Alph's breath hitched as his vision adapted to the murky chamber before him. There on the cavern floor lay Marcus, struggling feebly against a transparent, viscous substance that pinned him to the rocky surface. Yet it wasn't Marcus's predicament that made Alph's veins run cold.

  Something else was there. Something that made every rational thought scatter like leaves in a hurricane.

  Pete's grip crushed into Alph's shoulder with painful intensity, and Alph could sense his companion's body quaking. They remained motionless mid-stride, neither willing to venture another step forward. The air seared their lungs as they held their breath, dreading that the faintest noise might alert whatever lay ahead to their presence.

  Alph's heart slammed against his chest with such force he was convinced the sound would reverberate through the cave. His pulse thundered in his ears, muffling everything save the primitive shriek of his instincts urging him to run. His mind methodically documented the scene before him, but understanding what he witnessed did nothing to diminish its horror.

  Behind Marcus, the cavern floor glistened with dozens of oval shapes, each one roughly the size of a watermelon and coated in the same viscous membrane that trapped his friend. The eggs—for that's what they unmistakably were—dotted the ground like some grotesque garden, their translucent shells pulsing with a faint, sickly light.

  But the floor was only the beginning.

  Alph's gaze traveled upward, and his stomach lurched. The walls themselves were alive with clusters of the things, arranged in neat rows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Some hung in web-like cradles of hardened slime, while others had been carefully embedded into carved recesses in the stone. The sheer number was staggering—easily over a hundred, maybe twice that.

  Each egg throbbed with its own rhythm, and Alph realized with growing dread that whatever was inside them was very much alive. The chamber wasn't just a tunnel carved by the Earthrender. It was a nursery.

  And Marcus lay helpless in the center of it all.

  "Can you... can you sense it anywhere?" Pete's whisper was barely audible, his breath warm against Alph's ear.

  Alph forced himself to steady his breathing, closing his eyes and extending his senses outward. He listened for the telltale vibrations of something massive moving through stone, felt for any disturbance in the air currents. After several agonizing seconds, he opened his eyes and gave Pete the slightest shake of his head.

  The Earthrender wasn't here.

  Pete's grip on his shoulder loosened, and despite the horror of their situation, Alph caught the unmistakable glint that crept into his friend's expression. That look he knew all too well.

  Pete stared at the glistening eggs with growing fascination, his initial terror giving way to something else entirely. A hundred eggs, he thought, maybe more. And the parent was nowhere to be found. His pulse quickened, but not from fear anymore.

  These weren't just monster eggs—they were treasure. Alchemical components that could fund his family's debts for years.

  "You get Marcus out of here," Pete whispered, his eyes never leaving the nearest cluster of eggs. "I'll grab a few of these while we have the chance. The parent's gone—we'd be fools to leave empty-handed."

  Alph opened his mouth to protest, the words forming on his tongue. This felt wrong, dangerous, like poking a sleeping dragon. But he caught himself before speaking. Pete had been doing this far longer than he had. The middle-aged man had survived countless expeditions into dangerous territory, had the scars and experience to prove it. And if Lukan were here... Alph could practically hear the senior's voice: "Opportunity like this doesn't come twice, boy."

  Pete was already moving toward the wall, his pack sliding from his shoulders as he prepared to harvest their prize.

  Alph swallowed his misgivings and stepped forward into the chamber, his boots squelching softly against the slime-slicked stone. Marcus was only twenty feet away. He could do this quickly, quietly.

  Nothing would go wrong. It couldn't.

  Alph crept forward, each step deliberate and silent until he reached Marcus's prone form. He crouched down beside the trapped man, leaning close to whisper directly into his ear.

  "Marcus, it's Alph. I'm with the guild—we came to get you out." Marcus's eyes fluttered open, unfocused but alive. Relief flooded through Alph's chest. "Stay perfectly still while I cut you free. Don't make a sound."

  Marcus gave the barest nod, his breathing shallow but steady.

  Alph drew his knives, the steel whispering softly against leather. The slime had hardened around Marcus's limbs like amber, but the edges were still pliable. He worked methodically, slicing through the viscous tendrils that bound the man's arms and legs. Each cut released a small pocket of foul-smelling air, but the membrane parted cleanly under his blades.

  Within minutes, Marcus was free. Alph helped him sit up slowly.

  "Are you injured?" Alph whispered. "Can you walk, or do you need help?"

  "Shoulder's hurt bad," Marcus breathed through gritted teeth, cradling his left arm against his chest. "Think the bones might be broken. But I can walk—we need to get out of here now."

  Alph carefully gripped Marcus's uninjured shoulder, supporting him as they both rose to their feet. Marcus swayed slightly but found his footing, his face pale but determined.

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  "Easy," Alph whispered, guiding Marcus toward the tunnel entrance they'd emerged from. Each step was measured and deliberate, their boots finding purchase on the slick stone. Marcus's breathing was labored but steady, and he managed to keep pace despite his injury.

  Behind them, Pete followed silently, his backpack now bulging with four carefully wrapped eggs where his shield used to hang. The metallic clatter of abandoned gear had been replaced by the soft squelch of precious cargo cushioned in cloth and padding.

  Lukan's calloused fingers moved with seasoned skill, peeling away the stringy bark from his bundle of young trees. The tough mountain vegetation was resilient—exactly what he required. He rolled the extended strips between his hands, sensing the strands merge as he applied force and motion.

  The improvised rope was rough but functional. Every segment had to sustain the weight of a person, and Lukan evaluated each piece by tugging firmly with both fists. Several broke during testing, prompting muttered oaths as he tossed aside the fragile bits and began fresh attempts.

  The task occupied his thoughts, though his hearing stayed focused on the chasm beneath. Too much time had passed since Alph and Pete had descended. His jaw tightened as he braided another section, the repetitive motion helping to steady his nerves.

  They ought to have returned already.

  Lukan cast his eyes toward the gorge's rim, then resumed his task. The rope was almost complete.

  A sharp whistle cut through the mountain air—three short bursts followed by two long ones. Pete's signal.

  Lukan's shoulders sagged with relief as he set down his rope work. They were alive. Better yet, they were ready to come up, which meant they'd found Marcus. His hands moved automatically to secure the rope around the sturdy pine at the ravine's edge, muscle memory guiding the knots.

  Gorvast, God of Hunting and Harvest, he thought, let this rope hold true. Let them all return whole.

  The prayer was brief but heartfelt. Gorvast had seen him through countless hunts in these mountains, had blessed him with steady hands and sure footing when lives hung in the balance. Today would be no different.

  Lukan approached the chasm's edge and peered down into the gloom. He could barely make out movement far below—shadows shifting near the tunnel mouth. He cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a soft whistle back, the agreed-upon signal that meant the rope was ready.

  Lukan fed the rope over the edge, watching it uncoil as it dropped into the darkness below. The braided bark held its weight well, and he felt the satisfying tug as someone grabbed hold of the other end.

  He braced himself against the pine, ready to haul them up one by one. The first few pulls were easy—whoever was climbing knew their business. But as the figure drew closer, a putrid stench drifted up from the chasm.

  Lukan wrinkled his nose, then froze as recognition hit him. Earthrender saliva. The acrid, cloying smell was unmistakable—he'd encountered it only once before, years ago, and the memory was seared into his mind.

  But that didn't make sense.

  Earthrenders had their share of predators in the deep places, but they weren't creatures that left their saliva splattered about. They were efficient hunters and tunnelers, not the type to drool over their territory or leave scent trails. So why would his people reek of the creature's secretions?

  Lukan's grip tightened on the rope as unease crept up his spine.

  Down in the ravine, the rope bit into Alph's palms as he hauled himself upward, hand over hand. Marcus's weight pressed against his back, secured by hastily tied cloth strips that dug into Alph's shoulders with each movement. The injured man had passed out again during the climb preparation, which was probably for the best—less chance of him crying out if his broken shoulder shifted wrong.

  Alph's arms burned with the effort. Every few feet, he paused to adjust his grip and redistribute the load. Marcus wasn't particularly heavy, but climbing with another person strapped to your back turned every pull into an ordeal. Sweat dripped into Alph's eyes despite the mountain chill.

  The rope held steady above him, and he could hear Lukan's controlled breathing as the man managed their ascent. Below, the darkness of the cavern yawned like an open mouth.

  Alph focused on the rhythm—reach, grip, pull. Reach, grip, pull. The rim of the ravine grew closer with each labored movement.

  Alph's hand finally found the rocky ledge, his fingers scraping against stone as he hauled himself and Marcus over the precipice. He collapsed forward onto solid ground, gasping as the weight lifted from his aching shoulders. His arms trembled from the exertion, but they'd made it.

  Lukan's eyes swept over them both, taking in Marcus's unconscious form. The older man's expression darkened as he noted the translucent slime coating Marcus's clothes and skin—the source of that acrid stench.

  "What in Gorvast's name happened down there?" Lukan muttered, but there was no time for explanations.

  Alph rolled Marcus gently onto his side, ensuring the injured man's airway stayed clear. "He's hurt bad, but alive. Shoulder's broken."

  Lukan nodded grimly and immediately coiled the rope again. Without another word, he fed it back over the edge, the braided bark disappearing into the gloom below.

  Pete's head appeared over the ledge moments later, his face flushed from the climb. As he hauled himself up, the bulging backpack on his shoulders became visible, and Lukan's expression shifted from relief to horror.

  "You fool," Lukan hissed, his voice barely controlled. "What have you done?"

  Pete straightened, brushing dirt from his knees. "The Earthrender's nowhere near. There were hundreds of them down there—it won't even notice a few missing." He patted his pack with satisfaction. "This haul will set my family up for months."

  Lukan's face had gone ashen. "You've doomed us all with your greed."

  "Lukan, listen—"

  "No!" Lukan cut him off, already moving to gather their gear. "We leave. Now. The day's nearly spent, and if that thing returns to find its nest disturbed..." He shouldered his pack with sharp, angry movements. "Earthrenders track by scent, Pete. That slime on your precious cargo? It might as well be a beacon."

  The team moved with frantic efficiency, stuffing gear into packs without their usual care. Lukan's rope-making materials were abandoned where they lay, deemed too cumbersome for their escape.

  Alph knelt beside Marcus, using proper climbing harness techniques this time. He secured the unconscious man with multiple anchor points across his chest and legs, distributing the weight more evenly. The makeshift stretcher setup was crude but far more stable than their earlier improvisation.

  "Ready," Alph grunted as he stood, Marcus's dead weight settling across his shoulders and back.

  They struck out immediately toward Stoneford, abandoning the careful, silent approach that had brought them here. Their boots crunched loudly through dried leaves and snapped over fallen branches. Lukan set a punishing pace down the mountain slope, glancing back frequently at the ravine they'd left behind.

  No one spoke of stealth anymore. The only priority now was distance—as much of it as they could manage before whatever ruled that underground nursery discovered their theft.