Lindarion summoned a flicker of his own fire just to balance the aesthetic.

    The tunnel led deeper. It didn''t widen. It didn''t welcome. It just kept going with the grim persistence of a to-do list.

    They walked in silence.

    Not uncomfortable silence.

    Just the kind where both parties were secretly waiting for the other to bring up whatever awkward thing they weren''t discussing.

    Which in this case was... most things.

    Lindarion finally broke.

    Sort of.

    "So," he said. "Nice cave."

    Lira didn''t look over. "It''s a cursed fissure, not a cave."

    "Still nice."

    She didn''t answer.

    He kicked a small rock just to hear something bounce.

    The silence ate it.

    They moved deeper.

    The air pressed tighter now. Like something was waiting. Not in an aggressive way. Just that hovering curiosity that caves seemed to specialize in.

    Lira slowed.

    He almost bumped into her. Recovered just in time to save dignity and kneecaps.

    She knelt down, brushing snow from the edge of a rock slab. Beneath the frost, an old rune gleamed faintly. Burned into the stone with care. Jagged along the edges now, like it had been cracked from the inside.

    Lira traced it without touching.

    "Same mark."

    "From the parchment?"

    She nodded once.

    He crouched beside her. The rune wasn''t large. But it felt like it was staring back.

    "Something broke out," he said.

    "Yes."

    "And we''re following it."

    "Apparently."

    He frowned. "You know, most people would be more cautious about this."

    She finally looked at him.

    Expression unreadable.

    "Are you?"

    ''...Yes.''

    "No," he lied smoothly.

    She didn''t push.

    Which somehow made it worse.

    They stood again.

    Moved deeper.

    The passage turned. Then again. The walls here had changed, less stone, more worked surface. Subtle. But unmistakable.

    Lindarion exhaled.

    "Not natural."

    "No."

    "Burial chamber?"

    "Prison."

    He paused. "Of course it''s a prison. Because caves can''t just be caves."

    Lira gave him a glance. Possibly amused. Maybe not.

    They stepped into the next chamber.

    Wider. Round.

    The floor was covered in dust that hadn''t been touched by boots in years. The walls bore more of the runes. Faded, broken, cracked down the middle like something had flexed wrong and taken half the spellwork with it.

    In the center—

    A pedestal.

    And nothing on it.

    Lindarion walked forward slowly.

    The air buzzed faintly. Magic residue. Low-level. Familiar.

    Lira circled the edge, fingers trailing near the wall without touching.

    "There was a seal here," she said.

    "Not anymore."

    "No."

    He looked down at the pedestal.

    Faint burn marks along the base.

    No sign of a fight.

    Just a quiet, complete failure of containment.

    "Do we know what was inside?"

    "No records."

    "Fantastic. Mystery escapee. Definitely not ominous."

    She said nothing.

    Just stood there. Watching the pedestal like it might apologize.

    Lindarion folded his arms.

    ''I am not emotionally prepared for another ancient horror. Not without more sleep. Or pancakes.''

    He turned toward the entrance again. The light from their mana flickered once, catching on a small inscription carved low into the stone.

    Not runes.

    Just words.

    Lira crouched beside it.

    Read slowly. "Beware the voice that forgets its name."

    They both stared at it.

    Then at each other.

    Lindarion raised an eyebrow. "So we''re leaving, right?"

    "Yes," Lira said.

    "Good."

    They walked out in silence.

    This time, it was comfortable.

    —

    The cave spat them back into daylight with the grace of a reluctant burp.

    Lindarion squinted at the sky. Too bright. Too blue. Which meant something was probably wrong. Nature didn''t throw this kind of weather at people out of kindness. It was a setup. Probably.

    He pulled his scarf up again anyway.

    ''One cursed prison down. A thousand more mysterious field trips to go.''

    Lira stood beside him, eyes already scanning the ridgeline like the rocks might try something. Her cloak flared slightly in the wind. No dramatic posing. Just physics giving her an unintentional entrance aura.

    "Tracks," she said.

    Of course there were.

    Lindarion stepped beside her. The snow had a few indentations leading west, half-covered by a morning drift. Long. Thin. Not human. Not Ashwing.

    Not anything he was going to enjoy.

    He crouched. Brushed a bit of powder aside.

    "Clawed," he muttered. "But not deep. Whatever it was, it wasn''t heavy."

    Lira nodded.

    "Fast, though," he added. "Stride''s long."

    "Too long for anything local."

    "So we''re dealing with an ex-convict monster on a jog."

    She didn''t respond.

    ''She never laughs at my jokes. Probably a high level darkness affinity thing. Or trauma. Or both.''

    They started walking.

    The trail curved up around the side of the hill, hugging the slope in that special way that meant one wrong step and you became a cautionary tale told in avalanche form.

    Lindarion didn''t speak. Not because he had nothing to say. He had plenty.

    It just all sounded stupid compared to how quiet everything was.

    Wind cut across the ridge like a blade being polite. Cold, sharp, but distant. The kind of chill that hadn''t made up its mind whether it wanted to kill or just make you mildly annoyed.

    Below them, the forest stretched wide. Empty.

    Too empty.

    Lira crouched again, brushing her fingers across a patch of flattened grass.

    "Stopped here."

    Lindarion blinked. "It... stopped?"

    She nodded. "Whatever it was paused. Then changed direction."

    "How do you even know that?"

    "See the curve?" She pointed. "It turned. Abruptly. Lost speed. Then—" She gestured west. "Resumed. Slower."

    He stared at the snow. Saw... absolutely none of that.

    ''...Okay. She''s either making this up or I am extremely unqualified to track cursed joggers.''

    He kept following anyway.

    They reached the next ridge an hour later.

    The trail dipped down into a small clearing. At first, nothing stood out.

    Then Lindarion smelled it.

    Metal.

    Not blood. But close.

    Like steel left in the sun too long. Old swords and anger.

    Lira moved first, crouching by a patch of disturbed snow.

    Half-melted.

    Black underneath.

    Lindarion knelt beside her.

    Not snow.

    Ash.

    A lot of it.

    "Burned something," he said. "Not wood."

    "No."

    "Flesh?"

    "Maybe."

    He didn''t like that answer.

    He glanced around the trees. Nothing moved. Nothing chirped. Even the wind had taken a step back.

    Then he spotted it.

    Far side of the clearing. A stone. Not shaped. Just placed.