Shadows Beneath Stones
---
The world spun.
Stone gave way beneath their feet as the palace trembled, rupturing like a wound beneath the weight of battle. Mira, Tarn, and Valron dropped through the shattered floor in a storm of dust and splintered marble.
They plummeted.
Then—separation.
Valron's descent didn't stop.
It deepened.
As if the earth itself had opened for him alone.
---
He hit the ground hard, a grunt escaping his lips as his back slammed against the cold stone. The air was damp. Still. The echoes of battle rumbled faintly above—muffled, distant. He blinked, adjusting to the darkness.
Dust clouded the hall. The scent of mold and iron clung to every breath.
He was underground.
Far underground.
Valron cursed under his breath, rising slowly, his muscles stiff from the fall.
I have to get back.
His eyes lifted to the broken ceiling above, faint light dancing through the cracks.
They're still fighting. Asteria… Mira… Cain.
He turned to move.
Then—
A voice.
Soft.
Velvet-smooth.
Right beside his ear.
> "This is your chance... to run."
Valron froze.
The shadows seemed deeper suddenly. The walls stretched taller. His breath grew shallow.
> "They won't make it," the voice whispered again. "Not against the royal bloodline. You know it. You've always known it."
His hand gripped his sword hilt. He spun—but no one was there.
Just empty corridor.
Still air.
Cracked stones.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
"I don't abandon my own," he said aloud, unsure who he was answering.
Silence.
Then, softly again:
> "Did they hesitate to abandon you?"
His breath caught.
The words dug where they weren't welcome.
He hesitated.
Still—he stepped forward, forcing his legs to move. No.
But the voice followed, now inside his skull like a snake winding between thoughts.
> "They didn't look for you. Not even a cry. Not even a pause."
> "They'll flee without you. Survive without you. They never cared."
He stopped again.
He could still hear the muffled echoes of magic from above—but no name had been called. No one had come.
He looked up.
Nothing but fractured stone.
No rope.
No light.
No rescue.
The voice coiled again.
> "But I can show you. What they won't."
Drawn like a moth to the dark, Valron turned. The pull came not from above—but from below.
Down the corridor. Down into the black.
The air grew colder.
Dust choked the floor.
Torches long dead still clung to walls—dry, rotted wood, webs clinging to their iron frames. The path twisted, narrowed. The smell of rusted chains and ancient rot thickened.
He came to a door.
Old.
Massive.
Steel bars warped with time. Its hinges green with age and dampness.
A prison. A forgotten one.
And inside—
A figure.
Sitting.
Still.
Shackled in shadow.
It didn't move.
It looked… small. Beaten. Slumped.
Valron's instincts screamed. But something in the figure—something broken—tugged at his conscience.
He stepped forward.
Pushed open the rusted door with a groan that sounded like the breath of a dying god.
The figure shifted.
Head lifting.
Eyes—black and bottomless—met his.
And then—like a gust of dead wind—it moved.
The chamber howled as shadows exploded.
A gust of cold, black wind slammed into him.
His blade flew from his hand.
He was thrown back—slammed against the opposite wall, breath leaving his lungs in a single grunt.
He gasped.
The cell stood open.
The figure was gone.
---
The crash had left them coughing.
Dust clouded their lungs. The shattered floor above them loomed like a jagged wound in the ceiling, barely letting in light.
Mira stood first, hands glowing faintly with flowing mist.
Tarn grunted as he pulled himself up beside her, one hand instinctively clutching his hammer.
They both turned at once.
But Valron… was gone.
"Mira?" Tarn asked, his voice taut with worry. "Did you see—?"
"No." Her tone sharpened. "He fell… deeper."
They both stared into the hole carved through the broken ground beneath them. Cracks spread into stair-like slopes, descending into older stone. Unused tunnels. Forgotten levels.
No heat. No voices.
No guards.
Not even rats.
Tarn squinted. "No royal guards posted this deep in the palace? That's—"
"Wrong." Mira finished. "Which means someone doesn't want us down here."
Still—they went.
---
They moved fast and silent through crumbling corridors. Their boots echoed over stone. Torch brackets hung empty on the walls. Every room they passed was empty—storage, quarters, abandoned meeting chambers swallowed by mold and time.
"VALRON!" Tarn's voice thundered.
No response.
Only silence.
Mira tried again, louder. "VALRON!"
Still nothing.
No signs of blood. No trace of a fight. But the feeling in the air…
Something lingered.
"You sure he came this way?" Tarn asked, looking over his shoulder.
Mira nodded, her eyes burning with inner light. "His aura passed through here. Dimmed. But recent."
The search stretched longer than it should have.
Neither gave up.
They weren't just teammates. They were a family.
---
Eventually, they reached the lowest level—a cold corridor that reeked of rust and magic long forgotten. Cracks in the wall revealed roots that had grown through the stone over time.
Then—Tarn raised his hand. "There."
Faint marks on the floor—dragged boot prints. Still fresh.
They followed the path to a wide chamber beyond a bent iron gate. The hallway narrowed into a long corridor lined with ancient prison cells. Most were empty. Some still held bones.
Then Mira stopped.
Her heart skipped.
"Tarn…"
There.
In the far cell.
Valron.
He lay on the cold stone floor, unmoving, face turned to the side. "His chest rose—slowly. Weak, but alive."
Mira rushed forward, hands glowing.
No chains bound him. No enemy in sight. But his face looked pale—drained.
Like something had taken more than just his strength.
Tarn knelt beside her, gently turning Valron onto his back.
"He's breathing," Tarn said, voice rough with relief.
Mira looked up slowly.
The cell was open.
There was no key.
No sound of escape.
No footprints leading away.
Just silence…
…And shadows that still clung to the corners of the room like they remembered something.
She stood, her grip tightening around her flame.
"Something's wrong," she muttered. "This place… it isn't just a dungeon."
Tarn rose beside her, lifting Valron carefully into his arms.
"Then let's not stay long enough to find out what it really is."
Together, they turned back down the corridor—one carrying their fallen friend, the other watching the shadows.
But deep within the cracks in the wall…
something was watching.
And waiting.
---