The descent carried them into air that was colder and wetter, thick with a metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat. The walls here weren't raw stone anymore, they were carved.
Old carvings.
Lines of geometric symbols ran in parallel bands across the passage, worn down by time but still sharp enough to catch the lantern light. A repeating spiral motif curled into itself again and again, like a vortex swallowing its own center.
The pale-haired scout brushed his fingers over one, then jerked them back as if burned. "This isn't mining work. This is..."
"Older," Kael said. His voice didn't echo. Neither did anyone else's. The sound here just… stopped.
Scar-chin glanced over his shoulder into the dark above. "Feels like a tomb."
The younger scout swallowed audibly. "Why does it feel… quieter?"
"Because something wants it that way," Kael said without slowing.
They pushed forward until the passage widened into an oval chamber. Here, the carvings were deeper, the spirals bigger, almost large enough for a man to stand inside their grooves. The lantern light wavered.
Then the sound came.
Not the scrapes this time. Not the claws.
Breathing.
Slow. Wet.
It came from the dark end of the chamber.
The pale-haired scout lifted his lantern. The flame flickered over something pale and low to the ground. At first, it looked like a pile of rags, then the rags shifted, joints bending in a way no living thing's should.
White eyes opened.
The younger scout swore and raised his crossbow, but the creature moved before he could aim, a blur of limbs and teeth.
Kael stepped forward. Not away. Forward.
The first lunge came low. Kael's foot slid half an inch, his body turning just enough that the creature's claws grazed air where his torso had been. His left hand caught its forelimb, his right slamming into the joint with a wet crack.
It shrieked, twisting but it didn't pull back. It came through him, body contorting midair, tail whipping toward his skull.
Kael ducked under it, driving his shoulder into its ribcage. Bone gave way. The thing hissed, teeth snapping inches from his face.
Scar-chin loosed a bolt, the shaft burying itself in the creature's flank. It didn't even slow.
The pale-haired scout drew a hooked blade and tried to circle to its side, but the thing spun in a way that shouldn't have been possible, tail sweeping low. His feet left the ground. He hit the wall with a sickening crack and went limp.
The younger scout screamed his name.
Kael's focus didn't waver. His movements were precise, economical, without any of the frantic energy of a man fighting for his life. He was placing himself where the creature would be, not reacting to where it was.
Its claw slashed for his face. He caught the wrist mid-swing and twisted, forcing the limb back until the joint tore.
The creature convulsed, trying to bite at him.
Kael's knee came up, snapping its jaw sideways with an audible pop.
But it didn't stop.
It never stopped.
It writhed like a rope full of knives, trying to coil around him, tail stabbing down like a spear.
Kael let it.
At the last instant, he pivoted, letting the tail bury itself into the stone floor beside him. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through the carvings.
His right hand shot up, fingers closing around the base of its skull. He wrenched it down, slamming its head into the stone once, twice.
The third time, the skull split.
A gush of black ichor spilled across the floor, steaming in the cold air. The creature went limp, limbs twitching in strange aftershocks before going still.
Silence rushed in again, heavier than before.
Kael let the carcass drop.
Scar-chin was staring at him. Not at the corpse, but at Kael's hands.
"You…" His voice caught. "You fought it like you'd done it before. Like you knew.."
Kael crouched beside the pale-haired scout. His pulse was weak but steady. "He's alive," Kael said, ignoring the question.
The younger scout was shaking, crossbow still aimed at the corpse as if it might rise again. "That wasn't just… speed," he said hoarsely. "You predicted it. No one moves like that unless..."
Kael looked at him, and whatever the boy saw in his eyes shut him up instantly.
"Help me with him," Kael said, nodding at the unconscious man.
Scar-chin hesitated, then bent to lift him. His voice was quieter now, uncertain. "What the hell are you, rookie?"
Kael didn't answer. He was staring at the spiral carvings, the fresh cracks running through them from the tail strike.
From somewhere deeper in the tunnels, another sound rose.
Not claws. Not breathing.
Something older.
A voice.
It wasn't speaking words, but the sound curled in the ear like a whisper too close to the skin, impossible to ignore.
The younger scout's lantern guttered, the flame shrinking as if smothered.
Kael straightened. "We're not alone down here."