Nikolai sat on the stone floor at a deliberate distance from the spot where they’d fought the small horde of undead—far enough that the stench no longer clawed at his throat. Even so, the rot-heavy air still clung to everything in the crypt, a damp musty smell.

  They had scouted a small chamber branching off a narrow side passage and taken temporary refuge there so Nikolai could continue Kaelith’s healing in relative peace. The room was cramped but serviceable: rough walls, a single iron-bound door, and just the single exit.

  Lurk more or less blocked the door completely with his bulk as he kept watch.

  A single magical lantern that Kaelith had taken out flickered between them, and darkness pooled in the corners, not that it was ever an issue for his eyes.

  Using his Drain spell was simple enough usually, butusing it with his light affinity required precision and concentration—especially when it demanded a direct connection to another’s essence. It could not be rushed, anytime you meddled with another person’s energies, it could cause issues.

  Kaelith leaned against the wall beside him, mask removed, breathing slow and controlled. Even in this half-dead place, dirty and sweaty, she had this surreal elegance to her. Lurk who stood by the door, cleaning his massive sword with almost ritualistic dedication. Black sludge, congealed ichor, and worse dripped from the blade onto a rag that was already ruined beyond redemption.

  Nikolai found himself wondering, again, just how intelligent the hulking warrior truly was. He still had no idea what hid beneath the helmet—no exposed skin, no voice, no tells—but he felt Lurk’s gaze on him now and then. Not hostile. Assessing. Curious, maybe. Hard to tell.

  The man fought like a machine built for war and seemed absolutely loyal, so for now, that was enough, for now at least.

  Kaelith opened her eyes and looked at him. “I’m ready.”

  Nikolai nodded. He was more than ready—he was straining. The surplus essence stolen from the undead burned inside him, a rising pressure he fought to keep contained. He had recovered a sliver of mana already, reinforced further by the smallest intentional bleed of that excess essence—just enough to ensure he could finish what needed doing.

  He cast the spell on her again, threading his light affinity into it. This time, piercing her natural defenses felt easier. The difference was subtle, but unmistakable. Perhaps it was the connection they now shared—magical, ethereal, yet undeniably real.

  Kaelith flinched only slightly as the spell settled into place. She closed her eyes again, focusing on keeping still.

  Nikolai inhaled deeply, centering himself. Her essence was frighteningly weak—barely enough to keep her organs functioning. The mana rushing through her, by contrast, was overwhelming. She felt like a roaring waterfall beside his slow, winding stream: violent, unstoppable, beautiful to his senses.

  Relief crashed through him when he finally let the excess essence move—channeling it into her in a steady, controlled flow. The moment it touched her, Kaelith gasped. He felt her whole body reacting to it, her body waking from slumber, converting the foreign life energy into her own.

  He increased the flow by increments, desperate to be rid of it before it turned him mad instead. When he finally slowed after a few minutes, only a whisper of stolen essence remained within him.

  His senses followed the flow, scanning her condition. She was stable enough for now—no longer at risk of collapse from lack of life energy. But her organs were another matter. Damaged. Decayed. He was optimistic that she would make a full recovery, but he had to admit that the damage was extensive.

  “They will recover, they have to,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her.

  He activated Lesser Healing next, letting the final crumbs of stolen essence bolster his own mana. Then he pushed the spell into her body, focusing on the worst-affected areas. Her liver was in terrible shape—tissue marred by necrotic decay—but the spell held. The warmth of healing light wrapped around the organ like dawn fog curling over a dying field, stubborn and resolute. Effective, too.

  Minutes blurred past—maybe more, maybe less—as he worked with excruciating specificity, isolating and repairing the worst of the damage piece by piece. When he was finally about to drain the last of his mana, that same warm pulse—familiar now—flared in his chest.

  He grinned. Wide. Unrestrained. The spell severed itself cleanly as he released it. He’d managed to upgrade his healing spell again.

  When his eyes opened, Kaelith was staring at him, tears carving glimmering tracks down her cheeks. She leaned forward and wrapped him in a gentle, trembling embrace.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, voice thick. “I just… it’s incredible to feel so alive again. The pain—I learned to live with it. I even gained a skill for ignoring it, but this… oh, this is so much better.”

  Nikolai stiffened in surprise, then softened. He raised a hand and gently rubbed her back. “There’s still more to be done, Kaelith. I can’t repair everything at once. But we’ve made real progress.”

  She nodded, pulling back and wiping at her eyes. “This is unlike me. I don’t usually bawl like a child.”

  He raised a brow. “A child, huh? Aren’t you like an old lady in human terms?”

  She shot him a look, caught between a glare and a laugh. “Don’t start.”

  Nikolai chuckled, shrugging. “Fine. But if it helps—at least now you have a shoulder to lean on.”

  Kaelith poked his arm skeptically. “this skinny thing? You might fall over.’’

  “that is just mean…” he protested.

  ‘’You called me old!’’ she said in mock outrage.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “You’re hearing things,” he said flatly. “Maybe I should check if your ears need healing too.”

  She barked a short laugh. “Wow. Just—wow. You know, my race is long-lived right? My stage extends that further. I’m still young.”

  “By human standards—”

  “I’m not human, and neither are you for that matter,” she cut in, smirk sharpening.

  Nikolai paused, mouth still open, then closed it again. “… Wait. So. How long do the fae live?”

  ‘’Forever I think…’’

  He stared. “…Shit.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Shit indeed.”

  He exhaled a laugh of disbelief. “That’s absurd. Will I even age?”

  Kaelith shrugged. “You still look like a boy, so I’d hope so. You know, a beard might help, you’re too pretty.”

  Nikolai snorted. “I’ll grow one just to spite you.”

  “Please do,” she said, feigning sincerity.

  They rested a while longer while Nikolai reclaimed his mana naturally. When he felt steady again, they set off once more.

  They encountered only a handful of smaller undead packs before finding a secluded stairway descending deeper into the crypt. He offered to continue healing her as they went, but Kaelith declined. She felt better than she had in years, she told him sincerely, and could wait. Their priority was finishing the dungeon and escaping back into the living world.

  Nikolai agreed. He wanted sunlight again too—more than he wanted to admit.

  The next level was a mirror of the one above but tighter: narrower corridors, lower ceilings, and a more oppressive density of death-soaked mana.

  “I hope we don’t run into the guardian down here,” Kaelith said after a stretch of silence.

  “Guardian?” Nikolai echoed.

  She nodded. “An ancient acid slime. Vicious. Durable. Nearly unkillable, or so I heard.”

  Nikolai’s mind flashed back to his earlier battle—engulfed, dissolving, screaming through nerve-deep agony—and a full-body shiver betrayed him.

  Kaelith noticed. “Yeah. A slime like that would be a miserable way to die.”

  He scratched his cheek, forcing his voice to sound casual. “Funny story. I killed it.”

  Kaelith stopped. Turned. Stared at him for a long, heavy moment. “…What?”

  He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You remember when I said I was tricked into a trap? That Azila dropped me into a labyrinth, and I fought a monster before finding you sipping tea in the library? Well after I almost died to your undead bodydguard…”

  “Yes,” she said slowly ignoring the part about Lurk, bracing for more nonsense. “And?”

  “It was the slime,” he said simply.

  Her eyes narrowed. “And you killed it. How, exactly?”

  “Well,” Nikolai began, “I cursed it. It worked. Slowly. Then it ate me. It was a hell of a lot faster than I had expected. I stayed alive by draining its essence and healing myself continuously until I figured out a solution.”

  Kaelith gestured for him to continue. “That is fucking insance, clever, but completely mental. Doesn’t explain how you killed it though.”

  He grinned again—she was going to hate this part. “The curse caused solidification inside it, don’t tell me how, it just did. Then, in desperation, I cast Healing with dark affinity instead of light. I was guessing that it might do the reverse, you know. It accelerated the curse by a lot, much to my delight as you can probably imagine. Then after a bit, Boom. Dead slime. Stage advanced. Simple.”

  Kaelith closed her eyes for several seconds, drew a long breath, and let it out. “I don’t know if you’re an idiot, a genius, or just obscenely lucky.”

  “Bit of all three I reckon” he said, smiling proudly.

  “…evidently,” she sighed.

  “At least there’s balance,” she said, resuming movement. “You kill an almost unkillable slime, but you can’t fight golems. Good. Lurk handles them anyway. He likes the challenge.”

  “I noticed,” Nikolai said. “So again—how smart is he?”

  “Not like a normal person,” Kaelith said. “But he has desires. Mostly violence. And sword maintenance. He adores that blade.. well any weapon I give him really.”

  “…Right,” Nikolai said, processing. “So what is he?”

  Kaelith practically glowed with pride. “Elder Draugr. Royal-class undead. Elite servant. One is better than an army of weaklings. Less unethical, too. At least in my opinion.”

  Nikolai chose the correct answer and nodded. “Amazing. Terrifying. But amazing.”

  She seemed satisfied at that, if her proud grin was any way to measure it.

  After another stretch of winding corridor, they reached a wide circular chamber, eerily reminiscent of the maze-trap room above—but not identical. Four doors stood spaced evenly along the stone ring, including the one they’d entered through.

  The domed ceiling above was covered in faded ornamental murals—abstract shapes and ancient symbology smudged by age and erosion. Between each door stood fabric awnings draping into shallow alcoves, each sheltering a free-standing iron rod of unknown purpose.

  Kaelith inspected the room with a cheerful nod. “Yup. This is definitely a trap.”

  “You think?” Nikolai deadpanned.

  “Without a doubt,” she said. “But this isn’t a true dungeon. More like a monster nest. Shit loot, at least so far. No structured rewards for trials like this. Just undead. Brutally efficient, but terribly designed.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” he said.

  Metal portcullises slammed down around them, sealing each exit. The reverberation rolled through the room like a thunderclap in a cathedral.

  Kaelith giggled. “Predictable.”

  Nikolai forced a grin of his own, but he was getting pretty damn nervous. “We’re not done discussing the loot, you know!”

  “Oh, we will,” she said, amused. “After we survive.”

  A spectral form shimmered into existence in the center of the chamber—a rotund, translucent man, edges blurred like smoke caught in candlelight. His grin was cruel, victorious, and unmistakably sentient.

  He pointed toward one of the alcoves. A blue flame ignited atop the iron rod—small, candle-sized, eerily vibrant.

  Then, like the ancient colosseum in Rome, part of the stone floor groaned and slid away, revealing a ramp descending into deeper darkness. Up it walked a beast resembling a lion, massive and unnatural, with two skeletal heads, a stinger-tipped whipping tail, and the unmistakable look of an ancient undead monster.

  “Of course,” Nikolai muttered. “Undead two-headed lion. Why not?”

  Lurk stepped between them and the creature, drawing his colossal sword. The beast’s tail snapped forward with blurring speed—but Lurk sidestepped and swung his blade into the scaled appendage. The strike rang out but did no visible harm. Dissatisfaction rolled off him.

  Lurk then charged the beast head-on without hesitation.

  Nikolai snapped out of observation mode, raised his cane, aimed the crystal at its tip, and with a fierce grin, joined the fray.

  The fight was on.