They waited long after Rynna had gone.

  The cavern stayed silent, empty save for the body and the still-burning lantern left behind. Rellen didn’t speak. Tessa didn’t ask. They listened for the smallest sign of return—boots, breath, shadow—and when none came, Rellen finally moved. A slow nod and then they climbed down.

  They didn’t speak as they crossed the bloom cavern, staying in the narrow shadow paths between crystal growths. Tessa kept her eyes ahead, on Rellen’s back, careful not to brush against the veins of mana or send echoes down the stone corridors. She matched his steps where she could, mimicked his pauses and angles. The sound of her own heartbeat was louder than their boots. No one waited in the tunnel beyond. But the feeling of being hunted never left.

  The fog thickened as they neared one of the deeper passage junctions, curling around their legs and rising to mid-thigh in places, dense enough to blur the outline of the cavern walls and obscure the path beneath their feet. It moved strangely, like breath held in suspension, unaffected by their steps or their presence.

  Their progress was slow and tense, shaped by necessity. Without Vasha’s guidance, every turn felt like a guess—each narrowing corridor or branching passage a potential mistake. The walls had a cruel way of repeating themselves, and more than once, Tessa was sure they’d passed the same vein of crystal or shadowed outcropping before. It was only when Rellen paused to examine a barely-there chalk mark etched along the wall—just a smudge of white against damp stone—that she realized how close they might’ve come to veering off course.

  She didn’t ask how he could see the signs through the fog, or how he always seemed to know which direction to take. She didn’t need to, she just needed to follow.

  They moved in silence, not out of comfort, but caution. There was no telling where Rynna had gone, or if she’d already doubled back, lying in wait. Even the thought of whispering felt dangerous—like the sound itself might betray them.

  Tessa kept her mouth shut, her breaths slow and even behind the filter mask. Every few minutes, she would adjust her grip on the strap of her satchel, or shift her stance to shake the tension from her calves, but she never let her steps grow loud, never risked moving too quickly.

  Time blurred. She didn’t know how long they’d been walking—certainly over two hours, perhaps more—but it stretched like a thin line of wire, drawn tighter with each bend in the path. Her legs ached from holding back the urge to rush, and her shoulder muscles were locked in a permanent half-flinch from the effort of keeping low, alert, prepared to freeze at the smallest sound.

  And all the while, Rellen moved ahead of her with that same controlled pace. His posture never wavered, even as the fog swelled around them. She clung to that steadiness the way someone might cling to a handhold in a storm. She didn’t trust the tunnels. Didn’t trust the Vein. But she could trust Rellen’s willingness to leave the cave. For now, that was all she needed.

  The path rose, the incline subtle at first—just enough for Tessa to notice the shift in weight distribution with each step. The fog thinned as they climbed, receding into shallow drifts that clung low to the stone, reluctant to release them but no longer smothering their knees.

  Rellen slowed, posture alert but looser now, and tilted his head toward a glow ahead that was softer, more diffuse than crystal light. Tessa followed him through the final bend in the tunnel—and then stopped short.

  The Vein opened into a stone cleft carved just below the ridge of the mountain, offering a panoramic view of the southern slope and valley beyond. It was early afternoon, and the sun sat high above them, filtered through streaks of thin cloud. The sky, a brilliant, hazy blue, should have been a comfort. But the world below was chaos.

  From their vantage point, they could see the town at the mountain’s crown and the switchback roads winding down from it—now packed with movement. People ran in clusters, hauling supplies or dragging others with them. Soldiers and guards shouted orders from hastily erected barricades. And it wasn’t just the people.

  The beasts were coming. Across the southern fields, past the glinting rooftops of the outlying villages, the tree line stirred with unnatural energy. Dozens of creatures prowled toward the mountain's base—some stalking alone, others in loose packs, driven not by coordination, but instinct.

  Predators. Scavengers. All of them moving with eerie purpose. All of them drawn by the presence of the dungeon. Tessa’s stomach turned as she watched them. They came from every direction—lowlands, riverbeds, distant hills. A shifting tide of creatures, not yet attacking but circling, waiting.

  Rellen stood still at the edge of the overlook, face unreadable as his gaze swept across the chaos below. His hand flexed slightly at his side, then stilled again. Tessa could only stare. They’d been gone four, maybe five hours.

  And the world had changed in the time it took to walk into the dark and come back out. The dungeon hadn’t just shifted the balance under the town. It had lit a signal large enough to be felt for kilometers—and now everything that hunted, leveled, or fed on chaos was answering the call.

  Tessa couldn’t stop staring at the valley below, the slope of panic unfurling outward from the town like the lines of a spreading fire. She had seen nothing like it. The monsters crawling closer from every direction. It was more than she could take in. She felt the world tilting beneath her, unstable and loud despite the silence between her and Rellen.

  Then the thought struck her, sharp and sudden: Larry. He was still at the stables. Alone. Properly waiting for her.

  Her breath caught as her stomach turned cold, her legs already in motion before the panic could fully take shape. She pivoted from the overlook and started back toward the ridge trail, each step picking up speed as she tore downhill. Behind her, Rellen startled at the shift but caught on quickly, boots scraping against the stone as he followed.

  “Where—” he began.

  “The stables,” she said without looking back. “Larry is still there.”

  He gave a single nod and matched her pace. “I’ll come with you.”

  The harness pulled at her shoulders as she ran. She yanked it loose, fumbling with the straps until it came free and hit the ground behind her with a dull thump. The filter mask followed a moment later, tossed into the brush as she sprinted through the winding path into the town’s upper edge. Rellen shed his gear just as efficiently, unbothered by the startled glances they drew as they rushed past scattered soldiers and scrambling townsfolk.

  The further they ran, the louder the chaos grew—shouts and barked orders, the clang of metal from somewhere deeper in the ridge. Windows were shuttered. Doors barricaded. People streamed toward the inner gates with carts of hastily packed belongings.

  Rellen veered closer as they reached a narrow side street, voice low but sharp. “Do you have anything you can’t leave behind at the inn?”

  She shook her head. “No. Just some clothe. Larry is all I care about right now.”

  They didn’t speak again as they cut down a lane that opened toward the stables. The stables came into view between two narrow buildings, the doors wide open, wind fluttering through the latch. Tessa didn’t slow until she reached the threshold—then stopped so fast Rellen nearly collided with her.

  Inside, it was chaos—but not the kind she’d feared. Hay scattered across the floor, overturned feed buckets rolling in uneven circles, a broom snapped in two against the far wall. And at the center of it all, planted squarely in the straw and refusing to budge, was Larry.

  He puffed up his feathers the moment he saw her, white plumage ballooning with agitation as he let out a short, indignant chirp that echoed off the stable walls.

  “Gods,” Tessa breathed, her chest tight with relief. “He’s fine.”

  A stable hand stood near the open stall, flushed and panting, a length of lead rope dangling uselessly from one fist. He looked up when Tessa stepped in, his expression a mix of exasperation and desperation.

  “Is he yours?” he snapped, gesturing at Larry. “He won’t move. I’ve tried coaxing, shouting, bribing. He just digs in and sits there like a bloody rock with feathers!”

  Tessa crossed the threshold, her boots sliding slightly on the hay-covered stone. Larry made a low rumble in his chest but didn’t move—his wide feet planted, wings half-spread in stubborn refusal.

  The stable hand threw up his hands. “I managed to get everyone else cleared out. He’s the last one here!”

  Tessa didn’t respond immediately. She just approached, slowly, letting Larry see her, posture lowering as she came into his line of sight.

  “Hey, big guy,” she murmured. “Took your time making a fuss, didn’t you?”

  Larry shifted his weight but stayed rooted. His feathers shivered slightly at the edges, still puffed up with defensive pride. But he leaned his head down when she reached for his beak, nuzzling her palm like he’d been waiting all day for her to return.

  “Let’s get you out of here.”

  She glanced back at Rellen, who lingered near the doors, eyes on the open sky behind them, alert for trouble. Then at the stable hand, who looked far too ready to wash his hands of the entire situation.

  “We’ll handle it,” she said firmly. “Thanks.”

  The man didn’t argue. He turned and stalked off with a muttered curse, disappearing into the haze of dust and wind blowing through the yard. Larry, finally satisfied that his companion had returned, gave a pleased huff. Tessa stepped back to his side and started checking the on the saddle.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Still wants to stay where he was left,” she said, mostly to herself. “Stubborn thing.”

  “Hard to blame him,” Rellen said, stepping closer at last.

  Tessa adjusted the last strap on Larry’s saddle, her fingers tight and mechanical against the worn leather. The stables were mostly quiet now, apart from the wind gusting through shutters and Larry’s low, contented huffs. But her mind refused to settle.

  The chaos outside was still rising. Somewhere deeper in town, a bell rang—two short peals and one long. A warning, maybe. Or a signal. She didn’t know which.

  “What now?” she asked, her voice low as she looked over her shoulder at Rellen.

  He didn’t hesitate. “We leave.”

  The answer struck her with its bluntness. “Leave?” she echoed, blinking. “That’s it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You and I are being hunted. One of them saw our faces. Knows our names. Staying here is just inviting another knife in the dark.”

  Tessa stared at him, part of her bristling at the finality of it—but she didn’t interrupt. He didn’t look panicked. He looked focused. Cold, almost.

  Rellen stepped closer, keeping his voice low. “We don’t know how this thing reacts to movement. Maybe the dungeon follows the cube—tethered to it like an anchor. Maybe pulling it out resets the formation. Or maybe the dungeon is completed once it leaves the premise. I don’t know yet.”

  Tessa swallowed, heart thudding. She remembered the dungeon notification when it activated. The outpost hadn’t been a coincidence. She hadn’t imagined it. She’d triggered the collapse—closed it. Without realizing.

  So whatever this thing was, whatever Kolt and Rynna had planned… it wasn’t random. It wasn’t isolated. But she didn’t tell Rellen that. Not yet. He was hiding something. Not in the way Kolt and Rynna had—but he knew more than he said. He hadn’t been caught off guard. Not really.

  Tessa didn’t doubt that Kolt and Rynna were bad actors. Their actions had risked everything—an entire town turned into bait for a dungeon drop, civilians and guards alike swept up in a larger game they didn’t even know they were playing. But what role did Rellen serve? What role is she unknowingly serving?

  She studied him for a moment. Still calm, tracking the happening of the outside. She tightened her grip on Larry’s reins and drew in a slow breath.

  “Alright,” she said. “We leave.”

  They didn’t waste time. With Larry saddled and calm, Tessa led him out through the rear stable gate, cutting away from the clustered roads that funneled people toward the town center. The alley behind was narrow and sloped sharply downward, stones slick from runoff and ash, but it curved west—toward the bridge.

  Tessa glanced back once as they moved, the rooftops behind her gleaming under early afternoon light, smoke curling lazily from one of the lower districts. It might have looked peaceful if not for the scattered cries, the flashes of movement on the edge of vision, and the rising sense that something much larger was about to crack open.

  She swung into the saddle as Larry padded to a stop near the slope’s end, his wide eyes scanning the space ahead, feathers bristling slightly. Rellen moved up beside her, one hand already reaching for the rear strap.

  “We’ll take the bridge to leave town,” Tessa said, glancing at him over her shoulder. “The one near the overlook.”

  Rellen frowned. “That bridge is exposed.”

  “My mount, my way.”

  For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he nodded once, sharply. “Fine.”

  He climbed up behind her, settling awkwardly into the back of the saddle. Larry shifted his weight with a grunt of protest, but didn’t balk. The mount tolerated him—but only just.

  The seat wasn’t meant for two, and it showed. Rellen’s knees pressed into the back of her thighs, and his torso braced close to her spine to keep balance as she leaned forward to adjust Larry’s direction. Rellen reached forward, fingers brushing the reins. Tessa didn’t let go.

  “My mount,” she said, not looking back. “My reins.”

  There was a pause. Then, with no fight in it, Rellen exhaled and lowered his hand. “Alright.”

  Instead, he shifted his grip, wrapping one arm lightly around her waist—not tight, not assuming, just firm enough to stay steady as Larry began to move.

  The alleys gave way to broader roads as they reached the upper ridgeline. Tessa kept Larry angled west, toward the bridge they’d glimpsed from the overlook—the long stone span that arched over the jagged chasm to the mountain’s outer slope. The city thinned in this direction, less crowded with homes and market stalls, but no less tense.

  The moment Larry felt the road open up beneath him, he surged forward—feathers flaring, muscles coiling, claws gripping the uneven terrain with a confidence that made Tessa’s breath catch.

  The buildings blurred past. His heavy steps struck stone, his body moving low and fast, wide feet barely seeming to slip despite the sharp angles of the mountain’s edge.

  Tessa leaned into the motion instinctively. She felt Rellen tighten behind her, his grip on her waist firming just slightly as Larry carved a path along the ridge road like it had been made just for him. He didn’t slow for turns. Didn’t shy from loose stone.

  Every movement was precise, powerful—an animal built for cliffs and altitude, not city stables and leash ropes. Tessa felt pride unfurl through her chest as they raced forward. Not just relief. Not just gratitude, but pride.

  The last bend came quickly. The mountain dipped, and the land dropped out before them, the bridge stretched wide across a canyon, its flagstones bleached pale and gleaming under the afternoon sun. Beyond it, the road twisted into the southern wilds—untamed and green.

  Rellen leaned closer, voice nearly lost in the wind. “No movement ahead.”

  Tessa nodded without answering, her focus locked forward. They weren’t safe yet. But they were moving—fast, together, and clear of the worst of the crowd. And Larry ran like the ground belonged to him.

  The moment Larry’s claws touched the first stone slab of the bridge, the sound beneath them changed—no longer the muted rhythm of claw on mountain trail, but a sharp, echoing cadence. Wind rushed in from the sides, pulling at feathers and cloth, and ahead stretched the long stone arc, suspended over a deep-cut chasm wreathed with mana mist.

  Tessa leaned forward, urging Larry on. They were halfway across when the first bolt of magic struck.

  It hit the stone just off their left flank, cracking through the air with a metallic shriek and showering fragments into the chasm below. The magic didn’t burn or freeze—it shimmered with a sickly green hue. Acid. Another strike followed, this one closer—hissing as it splashed against the stone and ate through the surface. Tessa’s heart jerked into her throat.

  “Shit!” Rellen hissed behind her, already twisting around in the saddle to look back. “They’re on the ridge.”

  Tessa turned enough to glimpse behind them. Three figures had stepped out along the far ledge, blurred by distance but unmistakable. One raised a glowing staff—acid green swirling around the tip—and launched another shot.

  Larry dodged sideways with a startled screech, the bolt missing by a meter and scorching the air beside them.

  “That’s Rynna,” Rellen said, low and sharp. “The two with her—mages. One’s on us, the other’s aiming for the bridge supports. Looks like they use the same magic.”

  The words hit like a slap. Panic scraped up Tessa’s spine as she twisted to look beneath them. Already, one of the bridge’s support pillars was steaming, blackened where the acid spell had struck true. Another hit would crack it.

  Rellen’s hand shot forward, gripping her arm. “Listen. You need to get the cube to a man named Jorran Hal in the next town—Waymark. He’ll know what to do about the cube. He’ll protect you, and he’ll make sure the cube doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

  Tessa’s mouth opened—but no words came. The wind roared around them, the chasm below yawning wider by the second. Rellen didn’t wait. He let go of her, bracing one foot against the saddle’s rear strap and launching himself backward—off Larry, off the saddle, into the open air.

  Rellen hit the ground running, boots landing on one of his own conjured mirrors before launching off again. The thin pane cracked beneath his weight, sending a sharp pulse of light as he flipped forward—a blur of dark fabric arcing toward the mage attacking the bridge support.

  But before he could reach the caster channeling another blast toward the bridge’s base, a shadow intercepted him. Rynna. She met him mid-leap, blades drawn, slamming into his side with enough force to knock him off the mirror-step he’d conjured. His footing slipped; another platform flickered to life beneath him just in time, and he rebounded with a short curse, curved dagger raised.

  The two clashed, steel flashing as they danced across the ridge’s narrow ledge. Tessa barely saw it. She heard it more than anything: metal ringing, spells cracking, and the sharp rhythm of feet skidding against stone.

  But it didn’t matter. Because the second caster—the one still focused on the bridge—finished his cast.

  A wide, boiling surge of acid launched across the chasm, twisting past them through the air before smashing into the rear supports of the bridge with a deafening shriek. Tessa flinched as the sound hit. Stone cracked. The world tilted slightly. Then shifted again. Then started to fall.

  Larry keened—a high, urgent cry—and surged forward, claws scrabbling over the suddenly uneven path. The rear of the bridge split with a thunderous crunch, a whole slab groaning free from the central span and tipping into the abyss below.

  The stone beneath them shuddered violently. Tessa’s eyes darted to the fractures racing up the seams of the bridge, spidering toward them like cracks in glass. They would not make it.

  She let go of the reins with one hand and yanked open the side pouch of her satchel. Her fingers scrambled past cloth, past tools—and closed around the smooth, cold surface of the mana crystal. The one she hadn’t given Rellen.

  “Please work,” she muttered, voice caught somewhere between desperation and defiance.

  She slammed her hand toward the collapsing bridge and shouted—raw and desperate—

  “Emergency Pin!”

  The crystal flared white-hot, and then the skill caught. The skill flared to life. Magic surged through her. Not clean or graceful, but gritty, raw—like forcing thread through stone with trembling fingers. A radiant pulse snapped out from her palm, forming a line of golden thread, sharp and bright, that lashed forward and buried itself in the buckling stone.

  It hit like a nail driven into a wound. And then it stitched.

  Tessa grit her teeth as the magic fought to hold. The threads weren’t uniform—they twisted and caught, tangled like real thread pulled from five different spools. Strands looped around stress fractures, wove through the widening gap, knotted themselves with frantic precision around fault lines, and dug deep into the edges of stone that had already started to crumble.

  A desperate patch. The mana crystal in her hand pulsed again, then dimmed to nothing—its stored energy pulled fully into the weave. But the threads held. The slab beneath Larry’s next step groaned—wavered—then settled with a jolt as the weave of reinforcement took the strain. Not perfect, but would hold long enough.

  Tessa didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Larry charged forward, his massive body vaulting over the worst of the damage, claws raking across stone barely wide enough to hold them. The light of the pin flickered behind her—fraying, unraveling—but the bridge didn’t fall.

  She could feel it—the weight of the fall, the yawning collapse chasing at their heels. Dust curled at the edges of her vision, wind surged against her face. But Larry never hesitated. He ran like the bridge belonged to him. And then they were across.

  Solid ground struck beneath them—mountain rock, unshifting and whole. Larry slowed just slightly, breath huffing in steady bursts. Behind them, the bridge gave one final groan—then a deafening crash as the last section buckled and dropped into the Vein. Tessa twisted in the saddle, trying to see.

  Nothing. No sign of Rellen. Or Rynna. Or the mages. Just dust and mist and the chasm swallowing the bridge whole. Her stomach knotted. Her hands clenched the reins tighter than they needed to. Had he made it? Had any of them? But she didn’t have time to find out.

  From the hills below, she saw movement. Beasts—monstrous shapes slinking out from the trees and rock. Drawn by the presence of the dungeon.

  She reached into her satchel. Two cubes, cold metal and seamless in design—except one wasn’t cold anymore. The active one was faintly warm against her fingers. Just like the first time.

  Tessa’s throat tightened. She looked down at the object she’d carried unknowingly, then guarded, and now… now had to deactivate again. She’d been afraid. Afraid of being watched. Of what Rellen might say. Of what it would mean if he knew she was familiar with them.

  But now she was alone. She slid her fingers along the edges. Each segment moved smoothly beneath her touch—until one caught. She twisted it, click, just as she had the last one. Waited. Another shift. Click. A second catch. Click.

  [Dungeon Completed: ███████ ]

  You have successfully conquered the Dungeon.

  The warmth vanished. A breath passed. Then another. The pull on the monsters—lessened. The ones at the treeline slowed, shifted, uncertain. Some turned. Others lingered. The dungeon was closed. Tessa, cube still in hand, watched as the wind stirred dust across the broken edge of the ridge. She’d done it. Again.

  And like last time… there were no witnesses. Just her. And the weight of what that meant.