Chapter 16: Splintered Paths

They didn't stop running.

No one dared look back toward the place where the centipede had emerged, where Kellan had vanished in a spray of blood and screams. They just ran—through twisting passages, jagged stairwells, stone halls long abandoned. The very walls felt as if they might close around them.

When they finally stopped, it was in a narrow antechamber shaped like a cracked ribcage. Bioluminescent moss clung to the ceiling, casting greenish-blue shadows across the dust-streaked floor. The air was damp, stale, and heavy with the smell of blood and fear.

Lucian ran at the front, his free hand gliding along the wall to guide him, the other still gripping his blade tight. He couldn't see, but he could hear. Everything. The staggered footsteps. The tremors in their strained breathing. The quiet sobs someone tried to choke down. They were alive but only just.

No one spoke at first. Not until Kaela dropped to her knees beside the wall and pressed a palm to her temple. Blood crusted her cheek. Her torch had died.

"Is everyone still breathing?" she asked hoarsely.

There was a round of coughing, groaning, the shifting of gear. A few names were called. Not all were answered.

Garrick leaned against the wall, face pale with sweat. "Three more. Gone."

"Four," muttered Vael, staring blankly ahead.

Tavian wiped blood from his cheek. "We were lucky it didn't follow."

"No," Garrick muttered, "we were lucky it was full."

That drew a bitter grunt from Joran, who leaned against the wall and ran a gloved hand down his face. "Everyone else?"

"Alive," Vael said. "Barely."

Lucian remained near the center, not sitting, not speaking. Not yet. He faced the quiet scuffle of gear being checked, wounds bandaged, breaths steadied. And then he asked the question, low, cutting, and clear:

"What are we really doing here?"

All eyes turned toward him. Even Kaela froze mid-movement.

"You already know," Tavian said too quickly. "We told you. The tomb. The relic."

Lucian didn't raise his voice. "That thing back there wasn't guarding trinkets."

"It was guarding something," Joran snapped, sharper than he meant. "But whatever it was, we didn't know it'd be alive. You think we'd walk in unprepared if we knew?"

"You're a liar," Garrick said flatly.

Harrek, one of Tavian's personal guards, stepped forward. "Watch your mouth, merc."

"Or what?" Garrick said, not backing down. "You think we haven't noticed? You people don't flinch the same way. You knew something was down here. The way you walk. The way you react. You were waiting for this."

Joran crossed his arms. "You think we'd sacrifice our own men for a game?"

"Some of your men," Vael murmured, eyes narrowing.

Kaela stood now, brushing grime off her cloak. Her voice was calm, but firm. "The mission is exactly what we said. A recovery op. We're here to find a relic. One with ancient value. Possibly tech. Possibly cultural. We don't know."

"You expect us to believe that?" Garrick scoffed.

Tavian stepped forward, voice smooth. "You're hired muscle, Garrick. I don't recall promising you classified details."

"We're hired protection," Garrick snapped. "There's a difference. If something's going to crawl out of the walls and eat us alive, we damn well deserve to know why."

A tense silence fell.

...

Lucian crouched off to the side, appearing quiet, withdrawn. Dust clung to his coat, and his dagger hung loose in one hand. He tilted his head slightly as the voices began to rise.

"We need answers now," Garrick growled. His voice was low, but every syllable cracked with tension. "Three dead. Dozens wounded. We don't even know what we're walking into."

"We told you what we know," Kaela replied smoothly, not even looking at him. "An old ruin. Possible relics. Dangerous terrain. You knew the risks."

Garrick's nostrils flared. "A damn relic? You expect us to believe we nearly got eaten alive for a trinket?"

Joran crossed his arms. "You were paid to escort and support. You've done both."

"Don't test me," Garrick snarled, stepping forward. His men moved with him. "We're not your pawns, and we're not going any farther until we know the truth."

Lucian straightened slightly, not rising, just adjusting his stance as if to listen better. His head tilted toward the conversation he had started as if he was just a bystander.

Tavian, still brushing blood from his arm, looked between the two groups. "Everyone needs to calm down. Right now, we're not the enemy, whatever's behind those walls is."

"No," Garrick snapped, stabbing a finger in Joran's direction. "He's the one who brought us into this blind. He and his people knew what was here. They're the ones who aren't surprised."

Kaela's eyes flicked toward Joran, who gave a small, imperceptible nod. She stepped forward.

"There's… a relic," she said smoothly. "An ancient power. Buried beneath the Ghostbane Mountains. Something left behind by an old sect. That's what we're after."

"Liar," muttered one of the Ironbrands.

"You don't have to believe me," Kaela said evenly. "But it's all you're getting."

The silence that followed was like the mountain itself holding its breath.

Garrick cursed and turned away. Vael shook his head and began re-checking his gear. The Ironbrands didn't believe them but they didn't press it further. They knew they couldn't force an answer and this was neither the place nor time for an internal dispute to break out.

Lucian finally stood.

Lucian exhaled slowly. "You're all too calm."

Kaela turned to him. "Would panic help?"

"No," Lucian said. "But honesty would."

He tilted his head, listening for a tremor in their voices. A tremor that never came.

"You know more than you're saying. All of you. You're trying to keep us moving without turning this into a mutiny."

Joran's tone shifted. He stepped forward, not hostile but no longer hiding the steel in his voice. "You think you're owed something, Lucian?"

Lucian didn't flinch. "I think if you're dragging us into an ancient grave that fights back, we should at least know what language its ghosts speak."

Tavian chuckled darkly. "Philosophy now? I thought you were just a guide."

"I am," Lucian said. "And I know what it feels like to walk into a place that's already swallowed better men. I want to know how deep the mouth goes before we're all inside."

Kaela met his gaze, quiet for a moment. "There are some things better left buried, Lucian. Even for you."

Lucian turned his head slightly. "So we're digging blind?"

"We're not blind," Joran said.

"No," Garrick cut in. "But we are. And it's not going to end well."

Tavian stepped back, suddenly calm again. "We don't have time for this."

Vael, eyes shadowed, muttered, "We don't have time not to."

Slowly. Quietly. Not interrupting, just letting his presence fill the space.

"I don't care about relics," he said, his voice soft. "Or gods. Or cults."

Joran turned toward him, brows raised.

"I just care about getting out alive," Lucian continued, his tone almost casual. "And if your secrets are going to get me killed… I'll make sure the mountain isn't the only thing you're afraid of."

His voice didn't rise. He didn't glare. But something in the way he said it made the temperature in the air drop a degree.

The others turned toward him, startled not by volume, but by the weight in his tone. Calm. Polite. But final.

Joran opened his mouth, hesitated, then said nothing.

The cavern walls loomed close around them, slick with condensation. Torches guttered low, casting jittery shadows. No one spoke for a long moment, their breaths ragged and the silence loud.

Lucian had just spoken, quiet, precise. His words still ringing in their ears.

"I just care about getting out alive.

And if your secrets are going to get me killed…

I'll make sure the mountain isn't the only thing you're afraid of."

A sharp silence fell over the group.

Kaela stiffened. Even Garrick looked caught off guard, like someone had handed him a blade and he only just noticed it was pressed to his throat.

Lucian tilted his head and gave a faint shrug. "Ignore me if you want. I'm just the blind kid tagging along."

He stepped back again, cool and unreadable, letting his words settle like a creeping chill.

Then—

Tavian clapped once.

Loud. Too loud in the hush.

"Whew!" he said, dragging out the sound. "Well, that escalated from cryptic silence to murder threats much faster than I expected today."

A few of the guards blinked, momentarily thrown off course.

Tavian pointed a finger at Lucian. "Just saying, if we're ranking 'people I don't want to piss off,' you've officially jumped two tiers above Kaela. No offense."

Kaela rolled her eyes but didn't deny it.

"And," Tavian continued, turning to the Ironbrands, "as much as I'm loving the passive-aggressive rebellion arc, maybe, just maybe, we save the bloody mutiny after we're out of tentacle-monster territory?"

A snort escaped from someone near the back. Garrick scowled, but his death-glare lost some of its bite.

Tavian gave an exaggerated shrug. "Unless, of course, we're all dying to find out if the next hallway comes with bonus hallucinations and another centipede nightmare. In that case, by all means, keep yelling."

The tension cracked, but only just slightly.

Lucian remained quiet, his head angled toward the wall as if listening to something none of them could hear.

Inside, his thoughts ran colder.

They're too noisy. Too arrogant.

They've all forgotten how many bodies we left behind already.

But I haven't.

Every lie spoken here just makes my route out clearer.

Tavian gave him a quick glance and a raised brow.

Lucian offered a faint smile. Just enough to say: I'm fine. Don't ask.

Joran finally exhaled. "We move in ten minutes. Check supplies. Reload whatever you carry. No more questions."

"Yeah," Tavian muttered under his breath. "God forbid we ask questions on the cursed mountain of death."

Kaela elbowed him lightly. "Still talking?"

"Always."