The tunnels swallowed their breath, their footsteps, even the sound of dripping water. It was as though the air itself conspired to silence them.
Scar-chin bore the unconscious scout across his shoulders, his jaw set in grim determination. The younger scout kept glancing back at the creature's carcass, as though he expected it to rise again. His lantern flame flickered weakly, unable to chase away the shadows.
Kael walked ahead, his stride unbroken, though his golden eyes flicked now and then to the walls. The spiral carvings had deepened, more pronounced here, etched with an artistry far too precise for miners' tools. They seemed almost to move when the lantern light slid across them, the grooves catching firelight and bending it inward, into nothing.
That was when the voice came again.
Not through the ears, but straight into the marrow.
A low murmur, layered and distorted, like a chorus of whispers speaking in unison and yet not at all.
"…turn back…
…already chosen…
…blood calls to blood…"
The younger scout jerked, nearly dropping his lantern. "You heard that, didn't you?" His voice was high, desperate.
Scar-chin's face was pale, though he tried to mask it. "Keep moving."
Kael did not answer. He pressed his palm briefly to the stone wall as they passed. It was cold, far colder than it should have been. The whispering seemed to bleed straight from the spirals into his skin.
The younger scout's lantern guttered again. The shadows stretched, elongated, until it looked as though there were more of them walking than just three.
Kael caught the boy's wrist and steadied the lantern before it went out completely. "Don't let go of the light," he said softly.
The boy looked at him, trembling. "What if the light isn't enough?"
Kael's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than they should have. "Then you hold it anyway."
They pressed deeper.
The passage narrowed, then widened again into a cavernous hollow. The ceiling was lost to shadow, the floor slick with a sheen of black water. Stalagmites rose like broken teeth, and in between them, more spirals—this time carved into the stone floor itself, radiating outward from a central pit.
Scar-chin swore under his breath. "This isn't natural."
The voice rose.
"…Kael…"
They all froze.
The whisper had spoken his name.
The younger scout stumbled back, shaking his head. "It—It knows us."
Kael's jaw tightened, though his face gave nothing else away. He stepped forward, toward the central pit, the whisper drawing him as surely as the tide drew ships to shore.
"…lost one… returned… hunter reborn…"
Scar-chin set the unconscious scout down, one hand instinctively reaching for his blade. "Rookie. Stop."
But Kael didn't. His steps were measured, precise, as though his feet already knew the way. The spirals beneath him seemed to align with his movement, guiding him inward.
The younger scout's voice cracked. "What the hell is going on? Why is it—why is it calling him?"
Kael crouched at the edge of the pit. It wasn't bottomless—no, it was worse.
It was filled with water. Perfectly still, perfectly black. And in that water, reflections moved.
Not their reflections.
Figures in armor. Figures with blades curved and cruel. A battlefield drenched in lightless fire. And one man standing among them, faceless, yet unbearably familiar.
Kael's hand reached toward the surface.
Scar-chin grabbed his arm, yanking him back. "No. Whatever that thing is, it wants you. You touch that water, and we're all dead."
For the first time since the descent began, Kael blinked, his expression breaking. He drew his hand back slowly.
The whisper hissed, a thousand voices folding into one.
"…you cannot hide from what you are…"
The water rippled.
The younger scout screamed as something pale and clawed erupted upward, a hand dragging itself free of the pit. Another followed. Then another.
Figures began to crawl out, their forms half-formed, skin stretched too thin over bones, eyes glowing with white hunger.
Kael's body moved before thought. He shoved the younger scout behind him, drawing the short blade from his belt. Scar-chin raised his own weapon, jaw clenched.
The creatures dragged themselves fully into the cavern. Their movements were jerky, but fast, too fast.
Kael struck the first one across the throat, but instead of blood, smoke spilled out, curling upward like black mist. The creature shrieked and dissolved, but three more took its place.
Scar-chin roared and buried his blade in another, pinning it to the spiral floor. "These aren't flesh!"
"Then cut them anyway," Kael said flatly, spinning low to drive his knee into one's chest. It crumpled, ribs caving, smoke spilling.
The younger scout loosed a crossbow bolt. It tore through one, but the thing kept coming, claws raking the air.
Kael twisted, catching its arm, breaking it at an impossible angle. His eyes flicked briefly golden in the lantern light, too sharp, too ancient.
The boy froze, staring at him. "What are you?" he whispered.
Kael didn't answer.
He drove the blade through the creature's skull, smoke bursting outward in a violent plume. The lantern light wavered as if pulled toward the dissipating mist, before stabilizing again.
Then, just as suddenly as they appeared, the creatures recoiled. Their white eyes blinked out, their bodies unraveling into darkness that bled back into the pit.
The cavern fell silent once more.
Kael lowered his blade. The black water in the pit was calm again, reflecting nothing at all.
The whisper lingered one last time, faint and cold.
"…we remember you…"
Then it was gone.
The younger scout fell to his knees, gasping. Scar-chin wiped his blade, but his eyes never left Kael.
"You didn't fight like a recruit," Scar-chin said. His voice was low, steady, but the weight behind it was heavier than any accusation. "You fought like something that's done this a thousand times before."
Kael stared into the pit. The silence pressed against his skull, and in the stillness, he could still feel the echo of the voice.
Not a stranger's voice.
Something that knew him.
Something that wanted him back.