The dungeon loomed ahead of them, monstrous maw carved into the forest floor, framed by jagged stone and twisted roots of ancient trees. Kiaran felt the air gone cold within its entrance, chilling him skin and the metallic tang which filled the air with the tang of old blood. A sense of foreboding settled in his chest, but he regulated his breathing and kept his eyes forward as the rest of the group shuffled unsteadily behind.

Lysander moved forward with a confidence that seemed to draw from some reservoir of leadership. His hand shot up, gesturing for the others to keep close. "Stay sharp. We move fast, and we move quiet. No mistakes.

Kiaran gritted his teeth, biting at the urge to roll his eyes. The jerky, commanding moves Lysander was making would send a typical person off kilter, but he didn't let that distraction come into play. He felt the very slight heat of the stone against his chest, pulsing softly as if it had its own heartbeat guiding him forward. Eira's warning whispered through his thoughts: Trust no one in the depths.

The air around them began to thicken as they stepped through the entrance of the dungeon. It weighed in from all sides, pressing at them like a physical presence. The sloping passageway snaked through corridors carved out of rough-hewn stone, and was scarred by old runes and symbols. Dust coated the floor, having been disturbed only by faint footprints of long-gone adventurers.

They stepped through rooms littered with splintered arms and broken armor; the detritus of battles lost in the dark. Shadows darted at the edge of Kiaran's perception, nudging his senses. He held a hand resting on the hilt of his blade, surveying every inch of room.

Sounds came from further into the reach-a faint scratching noise such as claws scraping over stone. The group didn't hesitate, breaths fogging in the chill air. And then something darted out of the darkness: a twisted thing all sinew and bone, with too many limbs and a mouth full of needle-teeth. A swift lunge it made, but Kiaran's sword met it mid-air, slicing through the creature's throat in a blur of motion. Its body crumpled to the floor, dissolving into a pool of black ichor.

Kiaran cleaned his blade, his eyes flicking over to the others. Lysander's gaze lingered on him as suspicion curled his lips into a sneer, but he said nothing. The others looked at Kiaran as though struck by their fear and awe and the shadows of doubt that had begun to grow between them.

More and more, they ventured into the labyrinth. The air became colder and colder, and the flickers of their torch's flame grew more trepidant as if afraid to shine. Kiaran's fingers gripped the stone hidden under his cloak tighter as he felt the pulse become stronger, guiding him toward a path that veered off the main route.

A large hall with broken statues—petrified stone warriors frozen in postures of torture; their faces contorted with fear—filled the room. Lysander took one step forward, and a section of the floor creaked open beneath his feet as a mechanism clicked into place, accompanied by the grind of rusty machinery. Kiaran's instincts screamed out, and he sprang back as the floor gave way beneath them.

It gave with a sickening crunch, the floor leading down into a pit full of jagged spikes. Two of the adventurers took their trip into the darkness, screaming choked off by the impact of flesh against metal. Kiaran reached out and snagged a third by the wrist before she fell, hauling her back up into solid ground.

Puffing, Kiaran looked up to see Lysander glaring at him, his face twisted in wrath. "You reckless fool! This's you’re doing!"

Kiaran's temper flared. "Perhaps if you were not so keen on playing the hero, you might have seen this trap for what it was.".

Lysander's hand dropped to his sword, and for an instant he seemed as if he would draw it. But the survivors' eyes flew back and forth between them, and Lysander made himself smile tightly. "We have better things to concern us than your disrespect.".

Kiaran ignored him. His mind had already wandered on to the warm hug of stone against his chest. He pushed away from the group, his hand gesturing to follow the promptings of the stone, nudging him towards a dark corner of the room. He reached out and touched the knotted frill hidden beneath the rough surface of the wall with his fingers. He could feel the faint vibration of the stone.

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He pressed hard on the wall, which groaned and gave way with a low rumble, revealing a passage that was slick and narrow, and gleamed along its length with glowing runes. He glanced back over his shoulder to the others, so intent on salvage and tending to wounds they did not notice a thing out of place. Kiaran moved in the hidden path, swallowing him in shadows.

The air seemed to chill further as he descended down the hidden corridor, the runes upon the walls casting a faint, sickly light. His breaths came out as puffs of mist, and the whispers that filled the air grew louder, curling like serpents around his body. Visions flickered at the edge of his mind—soldiers in dark armor, the swords drenched in blood, fighting an unseen enemy beneath a blackened sky.

He stumbled, grabbing for his head as the visions crashed over him. He saw a rock, not unlike the one he wore, sitting on a pedestal in a temple that throbbed with ancient power. The floor around it was littered with the bodies of those who had tried to take it, their faces forever contorted into tortured screams.

Kiaran gasped, pushing the visions away. His hands were shaking as he pressed onward, going deeper down into the bowels of the dungeon. He reached the end of the corridor, where before him loomed a massive door covered in glyphs, their rhythm pulsating like that of the stone.

A shadow fell across the runes, and Kiaran's eyes moved to see Lysander standing behind him, his face dark. "Think you can just slip away and leave the rest of us to bleed out?"

Kiaran's hand clenched on his sword. "I'm no hero, Lysander. This place is far more treacherous than you'll ever guess, and I don't intend to be foolishly slaughtered by your pride.".

Lysander approached him. His voice was low and guttural. "You are hiding something. I've seen how you have changed-suddenly faster and stronger than ever. What awful bargain did you make, Kiaran?"

Kiaran's jaw set hard, but his expression remained cold. "If you think you can drop me, try it. But know this: whatever I have found here, it is not for the likes of you.".

Tension crackled between them, ready to flash and strike at each other. But footsteps and low-pitched voices echoed down the corridor and the others crept forward to see. Lysander forced a smile as he stepped back into the shadows but Kiaran could see the hate that simmered in his eyes.

They all stood before the closed door, their breath forming misting columns in the freezing air. The stone pulsed to the beat of the runes, guiding Kiaran's hand to the glyphs on the door. He hesitated, feeling the weight of the power inside and the darkness that hungered for release.

Lysander spoke, his words slicing into the silence. "Well, what's wrong? Open it.".

Kiaran shot him a glare, then smoothed his hand over the cold surface of the door. The runes flared to life, blazing with blue light, and the stone in his pocket burned hot against his chest. The whispers rose into a maddening cacophony, and the air shuddered as the door creaked open, revealing a darkness deeper than night.

He could feel the chill sweep through the corridor, and the stone's warmth bleed away, replace d by the cold that sank into his bones. He took a step backward, his stomach pooling with dread. But he couldn't turn back now. The door was open, and whatever lay beyond was waiting for them.

The adventurers stepped forward, peering into darkness beyond the threshold. But as they crossed the doorway, shadows shifted and twisted into shapes that moved with a will of their own. The ground seemed to ripple beneath their feet, curling and twisting like a living thing.

Kiaran scanned around the chamber, catching in his flickering torchlight fleeting glimpses of figures moving beyond the edges of beam and shadow: creatures with hollow eyes and skin that shone like embers. Their voices slid through the darkness, promising power and silences long buried.

Lysander's face went white, but he pressed on, raising his sword against the dark. "Stay together. We'll find whatever is here and get out of here to the surface.".

But Kiaran knew better. He could feel the darkness gathering in all about him, a hunger that gnawed at the edges of his mind. The stone's faint glow was a reassuring anchor against the void. His mind churned with questions about the stone, the visions, and the ancient power that seemed to thrash about on the edges of its prison.

Shadows closed over them, and Kiaran knew at once that they had lost the power to steer their own fate. They flung open a door that should have been sealed against all eternity, and so they had only this consequence. Whatever lay at the heart of this dungeon, it was no mere treasure. This was an heirloom of the darkness that had bequeathed dominion over this land long before any human foot had trod upon it, and it would not be made good without some cost.

Kiaran's breath shuddered as he stepped into the blackness, feeling the chill of ancient eyes upon his back. Whispers rose, filling his ears with promises of power, but he knew that behind those promises lay the bite of teeth. The dungeon had claimed many before them, and it wouldn't let go easily.

But looking back on those people's faces, he wondered if it wasn't their worst enemy that killed them, but darkness growing in their heart, inching closer with every step.