Debris crunched underfoot as Thomas darted through winding tunnels, his hand raised to signal each turn. Elysian's pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out the sounds of their hushed breaths. A scuffling noise, then a choked gasp. One of Thomas's men, eyes wide with terror, clawed at the ground as bony fingers erupted from the earth, latching onto his ankle.

"Help!" he wheezed, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the crumbling stone floor.

Thomas lunged forward, grasping the man's arms. Elysian dove for his legs, wrestling against the unyielding grip of the skeletal hands. More arms burst from the ground around them, pale and grasping. Elysian's muscles strained as he and Thomas heaved, wrenching their companion free with a sickening crack of bone.

"Move!" Thomas hissed, already half-dragging the injured man down the passage. Elysian scrambled after them, the sound of dry bones scraping stone nipping at their heels.

Finally, they emerged one by one through a gap in the floorboards of an abandoned house. The last to crawl out, Elysian collapsed onto the dusty floor. His chest heaved, lungs burning with each ragged breath. His limbs felt like lead, refusing to obey even the simplest commands.

He could feel it—the last dregs of his aura flickering like a dying flame. Even BloodShade's power had waned to a mere whisper. The world seemed to spin around him, his vision blurring at the edges. He was now in danger of aura exhaustion. A cold dread settled in his gut. In this state, even the slightest threat could prove fatal.

Elysian's eyes met those of his companions. Their faces mirrored his own exhaustion, but beneath it all, a spark of relief. They had made it out, alive.

Elysian's muscles protested as he dragged himself to the nearest wall, slumping against it. His eyes, heavy-lidded with exhaustion, scanned the faces of his companions. "Since when," he panted, "did Ironspire have a connection to Eshkand?"

Amara's brow furrowed. "Eshkand?" She glanced at Thomas, who merely shrugged, his face a mask of confusion.

"Eshkand," Elysian repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "The realm of death."

Thomas' eyes widened in recognition. "Ah, you mean Tiamar."

Now it was Elysian's turn to look puzzled. "Tiamar?"

Osric cleared his throat, his compose tone at odds with their disheveled appearances. "It's the common term for the realm of death, master. The people's term for it is Grashnak-Kur."

"Grashnak-Kur?" Elysian echoed, tasting the foreign syllables.

"Indeed," Osric nodded. "It translates to 'pit of death'." He turned to Thomas, his eyes narrowing. "The master raises a valid point. When did Ironspire become infested with the undead?"

Thomas ran a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, his eyes distant. "It's always been there. Since before I was born. Us street rats, we've learned to dance with death in those ruins."

Elysian's jaw dropped. "And I'm only hearing about this now?"

Osric muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "How could I not have known?" Meanwhile, Bran's face had gone pale, his eyes wide with unspoken terror.

Sybil cleared his throat. "We'd heard whispers, but..." He shrugged, a wry smile on his face. "Thought it was just the thugs trying to scare us off their turf."

Thomas nodded. "Aye, that was the idea. Keep it quiet, keep it ours." His voice dropped low. "It's our edge against the Crimson Talon and the other big players. Also, we feared the Baron's men swarming the place if word got out."

Elysian's fists clenched, his voice rising. "Are you mad? This isn't just about your petty turf wars! The entire city could be at risk!"

"No," Thomas cut in, his tone sharp.

"No?" Elysian echoed, incredulous.

Thomas leaned forward, his eyes locked on Elysian's. "We know the danger. We live it. But a threat to the city?" He shook his head. "These bones have been rattling since before Ironspire was a twinkle in some noble's eye. The city still stands, doesn't it?"

Seeing Elysian's skepticism, Thomas pressed on. "Look, they don't come topside. They stick to the deep dark, to the deeper ruins. Only reason they're up and about now is all the fresh death. It's like..." he paused, searching for words, "like they're drawn to it."

Elysian's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with frustration. "We can't gamble with the entire barony's safety just to protect your personal interest."

Bran, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke up. His voice quavered, barely above a whisper. "Young master, if there are skeletons down there..." He swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "What if there's worse? Like... like ghosts?" His large frame seemed to shrink as he voiced his fears. "If we wake them up, they might come after us all."

Elysian's nostrils flared, his patience wearing thin. "For heaven's sake, Bran, this isn't the time for-"

He stopped mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as a new thought struck him. The anger in his eyes slowly gave way to contemplation.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

'Wait... The oaf might have a point. We don't know what horrors lurk in those depths. With our forces stretched thin, charging in blindly could be catastrophic. We need reconnaissance before action. Perhaps it's wiser not to poke the sleeping beast just yet.'

Osric stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Bran's trembling shoulder. "Easy there, big fellow," he said, his voice calm but firm. "This isn't the time for ghost stories." He turned to Elysian, a questioning look in his eyes. "The young master is right, we need to-"

Osric trailed off, noticing the change in Elysian's expression. The room fell silent, all eyes on the young noble as they waited to see what decision he would make.

Elysian's eyes swept across the room, meeting each anxious gaze before he spoke. "Perhaps Bran's fears aren't entirely unfounded." His voice was measured, thoughtful. "We're dealing with forces beyond our understanding. Rushing in blindly could unleash something far worse than what we've already seen."

Thomas's shoulders visibly relaxed, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

Elysian's eyes narrowed at the thug's reaction. "Don't misunderstand," he added sharply. "This doesn't mean that we won't be sending the Ironspire's forces down there." Thomas stiffened, but nodded slowly.

"We'll investigate first," Elysian continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If there's a genuine threat to Ironspire, I won't hesitate to bring in the military. I expect your full cooperation, Thomas."

The thug met Elysian's steely gaze. "Agreed, but only if there's real danger," he said, a hint of defiance creeping into his voice. "I'd never risk the people of Ironspire. But," his eyes flashed, "if there's no threat, I hope the young master will keep the soldiers out. You understand what these ruins mean to us, don't you? We can't let outsiders take control of Ironspire's underbelly."

A wry smile played on Elysian's lips. "Relax, Thomas. If there's no danger, I'll keep my word. After all," he glanced at Amara, "we're on the same side here."

The tension in the room eased slightly, but an undercurrent of unease remained. And beneath them all, the unknown depths of the ruins waited, their secrets and dangers yet to be revealed.

Elysian slumped against the crumbling wall, his muscles aching with each slight movement. The rough stone pressed into his back, a reminder that he was still here, still alive. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from his system.

His gaze drifted across the faces of his companions, each lost in their own thoughts. Amara's fingers traced her bruised arm, her eyes distant. Bran's large frame trembled slightly, his usual bravado replaced by a haunted look. Even Thomas, for all his street-hardened demeanor, seemed shaken, his jaw clenched tight.

The silence in the room was thick with unspoken fears. They had danced on the edge of oblivion, their lives hanging by the thinnest of threads. One misstep, one moment of hesitation, and those skeletal hands would have dragged them down to a fate worse than death.

Elysian's mind replayed the harrowing escape—the sound of bones scraping stone, the feel of decaying fingers grasping at his ankles. A shudder ran through him, unbidden. They had survived, yes, but the realization of how close they had come to joining the ranks of the undead settled over him like a cold shroud.

The silence in the dimly lit room shattered like glass as Thomas cleared his throat. His eyes, glinting in the sparse light, fixed on Elysian. "They say you can fight, but seeing it..." He paused, running a hand through his disheveled hair. A mix of awe and wariness colored his voice. "You're not just good. You're lethal."

Thomas leaned forward, his gaze intense. "Word on the street is you're the family disappointment. The talentless one." A dry chuckle escaped his lips. "If that display back there was 'talentless', your brother must be a bloody demon with a blade."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Elysian's face remained impassive, a mask of noble indifference. But his eyes... They flickered with something before settling back into an unreadable calm.

Thomas' eyes glinted with a mix of admiration and calculation. The silence stretched, but he pressed on, undeterred by Elysian's lack of response.

"Y'know, I never bought that tale," he said, his voice low and charged with newfound respect. "A ten-year-old boy taking down Grimscar? Sounded like horseshit." He shook his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "But now? Now I get it."

Thomas's fingers drummed against his knee, a staccato rhythm matching the intensity in his voice. "Warren and old Damon. The Razor Spike and Savage Fiend. You didn't just beat them, you obliterated them." His voice dropped to a near-whisper, laden with awe and a hint of fear. "Single-handedly."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room before settling back on Elysian. "With them gone, I'm..." A chuckle escaped him, part disbelief, part excitement. "Well, I'm the last man standing. The only local outfit left in Ironspire's underbelly."

Thomas caught himself, amending quickly, "Well, not the strongest, mind. Those outsider syndicates are still there. But you get the gist." His eyes gleamed with barely contained enthusiasm, like a child presented with an unexpected gift.

"For that, young master," he said, inclining his head in a gesture that was part bow, part nod of respect, "I owe you my thanks."

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid. All that risk just to test a blade. Without BloodShade, I'd be joining those skeletons.

Conceited fool.’

Despite the turmoil within, Elysian's face remained a mask of casual indifference. His lips curved into a practiced smile, smooth as polished marble. "Think nothing of it. We're friends, after all." His eyes slid to Amara, seeking confirmation. "Isn't that right, my lady?"

Amara's face was a blank canvas, her silence stretching uncomfortably. Elysian's smile began to falter, the edges fraying. Just as he was about to retreat, Amara's lips quirked upwards, mirroring his earlier tactic.

"Indeed, young master. I concur," she said, her voice cool and measured.

Elysian nodded, a touch too eagerly. "Excellent. I'm pleased we're in agreement." The words felt hollow in his mouth, the taste of his own medicine bitter on his tongue.

As he settled back, Amara's voice cut through the air once more. "And young master," she paused, letting the silence build like a cresting wave. "Yes."

Confusion clouded Elysian's features. "Yes? To what, exactly?"

A ghost of a smile played on Amara's lips. "To your earlier proposition, of course." She savored his bewilderment. "I accept your conditions. We are partners now."

Elysian's jaw slackened, eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, he was speechless. Then, a laugh burst from him, genuine and unrestrained. It echoed off the crumbling walls, filling the dusty room with unexpected mirth.

As his laughter subsided, a grin spread across his face, bright and unguarded. "Well then, my lady," he said, his voice warm with newfound camaraderie, "it seems we're partners in crime indeed."

The room's atmosphere shifted, the earlier tension giving way to a cautious optimism. Thomas watched the exchange with keen interest, while Bran and Osric exchanged puzzled glances. In this moment of unexpected alliances, the dangers lurking below seemed, if only briefly, a little less overwhelming.