“Hey, Erynd, I swear, my luck’s been through the roof ever since I met you,” Muradin said, rattling his pouch. “Though I do have to nearly die every time,” he added, barking out a laugh.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Darwyn said, a crooked grin tugging at his lips despite the splints bracing both arms. “Shame we couldn’t use Mana Surge on that Gravelurker. Otherwise, I’d already be planning my early retirement.”

  Muradin snorted. “Serves you right for being greedy. That’s why both your arms are broken.”

  Orin stared down at her hands, fingers curling slightly. “I’m sorry… If my pouch hadn’t been damaged…”

  Muradin clapped her on the back, hard enough to make her stumble forward.

  “Oi. Enough of that,” he said gruffly. “You saved our hides. Anyone wants to argue can take it up with my hammer.”

  Darwyn nodded, careful not to jostle his arms. “He’s right. We won’t even make it past the first phase without you.”

  Orin blinked, then let out a small, shaky breath. “You idiots…”

  “By the way,” Muradin said brightly, turning toward me, “what do you call that wind-and-lightning combo of yours? Thunder Cyclone? It was incredible.”

  “Thunderstorm Vortex,” I replied, grateful for the change in topic. “Didn’t think it’d hit that hard. Probably for the best none of us were caught in it.”

  “Hah!” Muradin laughed. “That overgrown spider was twitching like it got struck by real thunder!”

  “Hey, Mister Bromir,” Orin snapped, though her tone had lightened, “quit moving around so much! Let your wounds heal properly, or my potions are going straight down the drain.”

  With that, the tension broke.

  We sat together, trading stories and half-formed jokes as our bodies slowly recovered.

  We were lucky, but it hadn’t carried us this far on its own. Muradin had thrown himself into danger again and again, Darwyn had never stopped firing, and Orin’s Blightroot Draught had turned an unwinnable fight into a narrow opening. Even Elena… sitting apart, hands trembling from something deeper than pain, had saved us in the end.

  I looked around at my party and felt something settle in my chest.

  With this team… we can do it. We can reach the upper floors.

  “Oi, Eryndor.”

  Orin waved a hand in front of my face. “Stop spacing out. At least tell us what you’re planning to do with those Mana Stones once we get back.”

  I considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Still saving for my next spell.”

  Darwyn groaned. “Ugh. Boring.”

  Muradin laughed, and for a while longer, we let ourselves believe that was all there was to it.

  ***

  We rested a full day before continuing. Anything less would’ve been reckless.

  Our bodies lay still beneath bandages and Rejuvenation, wounds knitting slowly, but none of us truly relaxed. Sleep came in fragments. I woke more than once with the sensation of being watched.

  Not the Gravelurker. Not any monster I could name. The feeling faded whenever I focused on it, like a dream dissolving the moment you tried to remember it.

  Elena barely slept at all.

  I noticed it during my watch. She sat upright with her back to the cavern wall, bow across her knees, eyes open but unfocused. When I approached, she flinched. Not violently, but enough to tell me she’d been somewhere else.

  “You should rest,” I said quietly.

  She nodded, but didn’t move. “Every time I close my eyes,” she murmured, “it feels like I’m still there.”

  I didn’t ask her to explain.

  The Eternal Grave World lingered in all of us, but it clung to her the hardest.

  Muradin snored through most of the rest period, though even his breathing hitched now and then, one hand always wrapped around his shield. Darwyn pretended to sleep, eyes cracked just enough to track shadows along the walls. Orin stayed busy with her potions, working until exhaustion finally slowed her hands.

  By the time the rest cycle ended, we weren’t whole, but we were ready to move.

  The next day, we made our way back toward the main path while gathering materials for our quests.

  Since the Gravelurker had been defeated, the tunnels no longer shifted when we weren’t looking. Walls held their shape instead of crawling and folding back on themselves.

  But it was still a maze, with identical forks and side passages leading nowhere.

  Darwyn slowed at the next fork, eyes already on the walls. He brushed dust from the stone with the back of his glove, revealing a faint, angled scratch.

  “That’s one of yours,” Muradin said.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Yeah. Marked this on the way in.”

  He checked the opposite wall, then the corner where the passage narrowed.

  “All accounted for,” he muttered.

  Orin exhaled. “So this leads back?”

  “It should,” Darwyn said.

  We pressed on cautiously, Darwyn leading us through the tunnels.

  Swoosh!

  Elena loosed an arrow, her shot swift and precise. The Burrowbane lurched to dive, but Elena’s second arrow was faster, pinning it to the stone through its carapace.

  I watched as the creature twitched once before going still.

  That bow was proving to be a game-changer. Its active skill would be invaluable once we reached the second floor. I made a mental note to strategize around it.

  “Tsk, showoff,” Darwyn muttered. “At this rate, we won’t even get to fight.”

  Elena smirked, lowering her bow. “Guess it’s time for your little sister to have your back for once.”

  “Don’t get cocky. You’ve been around Muradin too much,” he shot back.

  “She’s just telling the truth,” Muradin chuckled. “Looks like your sister’s stronger than you.”

  "Orin, help me out here," Darwyn groaned.

  “I’m with Mister Bromir on this one,” Orin said, amused.

  "Erynd..."

  I pretended not to hear.

  We forged ahead, cutting down any monsters foolish enough to cross our path. With our quests done, all that remained was reaching the main road. After weeks in these cramped, dark, foul-smelling tunnels, the thought of fresh air felt unreal.

  "Eryndor," Orin called out, breaking the silence. "How much stronger will I actually be once I can finally consume this?"

  "Not as strong as me, that's for sure," Darwyn quipped without missing a beat, only to wince the moment he moved his arm.

  Orin shot him a glare. "Shh, I was asking Eryndor." She looked back at me, her thumb tracing the edge of the fragment.

  I slowed my pace to match hers. "The stat boost is standard, a bit of Stamina and Agility, but Arcane Reserves will stop you from bottoming out during long fights.”

  Orin looked at the fragment, a mix of hesitation and hunger in her eyes. "And the active?"

  "Arcane Strike.” I replied. “You won't just be throwing potions anymore. You’ll be converting raw Mana into impact. It’s the core of the build we discussed."

  There were deeper mechanics at play, but that was a lesson for later, once she’d had time to adjust.

  “Alright then, let's pick up the pace.” Orin's eyes lit up, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

  "Erynd, don't forget about me!" Elena piped up.

  "I haven't. For now, focus on getting used to your new weapon. Next cycle, we'll head to Frostfang Tundra. There’s a Soul Fragment there with your name on it."

  Darwyn stretched, his bow slung casually across his back. "Maybe I should start tagging along to the library with you. You know... broaden my horizons."

  Muradin snorted. "And leave me drinking alone? Where's the fun in that?"

  Laughter filled the tunnel, pushing away the suffocating silence that had lingered for days. Even in the depths of the earth, some things could always brighten the journey, like a little banter among comrades.

  ***

  After a long and winding journey, we finally emerged into the main passage.

  Bright crystals embedded in the ceiling cast a steady, familiar glow, their light refracting softly across the stone path. Compared to the suffocating tunnels we’d endured for weeks, the space felt vast, almost open. The ceiling arched higher. The air moved more freely. Even the echoes of our footsteps sounded different, less claustrophobic.

  There were no adventurers in sight. No monsters either, not even Squibs.

  I found myself slowing without meaning to, eyes sweeping the path ahead. The stone beneath our boots was cracked and worn from countless expeditions, the same as always. Carved guide-runes still pulsed faintly along the walls, marking routes and warning of dead ends.

  Muradin rolled his shoulders, armor plates clinking softly. “Hah… never thought I’d be happy to see this ugly tunnel again,” he said. “Almost feels like civilization.”

  Orin nodded, breathing a little deeper. “The air’s different. Not as… heavy.”

  Elena didn’t respond. She’d drifted a step closer to me, bow already in hand, her gaze fixed ahead.

  Darwyn was the first to stop.

  He raised a fist, and the rest of us halted instantly, muscle memory kicking in before thought. His fingers hovered near his bowstring, knuckles whitening.

  “…Do you smell that?” he asked quietly.

  I frowned and drew in a breath.

  At first, there was nothing. Just stone dust, faint Mana residue, the lingering scent of monsters that never truly left the Tower. Then it hit me.

  Blood.

  Not the sharp tang of a fresh wound, but something heavier, layered. Old blood mixed with new. Enough to cling to the back of the throat.

  “I-I smell it too,” Elena whispered. Her voice was tight, almost brittle.

  Muradin’s expression darkened as he scanned our surroundings, his shield shifting as his grip tightened. “That’s a lot,” he muttered. “Too much for a stray fight.”

  We spread out cautiously, eyes combing every inch of the stone. It didn’t take long to find the signs.

  Dark, dried splatters streaked across the stone, smeared in wide arcs as if bodies had been dragged or thrown. Deep gouges scored the stone, some narrow and precise, others jagged and brutal. Claw marks overlapped with clean blade cuts, intersecting at strange angles.

  I straightened slowly, unease coiling tighter in my gut. “There’s no body,” I said. “No remains. Not even equipment.”

  Darwyn sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Which means whoever fought here lived long enough to leave. Or…” He didn’t finish the thought.

  We searched further ahead, moving in tense silence. The smell only grew stronger, but the evidence didn’t match it. No piles of corpses. Nothing. The usual skittering of insects and cave-dwellers had vanished, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt intentional.

  It was like walking through the aftermath of a massacre that had been… cleaned up. Poorly. Hastily.

  We pressed on toward the chamber where the portal guardian resided, weapons ready, senses stretched thin.

  The guardian was already defeated.

  That alone wasn’t unusual. With the Tower closing soon, someone reaching this far ahead of us was entirely possible.

  The problem lay beyond it.

  The portal was gone.

  Where the swirling gateway should have stood, massive slabs of stone had been forced together, fused as if the ceiling itself had collapsed on command. Cracks spidered outward from the impact point, veins of raw Mana still glowing faintly within them.

  And layered over it all…

  A magic barrier.

  Dense and deliberate.

  Muradin swore under his breath, his grip tightening on his shield. “Someone sealed this from the inside.”

  Darwyn didn’t answer right away. His eyes traced the stone, the barrier, the faint residual patterns only a veteran would notice.

  “We need to get out of here. Now,” he said finally.

  Orin and Elena exchanged uncertain looks, but even they could feel it.

  And we were already too close to walk away.