After perhaps half a mile of cautious progress, Misty continued to lead the way, pausing frequently to sniff the air or study the ground. Her tail flicked with focus, ears twitching at the slightest sound. They rounded a patch of scattered rocks and lichen-spotted boulders—and there it was.

  The entrance to the burrow.

  Del’s chest tightened at the sight of it. It stirred something instinctive. A cold thread of half-remembered terror wound up his spine.

  The tunnel mouth was wide—tall enough that he only needed to stoop slightly to enter. The earth underfoot was firm, tightly packed into a stable, dry surface. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh loam and something sharper—like mouldy hay left too long in a damp barn.

  Misty padded into the dark ahead, unhesitating. Her nose worked constantly, testing every shift in the breeze, her tail low and steady.

  As they followed her into the gloom, the fading morning light vanished almost instantly behind them. Pitch black settled in fast. Elara murmured a quiet incantation under her breath, and as the soft tingle of mana flowed outward, small globes of light appeared over their hands—cool, blue-white, and steady.

  She moved close to Del, her light overlapping his, forming a stronger pool of clarity against the creeping dark.

  “This isn’t natural,” she murmured, brushing her fingers along the tunnel wall. “The structure... it’s been reinforced. See how the dirt’s interwoven with root systems? The skeps are clever. They’ve co-opted the flora to stabilise the tunnels.”

  Del grunted, his voice low. “Clever’s one word for it. Dangerous is another.”

  The tunnel was too narrow for his sword. He had both venom fang daggers drawn instead—blades with weight and purpose. Cold steel, but reassuring in his grip. Elara had her own dagger, and from the subtle tension in her shoulders, Del suspected she was also holding a spell on the edge of release.

  Misty stopped abruptly.

  Her head whipped to the left. A faint sound followed—barely a whisper. A rustle. A shift of loose earth. Something scraping gently against stone.

  Del’s heart jolted.

  ‘Movement,’ Misty told him, a low growl rising in her throat.

  Naomi’s astral projection flickered into view beside Del—translucent, tinged blue, and eerily bright in the tight, shadow-soaked tunnel.

  He flinched on instinct, breath catching as the flickering form materialised just inches from him. For half a second, his body thought ghost.

  Then he recognised the face. Naomi.

  “Gods, Naomi,” he muttered. “Warn a man next time.”

  “They’re not close yet,” she said calmly, her voice echoing with that strange, weightless cadence. “But I can sense them. At least three. Maybe four.”

  Del recovered quickly, adjusting his grip and glancing toward the darkness ahead. “Brilliant. Let’s hope they’re as easy as that one you killed back at the farm Misty.”

  ‘They won’t be,’ Misty replied, tail lashing once—sharp. Final.

  Elara turned, eyes narrowing. “Naomi. Since when can you project like this?”

  Naomi gave a tiny shrug, the gesture slightly off in the floating form. “I’ve been... practising.”

  “In secret?”

  She hesitated. “Sort of.”

  “That’s a very strong projection for someone your age,” Elara said, tone threading concern through every word. “You need to be careful. Even short bursts like that can drain you—especially without grounding.”

  Naomi’s mouth set in a line. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Not yet you don’t young lady, you have a lot of learning to do.” She sighed and ran a hand over her eyes. “Does Mara know?”

  Another pause. “She’s watching Finn,” Naomi said, which wasn’t an answer.

  Del glanced between them, still unsettled by the flickering silhouette of the girl he was used to seeing with sticky fingers and grass-stained knees. “Naomi,” he said, quieter now, “don’t push too hard. You don’t have to prove anything.”

  Naomi’s expression softened just a little. “I’ll check in again soon.”

  And with that, her image vanished—leaving behind only the faint shimmer of fading mana and the hush of watching earth.

  They moved on, slower now. The tunnel seemed to close in as the air grew thick with tension—humid, silent, watching. The passage widened into a chamber, the ceiling arching overhead like the ribs of some ancient, buried beast.

  They separated slightly to check the space. The blue lights flickered across the walls and caught on something strewn across the floor.

  Bones.

  Dozens of them. Some were obviously animal—long, narrow femurs, cracked-open ribcages—but others...

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  Del crouched low, eyes scanning.

  Smaller. Humanoid. Stripped bare and yellowed with age. Some twisted at wrong angles. Others had teeth marks.

  He swallowed hard.

  “They’ve been here a while,” Elara said. Her voice was tight now. Not frightened, but wary. “These bones feel old.”

  At the far end of the chamber, Misty crouched low, nose pressed to the dirt, sniffing hard. She turned her head, expression sour.

  ‘The scent splits,’ she said. ‘Two paths. One reeks of skep. The other...’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Decay.’

  Del stared into the dark tunnel to the right. A pressure pulsed there—unseen, but present. “Decay could mean anything,” he said. “From bones like these...” He gestured at the floor. “To something worse.”

  Elara’s expression darkened. “We’ve seen worse.”

  He nodded, memories of the shrine surfacing like oil on water. Broken spirits. Hollow eyes. Shadows that didn’t cast light. “Better to deal with the living threats now than let them sneak up on us later.”

  Elara agreed with a single, grim nod.

  Del stepped into place behind Misty, his blades ready. The cat slunk into the tunnel without hesitation, and Elara brought up the rear.

  Behind them, the chamber seemed to breathe.

  And ahead—the dark waited.

  Del’s boots crunched softly against the packed soil, every step a betrayal of their presence. The tunnel walls felt closer now, the dark thicker, like something breathing just out of sight.

  Ahead, Misty froze.

  Her ears flattened.

  Del tightened his grip on the daggers. Adrenaline surged.

  ‘Hold,’ she hissed.

  The tunnel opened into a second chamber—smaller than the last, with only a single exit across the far wall. Two skeps prowled the space. One paced near the centre, twin heads raised, nostrils flaring. Its black fur rippled with each breath, alert, agitated. Behind it, the second creature rooted through a scatter of debris—what looked like the broken remains of a wooden crate, splintered and chewed.

  The first skep growled low in its twin throats, both heads snapping round in perfect unison.

  It had seen them.

  No more waiting.

  ‘Del, flank right,’ Misty ordered, her voice sharp and immediate in his mind. Even as she gave the command, her body surged upward, muscle rippling as she shifted—growing taller, leaner, her frame sharpening into a predator’s silhouette.

  “Elara—light the room!” Del snapped.

  Elara raised her hands. A burst of white brilliance erupted outward, flooding the chamber in an instant. The skeps shrieked at the sudden glare, their twin heads recoiling—snarling and blinking furiously. But the hesitation was brief.

  The first beast launched itself toward Del, claws skittering on the stone floor, both heads stretched forward with jaws wide. Saliva flew in ropes from jagged yellow teeth.

  Del moved fast—sidestepped left, twisting his body as one blade came up. The venom fang dagger sliced across the skep’s flank, carving a red line deep into muscle. The creature yelped, stuttered, but didn’t slow.

  One head snapped low, aiming for his ankle. He pivoted just in time—the jaws clamped down on the edge of his boot with a crunch, tearing leather and narrowly missing flesh. The second head lunged high, fangs glinting.

  Del raised both daggers—but he was too slow.

  Misty slammed into it from the side.

  Her claws tore across the beast’s back in a savage rake, deep enough to expose bone. The skep screamed, both heads jerking in different directions, trying to fight back. It rolled with her, twisting, biting at anything it could reach.

  They grappled, kicking up dirt and blood, until Misty sank her teeth into its spine.

  There was a wet, tearing crunch. The skep jerked once—then went still beneath her.

  But the second one was already moving.

  It barrelled across the chamber with a shriek, low to the ground, both heads snapping in unison. Elara stood her ground.

  She threw her hand forward, mana flaring. A pulse of raw force burst from her palm, catching the creature in the chest and hurling it backward. It slammed into the wall with a heavy thud, ribs audibly cracking.

  It hit the ground—and scrambled up almost instantly, blood in its eyes.

  Elara stepped in, dagger raised. The beast lunged.

  She pivoted sideways and drove the blade up hard, burying it under the creature’s jaw, right where the two necks split. Blood sprayed in a hot arc across her sleeve. The skep thrashed once, its claws gouging the earth, then collapsed—twitching, choking on its own breath.

  For a moment, nothing moved but the thick drip of blood.

  Del backed away, panting, lungs burning. His arms trembled with the aftershock.

  The air stank—blood and fur and panic-sweat. The chamber was smeared in red already, pools soaking into the packed earth beneath their feet.

  Misty sat a few feet away, tongue dragging slowly over one paw as though nothing had happened.

  ‘Efficient,’ she said, tone almost bored. ‘But noisy.’

  “Misty says we were too loud,” Del told Elara, still breathing hard.

  “We didn’t have much choice,” she replied, lowering her hand and dimming the light to a softer, pale glow. She glanced at the tunnel ahead. “If they didn’t know we were here before... they do now.”

  ‘Good,’ Misty said. Her tail swished once, slow and deliberate. ‘That saves us the trouble of hunting.’

  Naomi’s projection flickered into place beside Del—blue, wavering, and sharp-eyed.

  “You need to keep moving,” she warned. “They’re changing direction—trying to surround you.”

  Del nodded, already moving toward the next tunnel. “Let’s go before reinforcements show up.”

  His muscles still hummed with tension, but the edge of the adrenaline had dulled—just enough to make him feel the ache of it in his limbs.

  They pressed on, the air growing thicker with every step. A faint hum echoed through the tunnels—movement, not constant, but always there. A reminder that they were not alone.

  The memory of the decay-scented tunnel still lingered at the edge of Del’s thoughts, gnawing quietly at his resolve. There was something wrong in these tunnels. More than beasts. More than simple scavengers. The threat here felt sharper. More deliberate.

  And he could tell Elara felt it too.

  The tunnel narrowed again, forcing them into single file. In some places, they had to turn sideways to slip through the tight choke points. Misty led with feline ease, her sleek form flowing through the gaps like water. Del followed closely, blades ready, each step deliberate. The weight of the daggers in his hands grounded him—comfort and warning in equal measure.

  Behind him, Elara murmured another incantation. Soft green light shimmered briefly over her hand, forming intricate vine-like patterns before vanishing into her skin.

  “I’m keeping them ready,” she said, voice steady but hushed. “The vines won’t move fast in this space, but I’d rather have them prepared.”

  Del nodded, throat dry. “Good. Anything that keeps them off us is worth it.”

  A skittering noise stopped them cold.

  Del froze.

  Misty’s ears twitched, locking onto the sound. A faint scrape just ahead—stone on stone, soft and sharp. She lowered herself to the ground, muscles coiled, every inch of her poised to spring.

  Del glanced back at Elara. Her dagger was already raised.

  ‘Just one,’ Misty said, her mental voice taut. ‘Scout. Left tunnel.’

  A flicker of blue shimmered beside him—Naomi’s astral form. Translucent. Watching.

  “You can take it quickly,” she whispered. “But be careful. The others are moving in. Trying to surround you.”

  Before Del could reply, she vanished again, leaving only the cold hush of stone and breath and blood.

  Misty didn’t wait.

  She sprang forward, a streak of motion, claws glinting. Del charged after her, rounding the corner just as the lone skep turned—too slow, too late.

  It snarled—barely a sound—before Misty sank her teeth into its left-hand throat. There was a wet, crunching snap. The creature twitched once, then dropped.

  ‘Handled,’ Misty said, baring her teeth. She spat the taste out onto the floor. ‘But we’ve got company. Move.’