All of them reached their respective caves within moments of one another.
Seven paths.
Seven entrances.
And the same sight awaited each of them.
Pink orchids bloomed on either side of every cave mouth–petals flawless, colors vivid, untouched by wind or dust. They swayed gently, as if welcoming visitors rather than guarding thresholds meant to kill.
Too beautiful.
Too deliberate.
No one stepped closer.
They were exhausted–not physically alone, but mentally. Recklessness had carried them this far, and it had nearly killed them more times than any of them cared to count. Whatever awaited beyond these caves would not be decoration.
Not here.
Not in the Final Assessment.
Hidden weapons.
Living creatures.
Or something worse–bait that punished curiosity.
Each of them understood it instinctively.
At one cave, the Chief moved first.
He did not draw a blade.
He did not advance.
