Bo shot across the platforms, his legs and arms kicking up in a rhythm he was still learning to trust, each leap sending him higher, each landing feeling a little less wobbly. Ahead, a narrow bridge teetered beneath a rotating trio of oversized cloud hammers, each one poised to whack the first thing foolish enough to cross its path. He focused, crouched, and then sprung, a flicker of instinct telling him when to jump again mid-air just as the first hammer came crashing down.
He managed to twist and swing his paw to grab the bridge’s edge, hanging by one hand as his mochi-body stretched, dangling dangerously over a gap that seemed to lead nowhere but down. Gritting his teeth, he swung himself up and scampered across, his new cat-paws grabbing with surprising tenacity.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about, Bunbun!” Lucy cheered from her cloud-like perch in the air, her wings fluttering excitedly. “I knew you had it in you!”
He reached the last platform, a towering cliff with a single massive hammer perched atop, swaying back and forth with ominous precision. Timing was everything, and he bounced in place, psyching himself up for the final leap.
“Okay, you’ve got this,” he muttered, springing forward and double-jumped just as the hammer swept by, barely missing his fluffy ears. He grinned, landing gracefully on the cliff edge—only to hear a faint ping. Distracted, he glanced up just in time to see a message blinking in his vision.
[People approaching the Well]
“What the…” His grip loosened, and in the split second he turned his attention to the notification, the hammer swung back around with a heavy whomp that sent him careening off the edge of the platform, arms flailing, his yelp ringing out as he plummeted toward the cushiony, cloudy ground below.
He landed with a squishy poof and lay there, dazed, as the hammer continued its relentless, unfeeling swings high above.
Lucy’s laughter echoed down as she floated over, clapping her hands together in delight. “Bunbun, that was priceless! But you might want to work on your focus. Life won’t always pause for a text message!”
But Bo barely heard her, his gaze fixed on the notification still lingering in the corner of his vision. “There are people at the Well,” he murmured, slowly sitting up. His brows furrowed, curiosity and unease tugging at him.
“Maybe it’s that boy you helped?” Aeri suggested, floating down to his side, her gentle glow revealing the hint of worry in her usually soft expression.
“Only one way to find out,” Bo said, already scrambling to his feet. He darted toward a great oak standing tall at the field’s edge. The hollowed base of the tree shimmered, a portal Lucy had created, its bark swirling with silver light. Without a second thought, he dived through, feeling a cool rush of energy as he was pulled through to the other side.
In a flash, he stepped out from the hollow of another tree at the meadow’s edge, where the Well stood quietly at the heart of the glade. Bo dashed toward the Well, the cool morning mist swirling around his ankles as he crossed the meadow. But when he arrived at its edge, he skidded to a stop. The Well was filled with water. It was still, but ripples along its surface seemed to pulse with a strange energy. He peered over, expecting to see signs of the thugs, but there was nothing—no shadows or reflections, no sound. Just the misty water swirling calmly.
“Pathfinder,” he whispered, a note of unease creeping into his voice. His gut told him something was off. He took a step forward, reaching out a paw to the Well’s edge, but an invisible force pushed back, preventing him from stepping any closer.
A notification flashed before him.
[Quest in Progress: A Test of Worth]
The words hovered in his vision, illuminated with a faint, pulsing light. He scanned the details, and his brow furrowed as he read the conditions.
Objective: Allow the newcomers to traverse the depths alone, finding their Path of Purpose.
Capacity Reached: 4/4
Protection Limitations: The Pathfinder cannot extend its shield beyond four participants.
“What…?” Bo muttered, the implications settling over him like a heavy cloak. The Pathfinder had chosen not to include him in this quest—a decision it clearly wasn’t sharing lightly.
His mind raced, frustration prickling in his chest. It was one thing to send them down without him, but it was another entirely to close him out. But here he was, blocked from the underground world and left on the sidelines.
----------------------------------------
Moments earlier…
The boy staggered slightly as they neared the Wishing Well, still feeling the throbbing sting from the thug’s earlier slap. But the familiar sight of the Well, standing peacefully in the misty glade, filled him with a flicker of hope. At least the bunny spirit wasn’t here, he thought with relief. Hopefully the bunny spirit wouldn’t return anytime soon and was somewhere safe, away from these people.
Three others were with him: a man with a dark coat slung over his shoulders, standing with an arrogant stance, and two shadowy figures behind him, one male and one female, each with hard expressions and hands resting on their belts, where they had a variety of weapons and tools.
“Is this it?” one of the men sneered, crossing his arms as he scanned the meadow, unimpressed. “Doesn’t look like much.”
The boy took a deep breath, using their distraction to edge away, fingers brushing the small, glowing Wisp that had been trailing him as if guiding him. If he could just take a few steps back into the mist—maybe he could disappear before they noticed. If he had the Wisp, they’d be left wandering in circles, with the mist taking care of them. He took one cautious step back, then another, edging slowly toward the shadows.
But the woman’s eyes, sharp and gleaming, caught his movement. In a flash, she snapped her leather whip, the sound cracking through the quiet. It wrapped around his waist, yanking him off balance and pulling him back toward her.
“Where do you think you’re going, little hero?” Her voice dripped with mock sweetness as she tightened the grip on her whip, forcing him closer. “We didn’t bring you here to watch you scamper off into the mist. Besides,” she added, her tone softening to a threat, “you have a cute little sister, don’t you? Hate to think what’d happen to her if you made things… difficult.”
The boy’s face paled, and he clenched his fists, any thoughts of escape withering as quickly as they’d come. His gaze fell to the ground, shoulders slumping in defeat.
The leader strode up to the Well’s edge, squinting into its depths, the misty water within swirling slightly, casting faint ripples of light on his face. “So, kid,” he sneered, gesturing toward the Well, “how’s it work?”
The boy said nothing, jaw clenched tight. He refused to help them any further.
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Annoyed, the leader glanced back to his underlings. “The ‘Guardian Spirit’ we heard of is nowhere to be seen, it’s actually a good opportunity. If all it takes is a wish, then let’s get to it.” He leaned closer to the Well, his greedy grin widening. “Alright, I wish for wealth, enough to drown the port city Skyridge Haven!”
For a long, breathless moment, the Well was silent. But then, in a slow, almost tired response, the misty water within began to swirl faster, forming shapes that took on a ghostly clarity. The thugs watched as the mist slowly parted, revealing the outline of a spiraling stone staircase, leading down into the depths.
An ethereal voice spoke then—not aloud, but directly into their mind. Its tone was gentle and entrancing, like the whispers of a lover.
Follow the path I have opened and bring me the fragments of my past. In return, I will grant you riches beyond your wildest dreams.
An image appeared before their eyes, a vision that felt as if it had been carved into the very air. They saw broken fragments—small, intricate pieces of stone inlaid with faint blue runes, etched with patterns too delicate to decipher, like shattered pieces of a larger, mysterious design. Each fragment glowed faintly, its edges smooth but jagged, as if torn from something.
Their hearts raced as the vision shifted. Now, instead of the fragments, they saw an immense chamber filled with mountains of glittering treasures—coins, weapons inlaid with gemstones, golden statues, and ancient artifacts piled high enough to nearly reach the ceiling. The sight was dazzling, overwhelming even in its ghostly form, each piece of treasure exuding a palpable sense of worth beyond imagination.
The leader’s eyes sparkled with barely-contained greed as he looked down the staircase, his grip tightening on his knife. “You see that?” he said, glancing at his companions, who were similarly entranced by the prospect. “That’s what we’re here for. Wealth enough to buy out the whole island if we want to.”
But the boy remained still, a strange new resolve growing within him. He’d felt the Well’s presence, sensed its purpose. It wasn’t offering him riches. No, this was something different—an opportunity to grow, to become strong enough to protect his family, his little sister. If he could fulfill the Well’s goals, perhaps he’d find the strength he’d always lacked.
Without waiting for further urging, the group stepped toward the staircase, disappearing into the mist as the Well’s voice echoed faintly in the boy’s ears.
A test awaits those who would walk my paths.
The tunnel stretched before them, a dark, narrow passage that twisted down into the earth. The boy led the way, pale and trembling, casting glances over his shoulder at the other three. The woman, the sharper of the two henchmen, was the first to step forward, pulling her cloak closer as the darkness thickened around them.
“Keep moving,” she muttered to the boy, who nodded and swallowed hard, pressing forward as the passage widened into a grand chamber.
Their eyes adjusted to the dim glow of faintly luminescent stones embedded in the walls, casting an otherworldly light across the cavern. The space opened into a beautiful, ghostly ruin—columns decorated with intricate carvings loomed on either side of a wide path that wound downwards, flanked by spires of crystal, tinged in emerald and sapphire hues.
“Place is old,” one of the men whispered, his voice nearly swallowed by the silence. They all felt it—this oppressive, haunting beauty. Every wall, every pillar, even the ground they walked on bore signs of a lost era. Strange, insect-like engravings wound along the stone, like the remnants of a civilization that had once thrived here and vanished.
As they walked, the woman let out a low whistle, pausing by one of the carvings. “Think we’re the first ones down here?”
The leader scoffed, though his face was tense, eyes darting around. “Place looks like it’s been dead for centuries. No one else would know it even exists… besides us.”
Just as he spoke, a low rumble echoed through the cavern, vibrating the stones beneath their feet. They tensed, glancing around, when, in the shadows, something stirred—a ripple of movement along the walls.
“What… what was that?” the boy stammered, backing into one of the thugs.
“Quiet,” the leader snapped, his voice laced with irritation, though he couldn’t quite mask his own unease.
They pressed onward, drawn by the faint gleam of golden light in the distance. Their breaths mingled in the chill air, frost seeming to cling to their words. The tunnel curved around a bend, and the temperature dropped even further, an invisible weight pressing against their shoulders.
Ahead lay what appeared to be an altar, overgrown with luminescent moss and surrounded by towering statues whose eyes, carved from some glassy, green stone, seemed to watch them with a silent gaze.
The leader’s greedy eyes widened as blue flames flickered to life in the sconces around the room, casting an otherworldly glow over mountains of gold, jewels, and ancient artifacts strewn across the cavern floor. The treasures sparkled in the torchlight, enough wealth to fill their dreams a hundred times over.
The woman’s gaze softened as she took in the sight of it all, tears forming in her eyes as her hands trembled slightly. She thought of her frail mother in Skyridge Haven, a woman who had worked all her life for her, now with too-thin wrists and bedridden. She had once dreamed of becoming an artist one day, but the realities of survival had always squashed those dreams down. With this kind of fortune, she could get the best medicines and doctors for her mother, and she could go to a prestigious school, obtaining a life beyond the grime and danger of the streets.
Beside her—the tall man with a scar tracing down his cheek—gritted his teeth, his hand instinctively going to a necklace tucked under his shirt. It had belonged to his late wife, a woman who’d believed he could leave this life, that they could make something of themselves. She’d been taken too soon, and since then, he’d lived for nothing but the next payday, drowning out her memory with coin and drinks. But with this, he could honor her dream, give their son a life worth living.
The leader glanced at them, noting the glimmer in their eyes, but his own motives were simpler. He craved power—a seat at the table in Skyridge Haven’s Underworld. The riches here would buy him influence, the means to become more than just a low-level thug, scraping and scrounging for scraps.
They moved forward as if in a trance, each step drawing them closer to the piles of treasure. But as they neared the altar, something stirred. The statues surrounding the treasure shifted, ancient guardians come to life, stone limbs grinding and cracking. Their hollow eyes flared, a cold, spectral blue.
The boy, standing at the edge of the room, felt his heart race as the statues moved with a silent, dreadful purpose, blocking the path to the wealth before them. Then, in a voice that seemed to echo from every shadow in the room, a low, rumbling voice filled the cavern.
"Your worth shall be tested. Riches await… only for the pure of purpose. Courage, loyalty, truth, and… death, are required to claim what lies within. Fail… and you will be claimed."
A brief, breathless silence settled as the words sank in. Then, the flames danced higher, illuminating three pathways that stretched out before them, leading into shadowed passages at the far end of the room. Above each entrance, intricate carvings glowed, spelling out the words:
Path of Courage
Path of Loyalty
Path of Truth
Path of Shadows
The woman swallowed hard, her eyes darting between the paths. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
The leader sneered, gripping his knife with white knuckles. “We don’t have a choice. I’m not leaving here empty-handed.”
The boy watched them silently, a strange look in his eyes. He didn’t want to help them, but he couldn’t deny the faint flicker of hope that had appeared at the Well’s promise to guide him, to help him grow strong enough to protect his sister and his home.
Finally, the leader straightened and stepped toward the path marked Courage. His voice was gruff, but beneath the bravado, a glimmer of fear betrayed him. “I’ll take this one,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself.
The scarred man glanced down at the necklace around his neck, then at the woman. “I’ll go down Loyalty,” he murmured. His gaze hardened, his fingers brushing the worn silver locket. “For them.”
The woman, though hesitant, turned to the last path, the one marked Truth. She let out a slow, shuddering breath, her mind filled with images of her mother’s hopeful smile, of the future she might finally obtain if she succeeded here. “I’ll take this one. We make it through, we meet back here, agreed? And if someone among us don't make it... You know what to do...”
They nodded to each other, the unspoken promise heavy in the air. Then, without another word, each turned to face their chosen path and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the boy alone.
He took a step back, heart pounding, unsure if he should follow or try to escape.
His gaze lingered on the entrance of the Path of Shadows. A strange, almost calming pull seemed to beckon him forward, whispering of strength, of purpose. His heart pounded, the weight of his family’s future heavy on his mind. He’d come this far not only because he’d been forced to but because he’d held onto a slim hope—the hope of becoming strong enough to protect them.
He stood there, heart racing, caught between fear and that unshakable pull. The faintest shimmer of light glinted from the Path of Shadows, a whisper almost too quiet to hear: This way lies strength.
Taking a steadying breath, the boy took a step toward the shadows, his eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. With a final look back at the cavern devoid of life, he disappeared into the unknown.