Uri’s voice slithers through the deepest parts of my mind where my thoughts turn wildly nonsensical the longer I stay in these darkened depths:She is near, Commander.
“You said that yesterday,” I breathe.My men glance at me but say nothing.It’s not the first time they’ve heard me speak to ghosts.
All paths to the divine are filthy, Riven.That’s why we crawl.
My laugh is brittle against the stone.“I will find her.I will bring her to you.”
To us,he corrects gently.When the shadow kneels, the Light will be made whole, and you shall have what you desire.
The voice fades, leaving the silence heavier than before.My stomach gnaws at itself.The last of the rations went to a dying soldier two tunnels back.A waste.He begged for light, but I gave him mercy instead.
We follow the snakes of ash that seem to morph into the silent dust of a dead kingdom.They trail alongside runes chiseled from shadows—marks that do not match our own.The stones remember the hymns of Nyx.
“Keep moving,” I bark.The men obey, but I see the fear spreading in their eyes.
Corin drops his crystal.The light gutters instantly, leaving a black stain on the floor.He stares at it as if it might breathe.
“Pick it up,” I order.
“It’s empty sir,” he whispers, his voice dripping with trepidation.
“Then fill it.”
“How?”
“With faith,” I snap.“Yours—or mine.”I snatch the crystal and press it to his chest, muttering the command:Luxor.
The glyph on my palm burns white, drawing energy from my own veins.The pain lingers longer than it should.For a moment, the tunnel floods with brilliance, reflected in the soldier’s terrified eyes.When I release him, smoke rises from my hand, smelling of copper and incense.
The resonance of the Light is simple:belief made manifest.But every act of channeling takes a toll.Faith spent as fuel.And mine is running low.
Hours—maybe days—later, a grate in the ceiling yields.
Fresh air and moonlight spill through, a mocking silver light that feels like a slap.My men scramble toward it, climbing over one another in a desperate, undignified heap to escape the dark.I am the last to emerge; it takes four of them to haul me up.
My men collapse on the stone, their breathing a chorus of wheezes.I want nothing more than to join them; but a Commander cannot be seen as weak.I stand over them, a monument of stiffened joints and pride.
On the far side, surface patrols wait with torches.They salute the moment they see my silhouette.How long were we buried?
“High Commander, sir!”One of the guards runs towards me.“We have swept the district as ordered.”
“And?”I ask, my voice like dry parchment.“Did you inspect every building?”
The guard glances at his comrade, his brows twitching.
“Out with it.”
“One building, sir.An old storehouse near the eastern dock.It showed signs of disturbance—an abandoned shaft with the grate removed.”
I step closer, the scrape of my boots echoing like a threat.“Andwhywas it removed?”
They shift on their feet, a silent conversation passing between them as they decide who will die first.The one with golden hair loses.
“We—we don’t know, sir.We think they may have tampered with it to escape.”
“And have you sent men down there to investigate?”
“N—no, sir.”
