Chapter 22

We packed our gear in silence, the weight of the decision hanging over us. The dim light of the cave did nothing to ease the tension. The mercenaries moved slowly, stiff from the cold and damp, their faces grim as they rolled up their blankets and tightened the straps on their battered packs. Karvek gave them quiet orders, his voice barely carrying above the faint drip of water echoing through the tunnel.

I strapped on my armor piece by piece, feeling the familiar pressure of the plates settle over my shoulders and chest. It wasn't full plate, but it was enough to protect my vitals. The runes I'd carved into the metal glimmered faintly in the gloom, their meaning a reminder of the work I'd put into every curve, every seam. I tightened the straps on my gauntlets and adjusted the fit of the gorget around my neck. My knees creaked as I stood, but the armor held true, the weight steady and reassuring.

Lisett was checking her gear, too, though her eyes kept darting toward the mercenaries. "They're in no shape to fight," she said quietly, her tone even. "If we run into trouble on the other side, they'll be dead weight."

"They're still breathing," I replied. "That's enough for now."

She gave me a sharp look. "Is it?"

I didn't answer right away. Instead, I leaned Skarnvalk against the stone wall and knelt down to adjust the straps on my pack. The hammer seemed to hum faintly, its runes pulsing in the low light. I felt its weight even when it wasn't in my hands, a constant reminder that we were walking into something unknown. "They'll fight if they have to," I said at last. "If they can't… we'll deal with that when the time comes."

When we were ready, we gathered at the great stone door. Karvek stood on one side, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Lisett was on the other, her staff held loosely but her stance alert. The mercenaries stayed back, their faces pale and drawn. I stepped forward, Skarnvalk in one hand, the other brushing over the runes carved into the door's surface.

The air was colder here, heavier. My breath clouded in front of me as I studied the carvings. The runes were old, older than any I'd worked with before. I could make out pieces of their meaning—warnings, maybe prayers, etched by dwarves who had known what they were up against. They weren't meant to keep people out. They were meant to keep something in.

"This isn't just a mine," I said quietly. "It's a tomb."

Lisett frowned. "A tomb for what?"

"Don't know," I admitted. "But whatever it is, the dwarves wanted it sealed. The Path broke that seal."

"Then we should leave it sealed," one of the mercenaries muttered. His voice was shaky, almost pleading. "This place isn't natural. We don't belong here."

"We don't," I agreed, turning to face the group. "But we don't have a choice. Whatever the Path is doing here, they're not leaving on their own. If we walk away now, they'll only grow stronger. We have to know what we're dealing with. And if it's something that shouldn't be let loose…" I gripped Skarnvalk tighter, the runes flaring faintly. "Then we'll make sure it stays buried."

Karvek nodded, his expression hard. "Then let's get on with it."

Pushing the door open wasn't easy. The stone was heavy, the mechanism stiff from centuries of disuse. It groaned as it moved, the sound echoing down the tunnel behind us. I braced myself, half-expecting something to come rushing out—an ambush, a trap, a flood of creatures. But nothing came. The door shifted just enough to allow us through, and the air that rushed out was stale and frigid, carrying with it the scent of old stone and something faintly metallic.

We stepped through one by one, the mercenaries dragging their feet but following all the same. The chamber beyond the door was vast, the ceiling lost in shadow. Columns of stone rose from the floor like the trunks of ancient trees, their surfaces etched with faded carvings. The tracks we'd seen earlier continued into the darkness, curving out of sight. The floor was uneven, patches of gravel and old wooden beams scattered among the rocks.

I motioned for the group to stay close, my eyes scanning the shadows. The faint light from Skarnvalk's runes cast eerie patterns on the walls, but it wasn't enough to pierce the gloom. I could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken fear hanging over us. Every step felt heavier, every sound sharper. I kept my hammer raised, ready for whatever might come next.

As we moved deeper into the chamber, the carvings on the columns grew more detailed. I could make out figures—dwarves, their beards flowing, their hammers raised. Some stood in battle poses, others appeared to be kneeling, their heads bowed. The runes accompanying the figures were faint, but I could still pick out fragments: words for danger, words for binding, words for something greater than any of us had ever seen.

"What happened here?" Lisett whispered, her voice barely audible.

"The same thing that always happens," I said. "Greed. Curiosity. They dug too deep, and they found something they couldn't control."

"And the Path thinks they can control it," Karvek said.

I nodded. "Which means it's our problem now."

We moved carefully, every sound amplified in the stillness. The air grew colder, the weight in my chest heavier. Whatever was waiting for us in Brugath's Hollow wasn't just an enemy. It was something ancient, something the dwarves had tried to forget. And now, step by step, we were walking straight into its lair.

The chamber opened into a long, sloping passageway that burrowed deeper into the mountain. The cold was sharper now, biting through our damp clothes and gnawing at our fingers and toes. Every step echoed faintly off the stone walls, but there was no other sound—no dripping water, no scurrying of vermin. Just silence. It was the kind of quiet that put your nerves on edge, the kind that made you wonder what was listening in the dark.

I held Skarnvalk in both hands, its runes casting a dim, bluish light that barely reached the floor in front of me. Karvek and Lisett followed close behind, their expressions grim. The mercenaries brought up the rear, their breathing labored. They were struggling, and it showed in their uneven steps and the way their weapons hung loose in their hands. It wouldn't take much to break them.

The air was heavy, tinged with something metallic that I couldn't place. It reminded me of the old forges back home after a long day of smelting—hot, raw, with a faint bitterness that clung to the back of your throat. Only here, the air was cold. Ice-cold. The contrast gnawed at me. Whatever this place was, it wasn't just abandoned. It was suffocating in its stillness.

We reached a widening in the passage where the walls flared out into a circular chamber. Columns rose from the floor, their surfaces worn smooth. They looked older than the carvings outside—rougher, more primitive. The stone here felt different underfoot, as if we were stepping into something that predated even dwarven craftsmanship.

Karvek moved up beside me, his voice low. "What do you think this was?"

"Not sure," I replied. "Could've been a storage chamber. Could've been a meeting hall. Or a place of worship. Dwarves like to leave marks, though. The fact that there's nothing carved here…"

"Means they didn't want anyone knowing what this was."

"Or they didn't have time."

Lisett stepped closer, her staff tapping lightly against the stone floor. "The air feels wrong," she said. "It's like it's too… thick."

I nodded. "You're not imagining it. It's like being back at Barak-Khald, only worse."

Karvek's hand rested on his sword hilt. "You think the Path set up camp down here?"

"They're here," I said. "I don't know how far, but they're here. This place isn't empty."

We moved cautiously through the chamber, our footsteps slow and deliberate. I kept Skarnvalk raised, its faint light flickering against the walls. The runes on the hammer pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, though I couldn't tell if it was responding to the environment or my own nerves. The mercenaries trailed behind us, their breathing louder than it should've been. I kept glancing back, watching them. If something hit us now, I wasn't sure they'd have the strength to swing their blades, let alone fight.

The passage narrowed again, forcing us into a single file. The air grew colder still, until my breath came out in thick plumes. My armor felt like ice against my skin, the metal plates clinging to the chill like they'd been left in the snow for days. I felt the sting of it in my joints, the ache that came from pushing your body too far for too long. But we couldn't stop now. We were close—too close to turn back.

Eventually, the passage opened into another chamber, this one larger and more elaborate. Rows of stone pillars lined the walls, each one etched with strange symbols I didn't recognize. The floor was cracked in places, as if the mountain itself had tried to swallow this place whole. At the far end of the room, a series of heavy, iron-bound doors stood ajar, their hinges bent and broken.

Karvek approached one of the pillars, running his fingers over the symbols. "You seen anything like this before?"

"Not in any forge I've worked," I said. "Could be older than the mine itself. Something the dwarves found when they dug too deep."

"Found, or disturbed," Lisett said quietly.

The thought lingered in the cold air. The dwarves hadn't built this. They'd stumbled upon it. And whatever was here—whatever had driven them out—was still waiting.

I stepped up to the iron doors, the smell of rust and decay hitting me like a wave. The metallic tang I'd noticed earlier was stronger here, almost overwhelming. The doors looked as if they'd been forced open from the inside, the hinges twisted and the stone around them crumbled. Skarnvalk's runes flared brighter as I stood before the threshold, casting a pale glow into the darkness beyond.

"Doran," Lisett said behind me, her voice low but firm. "You're sure about this?"

"No," I admitted. "But I'm not turning back."

I pushed the door open with Skarnvalk's haft, the iron groaning in protest. The light from the hammer spilled into the room beyond, revealing a vast, open cavern. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like jagged teeth, and the floor was scattered with ancient tools, broken carts, and the skeletal remains of mining equipment. In the center of the cavern stood a massive stone altar, its surface carved with deep, angular runes that glowed faintly in the gloom. Around it, I could see shapes—crude tents, stacks of supplies, and the faint flicker of distant torchlight.

"They're here," Karvek muttered.

"They are," I said. "And they're up to something."

Lisett's grip on her staff tightened. "What now?"

"Now," I said, stepping forward, "we find out what they've dug up. And if it shouldn't be let out, we send it back to the dark."

The air in the cavern was cold enough to sting my lungs. My breath clouded in front of me, mingling with the faint wisps of mist rising from the stone altar. Skarnvalk's runes flared brighter still, as if the hammer was reacting to whatever lay ahead. I could feel it in my bones: we were close to something ancient, something dangerous. And whatever it was, the Path thought they could control it.

They were wrong.