We didn't step fully into the chamber before the shape of it asserted itself.
The space was wider than it first appeared, the floor curving away into a rough oval. Along the walls and near the edges of the chamber lay several low arrangements of bone—clean, sorted, placed with intention rather than collapse. Skulls stacked carefully. Long bones aligned.
Lantern light reached the far side of the chamber and found the figure waiting there.
He stood where the stone rose slightly, giving him elevation without effort. Chainmail lay heavy across his broad frame, well-fitted, the links dark with use rather than neglect. A large shield rested at his side, scarred but sound. The morning star at his hip remained untouched. Over the armor, he wore a dark tunic marked with an angular sigil—jagged lines intersecting around a fractured central shape, stark and deliberate against the cloth.
His face marked him unmistakably as half-orc—heavy brow, blunt features, tusks worn short rather than ornamental. Whatever refinement faith had given him, it hadn't softened him. He looked built to endure, to hold ground long after others broke.
I knew his name.
Not from warning or rumor—there had been none—but from recognition. From the way the chamber was arranged around him. From the sense that this was not a threshold, but an ending.
Mulahey.
The cleric who marked the bottom of the mines. The encounter that lingered, not because it was difficult, but because it was deliberate.
His eyes moved to us calmly.
"So," he said, "did Tazok send you?"
The question carried easily through the chamber, unhurried, edged with something like expectation rather than fear.
"If he did," Mulahey continued, "then I have finally outlived my usefulness." A pause. A faint tightening at the corner of his mouth. "Cyric teaches us not to cling to such things."
Jaheira planted her staff. "People are dying here."
"Yes," Mulahey said, without hesitation. "Strife is clarifying. Confusion separates the faithful from the weak. When order fractures, truth shows itself."
His gaze passed over us, then lingered briefly on Xan.
"You should have remained observers," Mulahey said. "Once blood is involved, outcomes narrow."
Beside me, Xan leaned just enough for his voice to reach my ear.
"They're here," he murmured. "Just not assembled."
The air shifted.
Mulahey raised one hand.
The space around it distorted—not with light or heat, but with instability. A hammer formed from jagged force and shadow, its shape never fully settling, edges splitting and reforming as though reality itself resisted holding it. The thing hummed softly, discordant, a weapon forged from accusation rather than faith.
Four figures began to take shape at once.
Stone scraped sharply as skulls snapped into place, ribs lifting and locking with practiced precision. Along the edges of the chamber, weapons were drawn into the motion—two skeletons assembling around sword and shield, the others rising with larger blades dragged up and caught mid-motion as arms formed to grip them. Where eyes should have been, a dull red glow kindled and fixed on us.
They advanced together.
Khalid stepped forward immediately.
Shield up. Feet set. The first blow crashed into his guard with a brittle, echoing crack that carried through the chamber. The impact drove him back half a step, armor groaning under the force. A second skeleton pressed in beside the first, shield angled to crowd him as Khalid twisted, forcing one blade wide while bracing for the next.
Rasaad was already moving.
He crossed in a controlled blur, closing the distance before one of the larger blades could fully come to bear. His strike landed clean and centered—fist driving through collarbone and spine in one compact motion. Bone burst apart under the impact, fragments scattering as the sword clattered free and the structure holding it simply came undone.
Near the wall, Jaheira turned as another skeleton pressed forward. Her staff was already in motion. She spoke a single word, voice steady, and the wood hardened in her grip, darkening as borrowed strength thrummed through it. The blow landed with a solid, resonant crack. The skeleton reeled, ribs splintering, but stayed upright.
At the far edge of the chamber, closer to Mulahey's elevation, the two shield-bearing skeletons finished settling into place, shields lifting in silent obedience.
Mulahey watched. The spectral hammer drifted beside him, its edges never quite settling. He raised one hand and began to chant. The syllables were low, precise—meant to command, not persuade.
Rasaad faltered mid-step.
The shift was immediate and wrong. His posture locked, breath catching as the spell took hold just long enough to matter, forward momentum dying as balance slipped. The skeleton Jaheira had struck seized the opening, its rusted blade biting into Rasaad's shoulder. He staggered back, teeth clenched, the sound sharp against the stone.
Another blow slammed into Khalid's shield. This one slipped past the rim, cutting across his arm. He grunted, weight shifting as he absorbed it, shield dipping before he forced it back up and planted himself again.
Rasaad shook himself hard, breath dragging back into rhythm. The hesitation broke. Pain registered, then fell away. He stepped in once more and struck, bone coming apart under his fist and scattering loose across the floor at his feet.
I picked my shot carefully.
One of the shield-bearers was already angling toward Khalid again, blade rising as the other crowded close. I raised the crossbow, breath held just long enough to steady the line, and loosed.
The bolt struck the shield dead center with a sharp crack.
It didn't punch through. It didn't need to.
The skeleton reacted instantly—shield lifting higher, posture tightening as it turned fully toward me. The red glow in its eyes fixed in my direction, blade lowering as it recalculated the threat.
Khalid used the opening.
He drove forward, shield-first, slamming into the other skeleton and forcing it back a step. Steel rang as he pressed, reclaiming space that had been closing around him moments before.
I worked the crossbow again, slower this time, the mechanism biting into my palm as I reset it. When I looked up, the shield-bearer was still facing me, shield raised, advancing cautiously.
Imoen's arrow slipped past the rim of the shield and snapped the skeleton's attention sideways just long enough to keep it from rejoining the press.
Mulahey's gaze shifted with calculation.
The chant he was forming faltered for half a breath.
He adjusted.
And began again.
The words shifted—longer now, heavier, meant to seize rather than compel. The spectral hammer drifted closer, its unstable outline tightening as the spell took shape.
Xan moved.
Not forward. Not dramatically. Just enough.
He spoke a single word, voice low and precise, threaded into the space between syllables already being formed. The magic that followed was subtle, almost apologetic—an intrusion rather than an assault.
For a fraction of a second, Mulahey hesitated.
His gaze unfocused, jaw tightening as the incantation slipped out of alignment. The spell unraveled before it could take hold, collapsing into nothing with a faint, discordant echo.
Xan exhaled.
"That," he said quietly, "was overdue."
Jaheira was already at Khalid's side.
One hand steadied his shield arm while the other found exposed skin beneath the edge of his armor. She spoke the words softly. The magic answered at once—warmth spreading beneath her palm, knitting torn flesh and easing the strain that had begun to pull at his stance.
Khalid let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His shield came back up, firmer now.
Across the chamber, Mulahey shifted, weight resetting beneath the chainmail and the dark tunic. The hammer wavered.
Imoen didn't miss it.
Her bowstring snapped, the arrow flying clean and true. It struck high along his ribs, slipping past the edge of his shield where his posture had opened. He hissed sharply, irritation flaring as blood darkened the links beneath the cloth.
The hammer shuddered, its shape fracturing.
For the first time, Mulahey's certainty cracked—not into fear, but into anger.
And with it, the fight stopped obeying his design.
Mulahey moved forward—boots striking stone as he closed the distance he had been guarding since the first word was spoken. The spectral hammer surged ahead of him, swinging in a wide, punishing arc meant to scatter rather than strike cleanly.
"Fall," he intoned.
The word struck like a blow.
Rasaad staggered as if the ground itself had dropped out from under him. His forward step faltered, momentum turning inward as his body obeyed before his mind could catch up. He dropped to one knee hard, breath knocked loose as stone bit into him.
The hammer came down.
Khalid met it.
Shield raised, stance wide, he took the impact head-on. The force rang through him, driving him back a step as pain flared along his arm, but the blow did not reach Rasaad. He held, teeth clenched, muscles screaming as he forced the hammer wide.
Jaheira was already moving.
She struck the skeleton nearest Rasaad with her staff, the blow landing heavy and deliberate—just enough to break its advance—then placed herself between him and the chamber's edge. Her presence was solid, anchoring, a barrier where his will had faltered.
Rasaad sucked in a breath and pushed himself upright.
The command loosened. Cast off through effort rather than ease. He rose into motion, pain sharp but grounding, and drove his fist upward into the skeleton's ribs. Bone cracked and scattered as the creature collapsed inward, its glow guttering out.
I finished reloading and raised the crossbow again.
Mulahey saw me this time.
His shield came up too late.
The bolt slipped between the chain links and drove into his thigh. He hissed, weight shifting as the wound forced him to compensate.
Imoen didn't give him time to recover.
Her next arrow drove him back another step, snapping into the edge of his shield and jolting his grip. The hammer wavered again, its shape thinning, edges stuttering as his focus fractured.
Xan said nothing.
He watched.
Waiting.
Mulahey planted his foot and raised the hammer once more, anger bleeding through the discipline he'd worn so carefully.
"You persist," he said, breath heavy now. "Then be counted."
The chamber answered with silence.
And for the first time, Mulahey stood in it alone.
Mulahey tried to speak again.
The words came out wrong.
The cadence faltered, the rhythm breaking as pain and anger competed for priority. His focus failed completely, and the hammer came apart mid-arc, its fractured edges shedding pieces of force that dissipated before they could strike anything solid.
Xan moved then.
Just one step. Close enough to matter.
"You've been abandoned," he said quietly. Not a spell. Just a fact, offered with the same detached certainty he'd used to describe the odds earlier. "Your god included."
Mulahey snarled and swung.
Nothing answered.
The sudden absence pulled him forward off balance.
Khalid didn't hesitate.
He drove his shield into Mulahey's chest, the impact knocking the air from him and sending him sprawling onto the stone. The morning star skidded free across the floor, clattering uselessly out of reach.
Rasaad was already there.
No flourish. No pause. He struck once—clean, controlled—enough to end resistance without turning it into something else. Mulahey went still beneath him, breath coming shallow, then not at all.
The silence that followed weighed more than the fight.
The remaining skeleton collapsed where it stood, red light guttering out as the magic binding it unraveled. Bone settled back into stillness, returning to the careful arrangement it had risen from.
No one spoke.
The lantern hissed softly.
I lowered the crossbow, realizing only then how tight my grip had been.
Xan looked down at Mulahey's body for a long moment.
"Well," he said at last, voice flat. "That was disappointing."
Jaheira exhaled slowly, one hand still resting on Khalid's arm. He covered it briefly with his own, a quiet acknowledgment.
Whatever had been shaping this place was gone.
The mine did not mourn it.