The skeleton was far behind them now, but its memory clung to their soles.

  They were walking through a stretch of sparse meadow, where the tall grass had given way to a lower, thinner carpet. Fir trees rose on either side, like silent sentinels.

  Lucanis stopped, narrowed his eyes, and pointed.

  "There. Between the trees. A cabin."

  Kael followed his gaze. A small wooden structure, half-hidden between two massive firs, emerged through the branches.

  "Finally, a bit of civilization," he muttered. "Or what’s left of it."

  His attention shifted, drawn to a cluster of small bushes heavy with dark berries.

  "Wait a second!"

  He rushed over and plucked a handful of fruit with almost childlike excitement.

  "Look at this. And who’s finally going to get some use out of that gorgeous rabbit-skin pouch, huh?"

  He proudly pulled out the bag he’d crafted the day before and began filling it methodically. Althéa approached without a word, her throat tight. She stared at the berries, the desire obvious, but her face remained impassive. Too proud to admit her hunger.

  Lucanis joined them, cast a quick glance at the fruit, and his expression hardened.

  "Don’t touch them. Those berries are toxic. Even birds avoid them."

  Althéa exhaled, visibly disappointed. Kael cursed and tossed the handful of berries onto the ground.

  "Great. Even when I do something right, I mess it up."

  He wiped his hands on his trousers, irritated.

  "And those damn crows, too… I swear, they’ve been following us since the start."

  Althéa lifted her head, instinctively alert. She’d noticed them too. Always a little too close. Always silent.

  "We should check out the cabin," she suggested. "Maybe an instructor’s set up there."

  "Or just a human," Kael added, already walking. "That’d be a first since we got here."

  Lucanis, silent, cast one last look at the berries on the ground, then followed.

  They were getting closer. The wood of the structure creaked in the wind, the planks darkened by moisture. The door was slightly ajar, as if it were waiting for them.

  Lucanis slowed as they approached the cabin. He knelt beside a patch of flattened grass, right at the edge of the porch.

  "There’s been movement here," he murmured.

  Kael stopped behind him, arms crossed.

  "You sure it’s not just a deer or some other critter?"

  Lucanis shook his head.

  "No. Too much pressure. Clear heel mark. Human. And recent."

  Althéa stepped closer in turn, her eyes fixed on the tracks.

  "Someone lives here? Or came back recently."

  "That’s what I think," Lucanis replied. "The marks are too sharp to be more than a few hours old."

  Kael glanced up at the half-open door.

  "Well then… if someone’s home, they’d better put the coffee on."

  He reached for the handle.

  "Wait," Lucanis said, rising to his feet.

  Kael froze.

  "Maybe we should go in quietly. If someone lives here, they might not want to be surprised by three idiots in black barging in like wild boars."

  Kael shrugged but nodded.

  "Fair enough. Ladies first," he said, stepping aside with a mock-gallant gesture.

  Althéa shot him a glare.

  Lucanis sighed.

  "I’ll go in first."

  He gently pushed the door open, shoulder against the wood, slowly, carefully.

  A strange smell seeped out. A mix of dust, dampness… and iron. The kind of smell that clings to the nostrils.

  Lucanis stepped inside, followed by Althéa and Kael.

  Kael entered last, absently resting a hand on one of the beams supporting the doorway.

  He froze.

  "Wait…"

  He tapped it with his fingertips.

  "There are vibrations. Not trembling… more like a resonance. Something’s moving. Underneath, I think. If there’s a basement."

  Lucanis lifted his head, instantly alert. Althéa, already tense, sharpened her focus. She swept the room with her eyes.

  "This place is a ruin."

  Black stains gnawed at the base of the walls, signs of constant damp. The air was dry, but stale. A wooden plate and utensil sat on a wobbly table, set for a single person. The bed, in the corner, was unmade, as if its occupant had just climbed out of it.

  "Honestly," Kael said, "it’s still better than my hole in the Broken Crown."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Lucanis moved toward the fireplace. He placed two fingers on the grey ashes.

  "Warm," he said simply.

  "There’s someone here. Or there was someone here less than an hour ago."

  Althéa went still. She had just noticed something.

  "There," she said, pointing to the floor to the right of the fireplace.

  A trapdoor, crudely fitted into the wooden planks. A small metal ring barely protruded.

  Lucanis signaled for them not to approach yet. He raised his hand, silently.

  All three held their breath.

  A creak. Faint. Like wood rubbing against wood.

  Had it come from below?

  Outside, the crows were stirring.

  Their caws, spaced out at first, were growing more insistent. More aggressive. As if they sensed something was wrong.

  Inside, the air seemed to thicken. The wood creaked for no reason. A drop fell from the ceiling, with no visible leak.

  Someone swallowed. Loud. Too loud. Kael? Lucanis? No one reacted.

  Kael was already rummaging through the drawers of an old worm-eaten sideboard, lifting the plates with the hunger of a survivor rather than a looter. He opened, closed, shifted anything that might be hiding leftovers.

  Lucanis stared at him, annoyed.

  "You really have no respect."

  Kael didn’t react right away. Then, without sarcasm, without a smile:

  "I’m looking for food."

  He nodded toward Althéa with his chin.

  "Look at her."

  Lucanis turned his head. Althéa was impassive. Upright. Proud.

  "I don’t see anything," he said.

  "Exactly," Kael replied. "I can tell when someone’s starving in silence."

  He plunged his arms back into the bottom of the sideboard. A dull clatter. He pulled out a few pieces of dried meat, dusty but intact.

  He tossed them toward Althéa, who caught them on reflex.

  She grimaced.

  "It’s… disgusting."

  "In three hours, you’ll change your mind, princess."

  He was about to resume his search when a corner of the furniture caught his eye. A crack in the back panel. He pried the boards apart and pulled out a small roll yellowed by time.

  "What did you find?" Lucanis asked.

  Kael unfolded the parchment.

  The handwriting was clumsy. Shaking. The ink had bled. But the words were still legible.

  "I couldn’t take it anymore. He never shut up. Always talking, always complaining, always taking everything for granted. He didn’t even see the others anymore. He ate everything. Judged everything. Thought he was above it all.

  I warned him. I tried. I really tried. But he never changed. So I took the sword. He tried to run, but I caught up with him in the meadow.

  I did it. And he screamed, of course. Like an animal. But I was the one who cried. Not him. Me. I just wanted him to stop. Now he’s silent, and I’m alone. And I think I did what had to be done."

  Kael lowered the parchment.

  A silence heavier than all the others settled over them.

  Even the crows outside had fallen silent.

  Then, from beneath the trapdoor… a scraping sound.

  Long. Wet.

  Kael swallowed. This time, it was definitely him.

  He was still holding the parchment, his hands trembling. His nonchalance had evaporated.

  "Uh… guys."

  He looked up at Lucanis, then at Althéa.

  "This thing… this isn’t a love letter. It’s a confession. A fucking murder confession."

  He shook the page, as if to prove he wasn’t making it up.

  "Wait… the skeleton, outside…"

  He raised his eyes slowly.

  "It’s him. It’s his buddy."

  Lucanis froze. Althéa too.

  Kael went on:

  "He screamed."

  "I just wanted him to stop."

  "He says he killed him with a sword. And you saw the sword, right? Stuck in his gut. Fuck…"

  He stared at the trapdoor like he was about to throw up.

  "The guy who wrote this… he’s the one who lived here. And he might still be down there."

  He turned toward Althéa, almost pleading.

  "You can’t tell me we’re just gonna open that fucking trapdoor calmly and see if the guy made some tea."

  Althéa remained icy. She watched the metal handle, the dusty ring leading down into darkness.

  "If it’s him… then he’s killed once. And hidden here, alone, for how long? Days? Weeks?"

  She tightened her grip on the sword’s hilt.

  "He’s unstable. And dangerous."

  Kael sniffed.

  "Or… he’s already dead."

  Another scraping sound, longer this time. Like a viscous breath rubbing beneath the planks.

  Lucanis murmured, almost to himself:

  "Or it’s not him anymore."

  Silence.

  Kael raised both hands.

  "We all agree this is not the moment to play heroes, right?"

  "We close the door, get the hell out, and put as much distance as possible between us and this sick cabin."

  Althéa didn’t answer. She remained still, upright, staring at the trapdoor as if she could read through it.

  Lucanis glanced at the fireplace.

  "Someone, or something, stirred the fire. Less than an hour ago."

  Driven by a curiosity he couldn’t even justify, Lucanis reached out.

  He grabbed the rusted metal ring.

  And he opened the trapdoor.

  A sharp crack echoed, like a death rattle forced out of the cabin itself. All three froze.

  A cloud of foul air spilled from the opening. A breath of death.

  And with it… the smell. Heavy. Putrid.

  A mix of mold, flesh, and fresh blood.

  Kael stepped back, his face tightening. He dropped to one knee and placed his hand on the floor, exactly where he had felt the vibration earlier.

  He went still, closed his eyes.

  "There’s movement…" he said in a breath.

  Althéa frowned.

  "How can you know that just by touching the floor?"

  Kael opened his eyes again, slowly. For once, no irony.

  "My sense of touch is… weird. overly developed. Ever since I was a kid.

  I feel things the way others hear or smell them."

  He pointed to the gaping black hole before them.

  "It’s not someone walking. No footsteps.

  It’s more like… something crawling. Or rolling on the ground.

  Like it’s struggling. Or convulsing."

  Althéa exchanged a quick glance with Lucanis.

  He was staring at the dark opening with an unreadable expression. Somewhere between caution… and fascination.

  "So what do we do?" he finally asked.

  Another sound, barely audible.

  Like a muffled breath.

  Or the moan of an animal in pain.

  Lucanis inhaled slowly. Then, in a calm, resolute tone:

  "I’ll go first."

  He stepped toward the open trapdoor, adjusted the strap of his pack, and continued:

  "Kael, you follow right after."

  "And Your Majesty," he added with a pointed look at Althéa, "you stay here."

  He wanted his voice to be firm. Final.

  But Althéa didn’t move. She lifted her chin slightly.

  "I’m not staying here. You might need me."

  "No," Lucanis replied. "Exactly."

  "If we don’t come back… you need to be able to warn someone."

  Althéa raised an eyebrow, icy.

  "You want me to play messenger? I’m going down."

  Kael shrugged.

  "Hey, we can swap if you want, princess.

  I don’t mind staying up here freaking out in my corner while you go play heroes in the dark."

  Lucanis, already crouched at the edge of the trapdoor, slowly turned around.

  "This isn’t a game, Kael."

  "Exactly. And I didn’t sign up to end up as a snack in some moldy basement, man."

  A tense silence fell, as if the cellar itself were listening.

  Then, without waiting for anyone’s approval, Lucanis let himself slide into the opening, boots thudding dully against the wooden ladder.

  Kael stepped up to the hole and glanced down.

  "Fuck…"

  He looked at Althéa.

  "Well then. Guess it’s my turn, huh?"

  She didn’t answer, but tightened her grip on her sword.

  Kael went down after him.

  Lucanis had already vanished into the darkness. No trace of his silhouette, only a black, suffocating void swallowing all light and sound.

  Each rung of the ladder creaked under Kael’s hands, and his breathing grew shorter the closer he got to the ground.

  His pulse hammered in his throat. Sweat ran down his neck.

  Like a kid, he felt his bladder tighten with fear. But he held on.

  When his boots finally touched the packed earth, Lucanis was there, standing, silent.

  Kael barely saw him. He mostly sensed his reassuring physical presence in the darkness.

  Movement above them.

  Althéa was coming down. Fast. Silent.

  "I found a torch," she said once on the ground. "It was leaning against the edge of the fireplace."

  She raised it. The torch was large, but unlit.

  "I’ve got flint," Lucanis said.

  "And I’ve got a uniform," Kael grumbled.

  Without waiting, he tore a strip from his sleeve, wrapped it around the torch head, tightened it firmly, then handed it to Lucanis.

  Lucanis struck the flint. A spray of sparks burst forth.

  A flame caught.

  Small. Weak. But alive.

  They could finally see the walls. Bare stone, damp, stained with dark marks.

  The floor: scratched in places, as if plowed by fingernails.

  The air: still, except for the olfactory shock, the smell of blood, thick, acidic, impossible to ignore.

  Lucanis raised the torch, scanning.

  "We need another source," he said. "This won’t last long."

  His eyes caught something on the wall: a metal bracket.

  An older torch, fixed there, dusty but still intact.

  He took it down and lit it from Kael’s.

  A second flame illuminated the place… and revealed the far end of the room.

  Something was there.