced at him. “What? Why?”
“I haven’t seen a machine that can do this before,” Shadis admitted, his tone grim.
A cold knot formed in Stick’s stomach. “Do you think they have Alastair?”
“Not necessarily.” Shadis shrugged. “Maybe they just uncovered his research at the Factory.”
“But what if they captured him?”
Shadis’s expression darkened. “Then he’s most likely locked up in the capital.”
“Or worse,” Stick muttered, his stomach sinking further.
He thought of the twins, their plan, and the possibility that they were chasing a ghost made his worries grow bigger and bigger. If Alastair was gone…
“Mister Arslan,” Shadis cleared his throat, interrupting Stick’s spiraling thoughts. “Lord Alastair has the strength of an army and wits as sharp as a dragon’s claws. The very assumption that he might be dead is an insult for which I’ll have you keelhauled.”
Stick blinked, momentarily speechless. Shadis met his eyes in the dim light of the torch, a stern expression on his face. But then, a toothy grin broke through his beard, and he started to laugh. Stick couldn’t help but join in. The last person he’d expected to joke while they were captives inside a mysterious tunnel, deep in enemy territory, surrounded by uncertainty about their future, was the cold and formal Sir Moore. But in that moment, Stick realized he was grateful to have him as an ally as they rode onward, deeper into the heart of Carnifex.