The Way Back

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The dungeon groaned overhead, each rumble like a warning echo from the gods above.

Mira's steps were swift but measured, every nerve on edge. Her hand burned softly with watery light, casting reflections across the damp walls. Beside her, Tarn trudged heavily, carrying Valron over his shoulder—half-conscious, murmuring things that didn't make sense.

> "We need to get above ground," Mira said under her breath. "Before something else wakes up."

Tarn grunted. "That would be easier if the ceiling wasn't trying to bury us alive."

Another tremor shook the corridor, dislodging bits of stone from the ceiling. They bounced off his shoulder and thudded against the floor like falling bones.

> "He's burning up," Tarn said, shifting Valron gently. "Whatever he saw, whatever touched him… it's still on him."

Mira cast a glance at Valron. His skin had taken on a faint pallor, but it wasn't deathly. It was… marked. His veins glowed faintly under his skin like there was something whispering just beneath the surface.

> "He's still in there," she said. "But something followed him out of that cell. Something didn't want him to leave."

They moved quickly—up narrow stairways, past shattered gates and bloodless skeletons. The air thickened the closer they got to the palace levels.

Then—they reached the first main stair.

Blocked.

A massive slab of melted marble had collapsed, fused by fire and force.

> "The battle above," Mira whispered. "The heat… Caelen's fire must've done this."

Tarn placed Valron down gently, then slammed his fist against the wreckage. It didn't even chip.

> "We'll find another way," Mira said, tightening her grip on her staff. "We always do."

> "And if there is no way?" Tarn asked, brow furrowed.

She met his eyes. "Then we make one."

---

They tried the eastward tunnel—same thing. Collapsed rubble. Then another—blocked by a fissure belching smoke from somewhere deep below. Tarn coughed and shielded Valron while Mira doused the smoke with a controlled wave of water.

Each failure made the weight of the underground heavier.

Each echo from above reminded them they were still far from the war.

And still… no sign of rescue.

No rope.

No names shouted.

No guards coming for the heir's allies.

---

They found a narrow servant path—half-caved in, barely wide enough to squeeze through.

> "I'll go first," Mira said. "Tarn, hand me Valron when I call."

> "That thing he opened…" Tarn muttered, brushing dust from Valron's hair. "Whatever it was, it still has its claws in his mind."

> "Then we'll pull him out together."

She vanished into the crawlspace. The walls pressed close. She had to push away beams, crawling over old bones and fallen bricks until she emerged into a semi-open corridor. She gasped as light—real light—leaked through a crack in the stone overhead.

They were near the central palace hold.

> "Tarn, send him through!" she called, reaching back into the gap.

It took effort—more than it should've—but finally all three of them made it through.

They lay there for a moment, exhausted, breathing in the stale light.

Valron stirred, eyes fluttering.

> "Mira… Tarn…?" he rasped. "I didn't… I didn't open it. It… it opened for me."

> "We know," Mira said gently. "Just rest now. We're almost out."

But even as she said it—another rumble.

This one was different.

Not from above.

From below.

Tarn stood instantly. "We need to go. Now."

Mira nodded. "Let's get back to the others before whatever that is finds us first."

She glanced at Valron's hand one last time.

The veins still glowed.

But they were fading.

Whatever had reached for him from the dark wasn't done.

And now it knew his name.

---

Darkness.

Not the kind that came with night, or caves, or closed eyes.

This was deeper.

A swallowing black that pulsed with intent.

Valron stood alone—though he wasn't sure when he had stood at all. The floor beneath him didn't exist. The air was heavy but unmoving. Time itself seemed unsure.

Then—

A voice.

> "You gave me an opening," it said. "All I needed."

Valron turned. But there was no source. Only shifting shadows.

> "You're not like them, are you?" the voice cooed. "Always left behind. Always… a little less."

Flickers of light bloomed around him.

Memories.

Visions.

He saw himself as a boy—training with Asteria under a tree behind the Temple of Elyndor . Asteria smiled as he summoned fire with both hands. Valron tried—failed.

> "Focus," Asteria had said, laughing gently. But the younger Valron's face had flickered… shame, masked as a grin.

The vision twisted.

Asteria walked away, waving at Mira instead.

> "See?" the spirit whispered. "Even then. You were never enough."

Another memory flared.

The time in their early teens when Valron fell from a ledge during a mountain scouting trip. Asteria had hesitated—just for a second—before reaching down to help.

But in this memory… the hesitation was longer. Too long.

Valron's hand slipped.

> "He always lets you fall first."

More flickers.

Tarn scolding him after a mistake during training. Mira sighing and walking away after a failed mission.

Their words twisted.

> "You hold us back." "You're just a shadow." "You'll never be one of us."

Valron clutched his head. "No… no, they wouldn't…"

The voice pressed deeper, now inside him.

> "But they did. They do. They will."

Then—another memory. Or was it?

A vision of Asteria, bleeding and cornered in battle, turning to Mira and Cain for aid… but not Valron.

Valron had been right there—sword drawn.

But Asteria had passed him.

> "Even when you could've saved him, he didn't choose you."

Valron staggered. "They don't think like that. They're my friends. My family."

> "Then why did they let you fall?"

And then—

He saw it.

Mira and Tarn standing at the edge of the pit.

They looked down.

Saw him.

And walked away.

The vision sharpened.

He was shouting.

> "Mira… Tarn…?"

His voice cracked.

> "I didn't… I didn't open it. It… it opened for me."

Their eyes were cold. Distant.

Mira's voice echoed.

> "You let it in. You chose it."

Tarn looked disgusted.

> "You're the reason the shadow got out."

Valron dropped to his knees, breath ragged. "No. No, I didn't… I swear…"

The shadows slithered closer now.

They whispered in harmony:

> "Then prove your worth. Serve me. I will make them need you. Fear you. Never forget you."

> "Say yes… and be more than forgotten."

The pressure was crushing.

The memories were bleeding into real feeling—regret, jealousy, confusion.

His hands trembled.

His mind slipped.

And yet…

A voice—faint, but real—echoed through the storm:

> "He's still in there… but something followed him."

Mira's real voice.

> "We're almost out."

Tarn.

He could hear them.

His real friends.

The shadows shrieked.

> "They don't mean it. They're lying."

But Valron clenched his fists.

"No," he growled. "They came back."

The shadows recoiled.

"I am enough."

His eyes flared open—inside and out—as cracks of light pierced the dream. The spirit hissed and retreated, its whispers broken like shattered mirrors.

But not gone.

Never gone.

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