There it was. A flicker of chaos framed against the dam—three harpies dancing erratically in the air, their wings beating rapid and unpredictable rhythms as they swerved to avoid the storm of arrows loosed from the wooden outcrop. Three beaver archers stood atop the hastily constructed platform, its planks jutting from the dam’s smooth face like a wound torn open mid-battle.

  No one sane would dare fly me straight toward them. A frontal charge was suicide. The sky above was a kill zone, and approaching from the flanks was no better—those archers had clear lines of sight in every direction but one.

  Below.

  It was a long shot. A mad one. But that was the only way. The two harpies carrying me soared hard and fast, weaving between arrow volleys until we were nearly beneath the platform. And then, without a word—just a subtle twitch of their wings—they let go.

  I soared upward like a thrown spear, limbs flailing, momentum propelling me toward my mark. A harpy shrieked above me—one of the three drawing fire had taken an arrow through the wing and spiraled downward. But she wasn’t dead. I caught her grin as she tumbled past me, trusting her comrades to catch her. Our eyes met for the briefest of moments. I think she smiled not at me, but at the sight of revenge in motion.

  Then I hit the platform.

  Hard.

  I slammed into its underside like a battering ram, catching the edge with one outstretched arm. Pain flared through my shoulder as the force of impact swung me back and forth like a grotesque pendulum. The wood creaked beneath my grip, but I held on, and when I finally stilled, I found myself face to face with a stunned beaver staring down at me.

  “This stupid pale bitch survived!” he blurted, panic overtaking his features as he scrambled back to his feet. His claws fumbled for an arrow, drawing his bow with shaking haste.

  Bored already, I hauled myself up one-handed and lunged for his legs. His scream cut through the night as I yanked hard, sending him flailing backward off the platform. He disappeared with a splash far below.

  “And that, my friend,” I muttered, hoisting myself fully onto the wood, “is why you install a damn railing.”

  The other two archers were already in motion, bows drawn, aiming directly at my chest. I tilted my head with a smirk.

  “Oh, by the way... you forgot something.”

  A blur of feathers rose on either side of the platform—two harpies, silent and sudden, wings slicing the air. They crashed into the remaining archers with a satisfying thud. The beavers didn’t even get a chance to cry out before they were lifted bodily into the sky, vanishing into the black.

  I was alone again, finally.

  Then something caught my eye—a dull glint slithering down the curve of the dam like a snake of silver light. My sword. Or what was left of it. A harpy had freed it from wherever it was lodged, and gravity did the rest. I tracked it with hungry eyes, shifting slightly—

  —and caught it with a sharp snap of my wrist just before it hit the platform.

  It was ugly. Blunt. More a metal pipe than a blade now. But it would do.

  I turned toward the weathered wooden door set into the dam's inner structure. Its iron hinges stared at me like judgmental eyes. I pushed it open slowly, my hand still around the sword's hilt, and took my first step into the belly of the beast.

  “Why does this have to be so goddamn narrow?” I muttered, ducking again as a support beam scraped against my scalp. The hallway was cramped, more suited for oversized rodents than anything upright. Even with my shorter stature, I had to hunch, my neck bent at an angle that made every step an annoyance.

  Shortly, I considered taking another entrance. Maybe there was a larger corridor, or a central chamber—something designed for more than beavers running on all fours. But then one of them came charging straight at me, claws scraping against the wood, snarling in that pathetic, half-feral way.

  A quick jab silenced him. My blade found his eye and pushed through, the metal grinding as it met the back of his skull. He twitched violently, then went limp, slumping beneath my feet.

  “Lovely. Right between the eyes,” I said flatly, wiping the blood off on his fur as I stepped over him.

  The narrowness made sense now. These corridors were designed with precision—tight enough for two beavers to pass, but low enough to force invaders like me into a constant crouch. Efficient design. Terrible hospitality. I was forced to keep moving at an awkward shuffle, my knees burning, my neck beginning to throb. I could deal with physical pain—it was the monotony that grated on my nerves.

  And gods, it was boring.

  The next few beavers fell before they even registered my presence. They died with confused eyes, mouths open in half-formed cries of warning that never made it to the next junction.

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  “So this is what happens when a civilisation grows fat and safe.” I wiped fresh blood off my cheek. “They forget how to fight.”

  I skewered my hundredth beaver—give or take a few—and was already feeling the lack of challenge when the first alarm finally rang. A deep, pulsing horn echoed through the dam’s bones, shaking dust from the rafters and making the wooden walls hum like a struck drum.

  “Finally,” I breathed, perking up slightly. “A warm welcome.”

  Their tactics improved—but only slightly. I turned a corner and was greeted by a row of archers crouched at the far end of a long hallway. Their arrows glinted faintly under the flickering magical lamps lining the ceiling. This was their trap. A proper kill zone. It might’ve even worked—on someone else.

  I rolled my eyes, turned around, and returned to the last corpse I left bleeding on the floor.

  “You’ll do.”

  I grabbed the beaver’s limp body by its scruff and one hind leg, hoisted it up like a grotesque shield, and trudged back toward the corridor at a slow, measured pace. Arrows thunked into his hide, one after another, turning him into a pincushion. Blood soaked my hands, warm and sticky as it ran between my fingers. He twitched a little from the momentum, as if protesting from the afterlife.

  “Don’t be dramatic,” I muttered to him.

  I was close enough now. I grinned and hurled the makeshift shield forward with all my strength. It crashed into the first archer, toppling him and throwing the others into a brief disarray. That was all I needed.

  I charged.

  They scrambled to reload, panicked and fumbling. Too late. My sword swung in a low arc, colliding with flesh and bone. One scream, two—then silence. The hallway was painted red again, fresh blood – tasting slightly better than those of beasts - was flowing down my chin.

  And I kept walking, wiping the blood from my face with the back of my hand, irritation sharpening every movement.

  “This better lead to that damn mana source,” I growled, stepping over twitching corpses and into the next corridor, ducking as the ceiling sloped even lower. “Because if I have to crouch-kill my way through another dozen rodents, I swear I’m burning this whole place down just for the principle.”

  It took longer than I’d liked to find a staircase, tucked away behind a half-collapsed supply corridor and hidden beneath a slanted wooden arch. When I finally located it, I stared in confusion for a moment. The stairs were absurdly tiny—clearly not made for someone with two feet and a sense of balance. Each step could barely hold the width of my boot, and although the staircase itself was wide, it spiraled downward like a termite’s idea of architecture.

  Additionally - it was dark. Much darker than anywhere else I’d been inside the dam. No glowing runes or magical lamps hummed in the walls here—just shadows pressing in on all sides and the occasional flicker of dim light from cracks in the wooden seams. The silence was strange too. No rustling claws, no nervous chatter, no incoming arrows. It was quiet in the way abandoned places are—eerily so.

  Suspicious. Very suspicious.

  Still, no ambush greeted me. No flurry of fur and teeth sprang from the darkness. I descended carefully, my back hugging the wall, hand resting loosely on the hilt of my dull sword—well, dull in edge, but not in intent.

  Either they hadn’t realized how easy it would be to pin me in this choke point—or, more worryingly, they had, and had something else planned. Maybe I had already cut down every warrior they had. That idea amused me.

  “Huh,” I muttered aloud, my voice swallowed by the silence.

  I whistled softly, an old tune I’d heard in the human barracks, just to break the tension. It echoed back up the stairwell in a warped, almost mocking way, but it comforted me nonetheless. By the time I reached the bottom, my nerves had settled into a familiar rhythm of readiness and quiet irritation.

  There was only one way forward.

  A large wooden door loomed at the end of the hallway—thick, reinforced, and glaringly out of place. No intricate carvings. No magical symbols. Just wood. But heavy wood. The kind that said you’re not getting through me without a fight.

  I tried the handle first. Naturally, it didn’t budge. I gripped it tighter, pulled harder, until with a brittle crack the handle snapped clean off in my hand.

  I blinked at it, mildly offended. “Rude.”

  I stared at the hole left behind, curiosity flaring. First with a tentative prod, then more aggressively, I jammed my fingers into the opening, trying to feel out whatever mechanism might be hidden behind it. No luck.

  “Fine.”

  I stood back and began hammering at the lock with the hilt of my sword, sending splinters flying as I pounded away. The blows echoed unnaturally loud, thudding like drumbeats against the dam’s innards. But despite the noise and the damage, the door remained stubbornly shut. Not even a crack.

  Frustrated, I dropped to the ground and peered underneath.

  That’s when I saw it.

  A hardened fluid—dark, sticky, and thoroughly unnatural—sealed the base of the door like an oozing glue that had dried into stone. It filled every crevice, blocking any leverage I might’ve had from below. A trap, without question. Deliberate. Intelligent. And far more magical than I liked.

  “Huh…” I narrowed my eyes. “So that’s what you’ve been hiding.”

  I sat there for a moment, tapping a finger against the floor thoughtfully. Whatever was on the other side of that door, they really, really didn’t want me getting to it.

  Which meant I had to get through even more.