From all the things that I imagined to stop my progress, I never thought teaching something to walk would be the difficult part. Yet, soon that too will be overcome.

- Aqueel, the Inventor. Dated -46 b.f.

Out of all the things Silas had imagined himself doing when wanting to become an Artist, breaking into a crypt at night had been at the very bottom of his list.

“Stand back.” Zaya held both hands before her, her fingers clenching as she began to pull. Stone groaned as the massive slab blocking the entrance slid outwards. It fell with a heavy thud on the dry soil of the graveyard that shook the ground.

“I’ll go first,” Yamut announced. “Silas, you’ll make up the rear. These catacombs haven’t been touched in decades, and while they should be empty, it doesn’t hurt to be careful. Whatever you do, stay close.”

Yamut met Ashnur’s eyes and after receiving a nod, stepped into the crypt.

Darkness surrounded them as they followed Yamut down the stairs and left the fresh air of Nu-Taquim’s night behind them. “Why did the Empress seal these catacombs? Half the graves are empty,” Nurana observed.

Yamut attached a Magelight to his chest, illuminating the way ahead of them in a small cone. “They were built by the Originals. After The Downfall, anything remotely associated with the Originals was either destroyed or sealed away, like these catacombs. Knowledge gathered for centuries, all of it was lost as whole libraries were put to the torch. The fear of the ignorant can be a strong weapon.”

Both walls of the hallway showed holes in which stone coffins were placed, some of their carvings already unrecognizable, the letters faded with time. A winding staircase soon led them further down. The staircase opened up to another level, but Yamut continued further down.

According to him, the cells of the palace had originally been part of these catacombs before it had then been remodeled to accommodate the previous Empress’ needs. All entries had long been sealed shut, but with Zaya’s Art, they might be able to find a wall thin enough to gain access to the cells.

The third level was remarkably different from the first one. Instead of holes in the walls, entire chambers had been carved for each grave, with stone figurines placed around the carved stone coffins.

Yamut stopped as they entered a wide chamber with a massive statue of a dragon occupying the center. Its wings were spread, the claws on their ends almost scraping against the walls. Not just a dragon, Silas realized.

The Matriarch gazed down at them with wide shining eyes, the blood-red stone its statue was carved from so detailed Silas could see the nearly transparent membranes of her wings. Four tails sprouted from its back ending in tear-shaped tips that circled the Matriarch like snakes.

Ten saurians kneeled in a circle surrounding the Matriarch, each one with slightly different features. Silas had first thought they were humans, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Apart from the general shape, nothing remained of their human origin. Hard scales instead of skin, their heads elongated, and their eyes narrowed into slits, they were more reptile than human. Their heads were bowed before the Matriarch’s roaring statue, exposing countless rows of white teeth cut from marble.

“Behold.” Yamut spread his arms wide. “For this is our heritage, the ancient power that was feared throughout the entirety of Ceraviehl. The Ten Originals, blessed by the Matriarch herself.” Yamut looked at the back of his hands where three small black scales covered his skin. “How far we’ve fallen.”

“Have you ever seen the Eleventh?” Ashnur asked him.

A smile crept on Yamut’s face. “Yes, I have. Once. Being in the presence of someone directly blessed by the Matriarch is… exhilarating. You will know what I mean, once you have the chance to see her.”

Yamut took a few steps forward until he stood in line with the rest of the Originals. Kneeling down, he placed one hand on his knee, head bowed. “Before the Matriarch.”

“All will bow,” came their reply.

Silas was surprised at how fast he’d answered. He gazed up at the imposing statue of the Matriarch. The Ten Originals had died almost two millennia ago, and now, with the emergence of the Eleventh, the Matriarch had supposedly once more blessed a human.

Silas couldn’t forget the awe he’d felt when seeing the Dragons circling over Al-Talash. If the Matriarch really existed, Silas doubted anyone would be able to stop the supposed mother of all Dragons. He shook the thought from his head. That was probably how the Cult recruited its members. First, they would instill fear, and then offer a solution to the problem they caused in the first place.

Yamut led them into a hallway to the left, leaving the Matriarch’s statue behind them. Small rooms split off from the wide corridor, each one holding a single, large coffin. Too large for a human. Silas was surprised to see no vermin or insects in these halls. Rats tended to always find a way, yet this crypt was strangely devoid of life.

“The energy is thick in here. I can almost taste it,” Nurana commented. “Be careful.”

“You feel it, too?” Yamut gave her a curious glance before returning his attention to the corridor ahead of him. His long ponytail waved in the air, the oily hair standing out in the dim Magelight. “What Arts do you have?”

Nurana grimaced. “I’m sorry, but that’s a bit personal, I believe.”

A chuckle came from Yamut. “That was a rhetorical question, my dear. I was just curious what you’d answer.”

Nurana stiffened up. Zaya grazed her with her arm, giving Nurana a reassuring nod.

Yamut suddenly stopped. He walked into one of the adjacent rooms and stared at one of its walls for a brief moment before looking at a map in his hands and turning around. “This is it. Remember the plan. We go in silently, I’ll take out the guards in the first room, we find Imira, break her out, and leave through this entrance before they know what’s happening. Everybody ready?”

Yamut’s stare was met with nods. “Girl, your turn.”

“Name be Zaya,” she said, irritated.

Zaya stood before the wall, letting her hands roam over the stones as her fingers went into the gaps between the old bricks. Then, slowly, her hands began to draw on something invisible and the bricks loosened themselves from the wall, one at a time.

Everyone watched, their weapons ready. Silas glanced at Ashnur. His hands clenched a short spear that Ashnur held before him. Silas just hoped that Ashnur wouldn’t screw it up. They needed to move fast and silently. There wouldn’t be any time for family reunions.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Two layers were gone before the wall changed from bricks to solid rock. Zaya took a deep breath. Then, the wall began to shake. Dust fell from the ceiling of the catacomb’s chamber and a roughly door-shaped slab of stone was drawn out of the wall. Beads of sweat were collecting on Zaya’s head as she slowly pulled the slab all the way out of the wall. Yamut and Silas helped push it to the side, wincing every inch as it ground against the floor.

Yamut didn’t waste any time. Drawing two daggers, he stepped through the gap, peeking into the hallways before signaling them to follow. It was a long corridor, empty on both sides. Magelights hung in regular intervals, the smooth stone seeming like it had neither end nor beginning.

Silas waited for everyone to pass through before he took his spot at the rear. If someone were to detect them, he’d be the fastest to react with his bow. They might be able to take on a few guards by themselves, but if one of them raised the alarm, they’d have the entire garrison on their heels.

Apart from Ashnur and Layla, they were nearly silent. Silas would have liked to teach them the Ranger’s step before they left, but Yamut had insisted on acting today. A door marked the end of the hallway, faint voices coming from the other side. Yamut stopped, holding an ear to the wood. He waited for a few heartbeats. With a gesture of his hand, he ordered them all to wait.

Silas watched as darkness coalesced around his form, and before his very eyes, Yamut’s form began to blend into the shadows. From his palm, a thin tendril of something crept into the lock and the door opened without a sound. Yamut lunged into the room, his daggers flashing. All Silas could hear was a few hasty steps and one chortled breath. Yamut was back a moment later, cleaning the dagger with a dark brown rag from one of his pockets. “Done.”

Ashnur let out a breath of surprise as he saw the bodies slumped over their chairs. One had her throat cut, the blood now flowing over the table. Her slumped hand still held a few cards.

The other guard had a hole in his throat that was so clean it couldn’t have come from a dagger. Silas gulped. He had some confidence in his Arts, but Yamut wasn’t just an Artist. He was an assassin.

The room had three other exits, the table with the now-dead bodies sitting in its centre. Each exit was completely identical. Symbols Silas couldn’t decipher were carved into the stone above the doorframes. Why wouldn’t they just use letters?

Yamut beckoned them to follow him through the door heading straight, not sparing a second glance at the corpses.

More bodies to be disposed of in the sea, their dead eyes calling out for help, their words drowned out as they choked on the blood flowing out of their lungs. Silas tore his gaze away from the woman whose hair soaked up the blood slowly pooling on the table like a sponge. It was either him or them. They didn’t have a choice. The Empress wouldn’t just let them go, and Gnarly needed that cure.

The corridor ended before a thick, stone door reinforced with metal bars. Yamut took out the chain of keys he’d taken from one of the guards and got to work on the lock. Silas’ gaze shifted from the door to the hallway. He didn’t know how many guards were in here, but he knew that they were more than he and their small group could handle if they were discovered. The lock clicked, the heavy door begrudgingly swinging open.

The long, wide hallway was filled with sandstone cubicles on each side. They were so tiny it had taken Silas a moment to realize they were cells. Each one sported a heavy, windowless metal door. A small slit sat at the bottom to allow some fresh air to come in. Other than that, the cells were in complete darkness.

“The cells are enchanted to not let any noise out,” Yamut explained. “We don’t know in which cell Imira is, so we split up to search for her. As soon as you find her, let me know. We’re running out of time.”

Ashnur blanched. “Did somebody see us?”

Yamut was already walking towards the left side. “No, but it’ll only be a question of moments before the hole is discovered, and we need it to get back. Now go!” he said, pointing to the cells sitting at the right side.

Silas ran to the cells near the back. The sooner they got out of here, the better. He briefly stopped in front of one of them.

No human should live like this. There was a little black sheet of metal with a knob to the left side of the door. Silas pulled it back and looked through the tinted glass window. Despite the cramped space of the cell, it seemed almost empty. A small bucket sat in one corner and a rough mat of straw in the other. A person sat slumped against the back wall, holding one hand in front of their eyes as the light of the hallway flooded the room

One finger was missing from their right hand. Another had been crudely chopped off, the wound still fresh. Scarred skin was stretched to its limit over the sharp, spindly bones. Yellow-tainted knuckles protruded from its skin, seeming like swollen tumors. Silas didn’t need to be a healer to know it was infected.

Silas slowly slid the black metal sheet back over the window, then stopped. Sickness traveled up his stomach as he realized the metal was only there to deny the prisoners even the tiniest shred of light through the tainted window. He left the latch open.

Silas knew he couldn’t save the man. They didn’t have enough time, and as starved as he looked, Silas doubted he’d make it far. There was nothing he could do for him.

With an effort of will, Silas moved to the next cell. “Imi-,” he stopped as he saw the body lying on the floor, unmoving. “By the Gods, no.” He tore his eyes away from the gruesome sight and took a breath, glancing back towards the entrance. Everyone was busy checking the rows of cells. Except Ashnur. He stood near a cell to Silas’ left, hands in front of his eyes. He was shaking. Silas walked up to him. “Did you find her?”

Ashnur mumbled something incoherent.

Silas squeezed his Ashnur’s shoulder. “Ashnur, did you find her?”

The boy’s eyes finally focused on him as he recognized Silas. He pointed to a nearby cell, his finger quivering.

The latch was still half-open. Silas pulled it back. A woman was inside, facing the left wall. Symbols covered the entirety of the wall, some of them carved into the wall, others painted with dried blood. She turned her head slowly to face the window.

Two empty sockets stared at him. Silas took a step back. The woman grinned, revealing teeth sharpened to the point they resembled little shivs, poking out of her mouth. Her tongue flickered out to taste the air.

Bits of flesh were missing from multiple spots on her body. Her entire right hand was gone, cut off at the wrist. Bits of bone littered the floor. With a motion of her stump, the bones on the floor gathered to form themselves into a skeletal hand. Dragging itself over the floor with its fingers, the hand crawled up the woman’s face and settled in one of her empty eye sockets like a spider in its nest. Boney fingers gently caressed the woman’s scarred cheek.

The woman’s tongue twitched and pricked the edge of her teeth. A single drop of blood oozed out. The bones shivered in excitement. As if by an unseen command, the drop of blood floated from her tongue up to her eye socket, settling on the tip of her index finger.

The finger moved, now directly pointed at Silas. Parched lips formed words Silas couldn’t hear, all sound blocked out by the glass window. The drop of blood writhed as if trying to free itself from the woman’s grasp, and with a twitch from her index finger, the blood shot forward.

It splattered uselessly against the glass window as Silas took an instinctive step back. The woman cackled, the sharp tips of her teeth drawing blood from her lips.

Silas slammed the latch shut. The cell had held for so long, she wouldn’t be able to get out now. If whatever was inside could still be described as human. Silas turned to Ashnur, the whites in his eyes visible. “We need to find Imira, Ashnur. Your mother.”

Ashnur’s head shook in a semblance of a nod. Silas moved to the cell next to her.

“She’s here!” Nurana spoke up, her words echoing through the long hallway.

Yamut was by her side a heartbeat later. “Good job.” He opened her cell with one of the keys, and Imira strode out. To Silas’ surprise, she appeared to be relatively unharmed. Ashnur ran into her arms.

Silas looked away. It hurt too much. He could hear his quiet sobs as they reunited, muffled by their tight embrace.

The door to the cells banged open. Two figures stood in the entryway, weapons in hand. Silas pulled an arrow out of his quiver, laid it on the string, and drew his bow in one smooth motion. He didn’t have time to infuse it with energy.

The arrow hit the guard right in his throat. The man stumbled and as his back hit the wall, one hand clutching the arrow’s shaft. The other guard’s eyes roamed across the room, one hand grabbing something out of his pocket.

“No!” Yamut screamed, energies coiling around him as he sprung forward.

The guard held a small, round device, his thumb pressing down on a button in its center. Yamut threw one of his daggers with a flick of his wrist. It missed the guard’s hand by mere inches. The device clicked. A pulse of energy blew outward, vanishing a moment later. Yamut was upon the guard in a heartbeat and buried one of his daggers deep in the guard’s eye.

Metal clanged against the stone floor as the device fell. Yamut stared at it, his eyes wide. For the first time, Silas saw a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes.

They had been found out.