The second level opened the way quietly.
Not with a drop or a stair—just a change in how the mine received us. The air shifted first, cooler and drier, carrying less of the surface with it. Lantern light lost its reach faster here, shadows folding back in on themselves after only a few steps.
Footing grew uneven. Old tool marks crossed the walls at different heights, reminders of work done by hands that hadn't expected trouble. Support beams stood closer together, timber darkened where moisture had once collected and never fully left.
We moved in a line without speaking.
Sound behaved differently now. It didn't travel so much as it stayed—boots brushing stone, the faint clink of metal settling after movement, breath drawn and released with more care than before. Each noise seemed to weigh its options, as if deciding whether to go farther or remain where it was.
My attention tightened. Not fear exactly—just focus, shaped by the quiet. It was easy to see how someone might mistake this for safety.
The tunnel bent ahead, light thinning again beyond it.
We kept going.
Khalid adjusted his grip on his shield, then loosened it again, as if testing how much space he truly needed. The movement was small, but repeated.
"These tunnels p-punish poor footing," he said quietly.
Rasaad glanced toward him. "They punish shallow breath first."
Khalid let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh. "I've always found I notice the second before the first."
"That is common," Rasaad said. "The body tightens before the mind admits it has reason to."
Khalid considered that as we walked. "And if one notices too late?"
"Then one breathes anyway," Rasaad replied. "Late is not the same as useless."
Khalid nodded once. "I'll try to remember that."
Rasaad inclined his head. "That is all anyone can do."
The exchange faded without ceremony. No pause followed it—just the continued rhythm of movement, lantern light sliding ahead of us and retreating again.
Whatever calm the words had offered settled quickly, like dust disturbed and then left behind.
The sound reached us before the light did.
A steady rhythm—metal striking stone, then a pause. Measured. Unhurried. The sound of work carried on where it shouldn't have been.
We followed it to a worked pocket where the lantern caught the arc of a pick rising and falling against a seam in the wall. The man wielding it moved with practiced economy, shoulders rolling slightly with each strike.
He stopped when he noticed us.
Not abruptly. Just a pause, the pick held where it was as he looked us over, eyes narrowing in consideration rather than alarm.
"Well," he said after a moment. "That's unexpected."
He set the pick aside and wiped his hands on his trousers, iron dust darkening the fabric further. Up close, he looked worn rather than shaken—jaw tight, attention stretched thin, the look of someone who'd been listening too hard for too long.
"You're not miners," he said. It wasn't a question.
I lifted the dagger slightly, enough for the lantern to catch the edge.
"Kylee?"
His gaze flicked to it, then back to me. "Aye."
"You dropped your dagger."
His hand went to his belt without thinking.
Fingers brushed empty leather.
For a heartbeat, he stood very still.
Then he exhaled through his nose, sharp and quiet. "Huh," he said. "So I did."
I held it out. "Dink found it on the ground. Said you'd dropped it while you were talking. Asked us to pass it along if we came across you."
That earned a short nod. "Sounds like him."
He took the dagger with a familiarity that bordered on relief, thumb settling against the hilt as if checking something that should never have been missing. He slid it back into place and gave the strap a quick tug to be sure.
"I didn't even notice," he admitted. "Must've been listening more than I thought."
He glanced deeper into the tunnel. "Figured it might be quieter down here. After what happened above."
That told me more than he likely intended.
He wasn't calm—he was committed. Fear hadn't driven him away; it had narrowed his choices until only one felt workable.
I felt my own pace adjust without thinking.
A shout echoed from somewhere ahead—ragged, close to panic.
"Help—!"
Kylee's head snapped up. "Beldin?"
Footsteps followed the voice, fast and uneven. A man burst into the lantern light from a side passage, face pale beneath the grime.
"Kobolds!" he shouted. "They're right behind me—!"
Kylee moved immediately, hand settling on the dagger at his belt.
The rest of us shifted without speaking—steel freed, stances set, attention drawn tight toward the bend the miner had come from.
Imoen slipped away from the light.
Not retreating—just stepping where the lantern didn't reach, where the tunnel's angles broke sightlines and sound alike. She drew her bow there, slow and silent, and waited.
The mine held its breath.
The first kobold broke into the lantern light at a run, spear leveled low, momentum carrying it forward faster than caution ever could.
It never saw Imoen.
The bowstring whispered once.
The arrow struck just beneath the jaw, snapping the creature backward mid-step. It hit the stone hard and didn't get up. The others behind it skidded to a halt, startled shouts tumbling over one another as they tried to understand what had gone wrong.
That was when the ground answered.
Roots tore through the stone with a sound like splitting wood, thick vines coiling around ankles and shins as Jaheira's spell took hold. One kobold shrieked as it stumbled, spear clattering away as the ground seized it. Another lurched sideways, barely keeping its footing as the growth surged unevenly through the tunnel.
One tore free with a wet sound and staggered toward open ground.
Imoen loosed again.
The arrow caught it between the shoulders and drove it forward into the wall. It slid down and went still, the cry cut off as if it had never been there at all.
I didn't rush in.
The footing ahead had turned treacherous in the span of a breath. I brought the crossbow up instead, settling it against my shoulder.
The slinger at the back raised its arm.
I fired first.
The bolt struck high in the chest, slamming the creature against the stone. It slid down with a thin, rattling sound and stayed there, sling stones spilling uselessly from its grasp.
Khalid moved without hesitation.
He stepped in front of Kylee, shield raised as a spear jabbed through the tangle of roots. The point scraped harmlessly along the rim as Khalid shoved forward, forcing the kobold back into the grasping growth.
Kylee didn't retreat.
He drew the dagger instead, gripping it tight, eyes fixed on the struggle ahead. His breath hitched once—then steadied.
The last kobold lunged blindly, half-dragging broken vines behind it.
Rasaad met it in motion.
He stepped inside the reach of the blade, redirected the strike with a sharp twist of his wrist, and let momentum finish the rest. The kobold hit the stone hard and did not rise again.
After that, the sounds began to fall away.
Not all at once—just piece by piece. The scrabble of feet, the rasp of breath pulled too fast and too shallow, the frantic noises that didn't belong to us. What remained was the low creak of timber and the soft, restless shifting of roots as Jaheira's spell loosened its hold.
A kobold lay slumped against the far wall, an arrow buried deep enough that only the fletching showed. Another lay twisted where the vines had dragged it down, neck bent at an angle that answered questions before they could be asked.
No one moved right away.
Khalid lowered his shield a fraction at a time, careful not to turn his back on the tunnel. Only when the last of the roots slackened did he step aside, giving Kylee room without needing to be asked.
Kylee stayed where he was.
The dagger was still in his hand. He looked down at it, then at the nearest body, then away again. His breathing came fast once, then slowed as he forced it back under control.
"Beldin?" he called.
A shape shifted behind a low stack of crates farther back in the tunnel. Beldin leaned out just enough for the lantern to catch his face, one hand still braced against the wood.
"I'm here," he said. "I'm here."
That seemed to be enough.
Rasaad stepped clear of the torn ground, calm as ever, brushing dust from his hands as if finishing a movement that no longer required thought.
Imoen reappeared from the shadows without ceremony, already unstringing her bow. She glanced once toward the dark beyond the lantern's reach, then at the fallen, and seemed content to let the matter rest.
Jaheira knelt and pressed a hand briefly to the stone. The roots withdrew at her touch, leaving torn earth and snapped growth behind as though they'd never been there at all.
Only then did I realize my heart had never really started racing.
The awareness came oddly late—like noticing you've been holding something heavy only after you set it down. I lowered the crossbow and checked the bolt by habit, hands steady.
Kylee glanced at me, then at Khalid. "Thank you," he said, simply.
Khalid nodded. No words. He didn't need them.
Beldin straightened, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. "They weren't like before," he said. "Didn't scatter. Didn't hesitate."
"No," Jaheira said. "They didn't."
The tunnel ahead lay quiet again.
Not peaceful.
Just waiting.
We didn't linger.