The rhythmic scraping and clicking intensified, echoing unnervingly off the ice-slicked walls of the cave. It wasn't random; it had a pattern, a mechanical precision that sent shivers down Lunrik's spine unrelated to the frigid air. It was close. Very close. Coming from inside the wall adorned with the ancient Dwarven carvings.
"Back towards the entrance?" Kaelith whispered urgently, her knife held low, her eyes darting between the dark depths of the cave and the grey light filtering in from the glacier. Outside meant potential exposure to the hunters or Ashfang, but at least it was a known danger.
Lunrik hesitated, his mind racing, Alaric's tactical sense battling Lunrik's immediate fear. Retreating now felt like walking back into the dragon's shadow or the hunters' potential line of sight. The Ashfang knew Eryndor held knowledge of passes; Magdra wouldn't give up easily, reinforcements were likely. Staying pinned near the entrance felt like waiting in a poorly disguised trap.
"No," Lunrik decided, the word raspy in the tense silence. "If that sound is coming from behind the wall… maybe the wall itself is the best cover. Or… maybe it's a way through." It was a desperate gamble, but staying put felt worse. "We need to see what's making that noise. Quickly."
Kaelith looked unconvinced but saw the grim logic. They were caught between dangers. She nodded curtly, her knuckles white on her knife hilt. "Eryndor, stay close, stay quiet!" she commanded the terrified Frostmane, who whimpered but seemed too frightened to disobey.
Holding the small flame aloft again, Kaelith led the way cautiously back towards the ornately carved wall. The scraping sound was louder here, seeming to vibrate through the very stone beneath their feet. It was accompanied now by a faint, rhythmic hiss, like escaping steam, and the steady tick-tock of intricate internal mechanisms.
They scanned the wall, the torchlight dancing across the complex geometric patterns. The carvings were seamless, masterfully integrated into the rock face. But near the center, at about chest height, was a section where the interlocking designs seemed slightly different, converging on a single, multi-faceted crystal embedded in the stone, dark and inert.
"There," Lunrik breathed, pointing. "The sound… it's strongest behind that."
Kaelith reached out tentatively, her gloved hand hovering near the crystal. She could feel the faint vibrations emanating from it, a low thrum of contained, ancient power. "Is it… a lock? A control?"
As her fingers brushed the icy surface near the crystal, the rhythmic clicking suddenly accelerated into a rapid whirring sound. The embedded crystal flickered with a brief, internal red light. With a deafening groan of grinding stone and pressurized steam, the entire section of the wall they were examining began to retract inwards, sliding smoothly into a hidden recess. Dust and ice crystals rained down as ancient seals broke.
Beyond the moving wall lay not a passage, but a chamber. Small, alcove-like, carved from the same dark rock, but shockingly clean, free of ice and snow. And occupying the center of the alcove, previously hidden behind the stone panel, was the source of the noise.
It was a construct, roughly humanoid in shape but clearly artificial, standing about seven feet tall. Crafted from bronze, iron, and dark, unknown alloys, it was pitted and weathered by immense age, yet seemed chillingly functional. Gears turned smoothly within its chest cavity, visible through reinforced crystal plates. Pistons hissed rhythmically in its limbs. Its head was a solid block of metal with glowing optical sensors – currently a baleful, focused red – fixed directly on them. One arm ended in a heavy, multi-pronged clamp; the other wielded a rotating drill bit that spun with a low, threatening whine. Steam vented intermittently from joints in its shoulders and back. An ancient Dwarven automaton. A Watcher.
And it was active.
It had clearly detected their presence, perhaps through vibration sensors, thermal readings, or some arcane dwarven method. The activation of the wall panel seemed less like opening a door and more like revealing a guardian.
Eryndor let out a choked gasp, stumbling backwards, eyes wide with pure, unadulterated terror.
The automaton took a heavy, clanking step forward out of its alcove, its red optical sensors tracking their movements with unnerving precision. Its drill arm whirred faster, raising slightly. It emitted a harsh burst of metallic clicks and whistles – not language, but perhaps a challenge or a warning system activating.
"Fenrivar protect us," Kaelith breathed, instinctively positioning herself between the construct and the terrified Eryndor.
Lunrik hefted the energy rifle, fumbling momentarily with the unfamiliar grip. He had no idea how to fire it, if it even had power, but it was the only ranged option. He pointed it towards the automaton's chest cavity, hoping the complex gears visible there were a vulnerability.
The Watcher ignored Eryndor completely. Its threat assessment seemed focused solely on the two armed werewolves. It raised its clamp arm, the heavy metal pincers snapping open and shut with intimidating force, then took another deliberate, grinding step forward.
"Distract it!" Lunrik yelled, deciding action was better than waiting to be skewered or clamped. He braced the alien rifle, trying to find a trigger, a stud, anything.
Kaelith didn't need telling. She darted sideways, moving with fluid Dravenwolf agility, trying to draw the automaton's attention away from Lunrik and Eryndor. She feinted a lunge, her knife flashing, hoping to find a weak point in its joints.
The Watcher reacted instantly, its torso swiveling with surprising speed to track her movement. It swung its clamp arm in a wide arc, forcing Kaelith to leap backwards, barely avoiding the crushing metal fist. The clamp slammed into the cave wall where she'd been standing, pulverizing stone and ice with contemptuous ease.
Seeing Kaelith draw its fire, Lunrik found what felt like a trigger mechanism – a smooth indentation on the underside of the rifle stock. He squeezed it desperately.
Instead of a blue energy beam, the rifle emitted a low groan and a shower of sparks. A plume of acrid smoke puffed from a seam near the muzzle. The weapon was damaged, likely from the leader's fall, or perhaps its internal power cell was depleted or incompatible with his touch. It was useless.
Discarding the rifle with a curse, Lunrik drew his own simple hunting knife – laughably inadequate. The automaton, having forced Kaelith back, turned its attention back to him, its drill arm lowering, spinning faster, aiming for his center mass.
There was no room to maneuver effectively in the narrow cave section. Eryndor was huddled against the back wall, whimpering, useless. Kaelith was momentarily off-balance. Lunrik stared down the spinning drill bit, metal screaming as it closed the distance.
Just as the drill was about to impact, Kaelith launched herself from the side, not attacking the automaton directly, but throwing her weight against its leg joint. Her impact wasn't enough to topple the heavy construct, but it made it stumble, its intricate balance momentarily disrupted. The spinning drill bit veered wildly off course, missing Lunrik by inches and gouging a deep scar into the ice floor.
The Watcher let out another burst of angry clicks, swiveling its torso to backhand Kaelith with immense force. She flew across the cave, slamming hard against the far wall with a cry of pain.
Lunrik saw red. Alaric's protective fury surged, overriding caution. He leaped forward, ignoring the clamp arm swinging towards him, and drove his knife with all his strength towards the glowing red optical sensors on the automaton's head.
His knife blade met the sensor casing with a sharp clang and skittered off, leaving barely a scratch. Reinforced crystal or hardened metal. Futile.
The clamp arm closed around his torso like a band of unbreakable steel, lifting him effortlessly off the ground, squeezing the air from his lungs. Pain exploded through his ribs. He struggled frantically, kicking, slashing uselessly at the metal arm, but he was caught fast. The automaton raised him higher, its red eyes fixed on him, its drill arm lowering again, preparing for a slow, grinding execution.
He locked eyes with the impassive red sensors, trapped, helpless. The scent of hot metal and ozone filled his nostrils. This ancient sentinel of Grimfang Deep was about to extinguish the faint spark of hope that had survived Alaric's death, ending their quest in this cold, forgotten cave.