The morning sun broke through the high windows of Ashvale's adventurers' guildhall, casting golden light across the polished oak floors. I stood just inside the massive double doors, flanked by Arya on one side and Soren on the other, my fingers unconsciously flexing around the hilt of my sword.
We had been summoned.
And judging from the nervous energy crackling through the air, this wasn't just another job posting.
The Guildmaster's office occupied the highest floor of the guildhall—a grand room lined with maps, trophies from past expeditions, and a massive obsidian table that gleamed like black ice. We were ushered in by a page who barely glanced at us before retreating.
Behind the table, she stood: Guildmaster Elara.
Her presence was… unsettling. Not because of her appearance—she was tall, lean, with sharp cheekbones and a severe braid of silver hair—but because of her eyes. They didn't just look at you. They seemed to see through you, stripping away every mask and excuse you'd ever worn.
"Sit," she said simply.
We obeyed.
Soren lounged back casually in his chair as though he owned the place, while Arya sat ramrod straight, every inch the disciplined operative she pretended not to be. I sat somewhere between them, hands resting on my knees, forcing my face to stay neutral.
"I've been watching your progress," Elara began without preamble.
Her voice was cool, clipped, but not unkind.
"You've handled every assignment I've thrown at you—better than I expected, frankly. That's good. It means you're worth my time. But don't fool yourselves into thinking you're ready yet. You're not. You're clever enough to survive goblin raids, yes, but this guild is not merely a clearinghouse for petty work and bar brawls. It was founded to guard the delicate balance of power across the entire continent. And to serve that mission… I need people who can do what others can't."
She paused, letting the words hang in the still air.
"That's why I'm sending you to Hollowdeep."
Arya's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Soren's smirk faltered. Even I felt a cold weight drop into my stomach at the name.
Hollowdeep.
Everyone had heard the stories.
The ancient tunnels that sprawled under the eastern mountains, deeper than anyone had ever mapped. Some said the ruins of a dead civilization lay buried there. Others said it was cursed. What everyone agreed on was that few who ventured into Hollowdeep ever came back.
"The guild has lost three scouting parties in as many weeks," Elara continued matter-of-factly. "I suspect more than feral creatures are at work down there. Something intelligent. Something organized. Find out what it is. If it's hostile, deal with it. If it can be reasoned with, negotiate. Bring back proof you've completed the mission. Any questions?"
I swallowed hard.
"No," I said.
"Good."
She stood, a faint smile tugging at her mouth as though she already knew how this would end.
"Then get moving."
---
We left Ashvale at dawn the next day, the guild crest freshly stamped into our travel papers. The journey to Hollowdeep took us two full days on horseback, winding through rocky hills and scrubland.
The last settlement we passed was little more than a mining camp clinging to the edge of the mountains. Beyond that, the road dissolved into a faint trail of dust and gravel, and then nothing at all.
By the time we reached the jagged mouth of Hollowdeep, night was falling.
A cold wind blew from the yawning dark below, carrying with it a scent of damp stone and… something else. Something faintly metallic, like blood left too long in the sun.
Soren dismounted, resting his hand casually on the hilt of one of his twin blades.
"Well," he said lightly. "Home sweet home."
I shot him a look but said nothing. Arya adjusted the strap of her crossbow, her eyes fixed on the shadowy entrance ahead of us.
"Let's not waste time," she murmured.
---
The first few chambers of the tunnel system were surprisingly intact—smooth walls carved with faded runes, staircases descending at impossible angles. Our boots crunched on broken tiles and scattered bones.
It wasn't until we'd descended three levels that we found the first bodies.
Or rather… what was left of them.
Guild scouts. Torn apart. Their armor shredded like paper, their faces twisted in frozen screams.
Brenn knelt by one, touching the rents in the steel.
"Not claws," he murmured. "Blades. Crude, but sharp."
I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck.
Soren muttered something under his breath, drawing both swords.
"Guess that answers the question about intelligence," he said grimly.
We pressed on.
---
Somewhere below, in the choking dark, we heard them.
Whispers.
A dozen voices, low and guttural, echoing off the stone. And then the sound of footsteps, fast and light, skittering just out of sight.
We rounded a corner and came face-to-face with our quarry.
They were humanoid, but barely. Skin the color of ash, eyes glowing faintly like embers, their thin limbs wrapped in filthy rags. Each carried a jagged blade of black iron.
For a moment, neither side moved.
Then one shrieked.
And they charged.
---
The fight was chaos.
Blades clashed in the darkness, sparks dancing like fireflies. I parried a downward strike just in time, feeling the shock rattle my arm as I drove my attacker back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arya roll under a wild swing and bury her dagger in a creature's ribs.
Soren moved like a storm, his twin swords cutting a deadly arc through the press of bodies.
But they just kept coming.
No matter how many we cut down, more poured from the shadows, screaming and clawing, their eyes burning brighter with every moment.
We fell back into a defensive circle, breathing hard, blood slick on our blades.
And then… they stopped.
One by one, the creatures froze.
A hush fell over the cavern.
Then the crowd parted.
And a figure emerged from the dark.
He was taller than the others, his skin pale as bone, his black armor worked with cruel barbs and strange sigils. A single sword hung at his side, its blade shimmering with a faint, oily light.
But it was his eyes that made my blood run cold.
Red.
Cold.
Familiar.
"Welcome," he said softly, his voice carrying across the silent cavern. "We've been expecting you."
I tightened my grip on my sword, forcing my breathing to steady.
Because I knew him.
I knew that voice.
Sigma.
The man from the tower.
He smiled faintly, and the embers in the eyes of his followers flared brighter.
"Come, Lynn Holt," he said, as though speaking to an old friend. "Let me show you the true depth of the world."
I didn't lower my blade.
But deep down, a small voice whispered that this was just the beginning.
The true test had only begun.