I slashed Skorn's sword through the air.
A thick black and purple aura bled from the grooves, curling upward like smoke. The temperature in the tent dropped, and the candles flickered as the aura writhed, as if aware it had been exposed.
Magic came in many forms. The dwarves called it magus. The elves called it magicka. The names differed, but it was all the same.
All power was drawn from beyond this world. From either a place of light or a place of wickedness.
Pyromancy, necromancy, blights, and corrupt enchantments were pulled from an ethereal realm known as the Abyss - a plane of entropy and hunger; decay and suffering. Whereas hydromancy, restoration, miracles, and so-called divine enchantments came instead from the Zenith - a realm of order, renewal, and structured will.
I turned the blade slightly, watching the dark haze coil tighter around it.
"Indeed," I said to no one in particular. "It's certainly dark magic."
Branek's jaw tightened. "And that's inside Corvin?"
"Yes," I replied. "Like a poison, it's already spread. But… there's more at work here than either of you realise."
Corvin shifted in his seat.
"We need a priest of the Order," he said. "They could... purge this darkness from me."
I looked at him then, before glancing back down at the sword.
"By the time we reached the nearest Brotherhood temple," I said, "you would already have transformed."
Branek's eyes widened. "Transformed... into what?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"This particular enchantment doesn't just kill," I continued. "It repurposes. It strips flesh, fractures the mind, and leaves something behind that still moves… still remembers… but no longer belongs to itself."
Corvin's breathing quickened. "So what happens to me?"
I met his gaze.
"You become a vessel of the Abyss," I said, "you become... a wraith."
The word settled over the tent like a burial shroud. No one spoke. Nib stood frozen near the entrance, ears drooping, instinctively aware of the stakes.
Corvin's knuckles were white against the chair. Branek stared at him with horror and helplessness.
Then I sighed and smiled.
"Apologies," I said lightly. "That was a rather dramatic delivery of unfortunate news on my part."
The tension didn't break.
I set the sword down on the table, the dark aura still leaking from its grooves.
"To be clear," I continued, tone measured again, "this is not inevitable. A wraith is what happens when the corruption is allowed to finish its work."
I glanced at Corvin.
"You're not there yet," I said. "Which means you can still live… and I can still help."
I turned my attention to Nib.
"Where did Skorn obtain this blade?" I asked.
Nib flinched as my gaze settled on him. He scratched behind one ear, eyes darting as he searched his memory.
"Uhh…" he muttered. "Nib think… shamans. Yes! Shamans."
He gestured vaguely toward the far tunnels of the hold.
"Shamans get blades from deep places. Old places. Thing that whispers. Skorn was favoured. Given sword for proving strength."
My expression hardened.
"So the shamans didn't enchant this blade themselves?" I asked.
"Nuh-uh," Nib replied quickly, shaking his head.
"Good," I said. "Because they're all dead. And I can't resurrect them to make them undo it."
Nib winced at that.
I fixed him with a stare. "These 'deep places' you mentioned. Are they within Kragmôr?"
"Not inside hold," Nib answered. "Beneath mountains. Cracks. Old tunnels. Places goblins no go unless told."
I exhaled slowly.
"Then that's where we're going," I said.
Corvin looked up at me, alarm flickering across his face. "Now?"
"Yes," I replied. "If you wish to remain human, that is?"
It was a rhetorical question. Of course, he wished to remain human.
Branek chimed in, "Stranger, Corvin isn't well enough to travel."
I paused, taking a moment to consider the problem.
"He doesn't need to travel on foot," I said. Then I turned my gaze back to Nib. "Fetch us a cart. Something sturdy enough to carry Corvin."
Nib nodded rapidly. "Yes, Boss! Nib find best cart. No break. No squeak."
He darted from the tent at once.
Over an hour later, we had departed the encampment.
Branek pushed Corvin's cart with steady determination; Corvin slumped within it beneath layers of furs and cloaks. His breathing was laboured but steady. I walked at the front with Nib, while Branek kept pace behind us.
The tunnels carried us downward through old elven arches and dwarven stonework that stretched deeper than the hold itself. It made sense. Beneath Kragmôr lay a vast network of mines and veins, a subterranean artery system that was once bled for gold, silver, and gems. They were still ripe for exploiting.
Every so often, I paused and pointed down a branching tunnel.
"That way," I told Nib. "Clear it. Reinforce it. Clean it."
Nib nodded fervently. "Yes, Boss. Tribe expand. Tribe tidy."
The further we went, the quieter it became. The influence of goblin-kind thinned, then vanished entirely. No markings, no guards.
Eventually, even the crafted stone gave way. Smooth pillars and torch brackets were replaced by cavern walls. The floor grew uneven, slick with moisture. Stalagmites jutted upward like broken teeth, while stalactites loomed overhead.
"It's like we're standing inside the mouth of a drake," Branek remarked, his voice echoing.
That earned a snide cackle from Nib.
"Nib seen drake," he said proudly. "See it climb mountains to west. Big. Scaly. Spit fire."
"The High Caldera," I said, glancing at him. "I've heard it's home to many fierce beasts. What were you doing there, Nib?"
Nib's grin faded slightly. "Help Urzak buy Bloodmaw."
Branek slowed. "Buy… the ogre?"
Nib nodded. "Yes. Trade meat. Slaves. Shiny stones. Urzak want pit champion. Shamans say Bloodmaw."
I felt the threads connect.
"So Urzak didn't just conquer Kragmôr," I said quietly. "He invested in it."
Nib pointed ahead, where the tunnel narrowed into a jagged fissure. Faint purple-black light pulsed deep within, barely visible.
"Shamans come this way," he said, voice dropping. "Here where whispers loud."
I could sense the pressure in my party. Branek's hand hovered near his sword. Corvin shifted weakly in the cart, a low sound escaping his throat. Even Nib's earlier bravado had dimmed, his steps more cautious now.
We were no longer simply underground. We were trespassing.
Whatever lay ahead was old and steeped in the Abyss. Something that had sunk its roots deep into the mountain long before goblins, elves, or dwarves had ever carved their marks here.
I felt it pressing back against my presence. It was aware of me.
"Well," I said, letting a smile touch my lips, my tone calm and assured, "let us keep moving forward."
I took the first step toward the fissure. Behind me, after a brief hesitation, the cart's wheels creaked forward, as did the goblin's feet.
As I stepped through the narrow throat, I froze, captivated.
Before us lay an enormous lake, black and brackish, perfectly still. Not a single ripple disturbed its surface. From a narrow gap high in the ceiling, a single beam of sunlight cut through, striking the water at its centre. The angle was impossible until I realised it had been reflected - bounced along a series of mirrors buried somewhere within the mountain.
Above the lake, suspended in the ethereal glow, hovered a single being: a butterfly. Its wings were a deep, bruised purple, shimmering faintly as though dusted with shadow. Every subtle beat of its wings sent tiny ripples of reflected light across the lake's black surface.
I could feel the pulse of corruption here, like a heartbeat beneath the stone.
The butterfly spoke. Its voice carried, soft and childlike, yet it echoed across as if the lake itself were speaking.
"Greetings," it said. "Welcome to the Lake Beneath the Mountain."
I took a step forward, already forming my reply. But the voice continued, uninterrupted, sweet and merciless.
"I'm afraid your reasons for being here are irrelevant," it said gently. "You must all now perish for intruding."
Branek swore under his breath, shield half-raised. Nib stumbled back a step, ears flattening against his skull. Even Corvin stirred in the cart.
I stopped smiling.
The lake remained perfectly still, reflecting the butterfly, the beam of light, and the four of us like insects beneath glass.
"How polite," I said at last. "And here I thought we'd have a conversation."
The butterfly tilted midair, wings folding and unfolding with delicate precision.
"There is no need," it replied. "This place exists to link. To connect the Abyss with the mortal plane. You have borne witness, and now you must not be allowed to leave."
The water beneath it pulsed once, as if responding. And behind us, a veil of shadow sealed our exit through the fissure. It bubbled and hummed.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Names," it said, "are anchors. I shed mine long ago."
The water pulsed again, stronger this time. Dark veins rippled outward from the butterfly's reflection, staining the lake like spilt ink.
"That's unfortunate," I replied. "But understandable."
Branek shifted beside me, steel whispering as he adjusted his grip. Nib had gone utterly still, like prey frozen by a predator's gaze.
The butterfly dipped lower, closer to the water's surface.
"I am a warden," it said.
"Well then, Warden, before we begin," I continued, a grin returning to my face. "Was this your doing?"
I reached behind my back, pulled Skorn's blade from my tunic, and then presented it to the butterfly.
"Indeed," it answered. "Those who worshipped me came and pleaded for my blessings."
I rolled the sword once in my hand, watching the aura coil and recoil.
"You were right, Nib," I said, inclining my head toward the goblin as I returned Skorn's blade to him. "Keep hold of it. Use it, if necessary."
Beneath the lake's glassy surface, shapes began to gather. Shadows pressed upward, their warped silhouettes breaking the waterline. Long-limbed, half-formed things bound to whatever power dwelled here.
I stepped forward without hesitation, leather boots sinking into the lake until the cold water lapped at my ankles.
I flexed my neck once, then brought my hands together, my gaze never leaving the Warden.
Suddenly, black tendrils erupted from the depths like the limbs of some buried leviathan. They lashed around my arms and legs, crushing and winding tight as they tried to haul me beneath the surface. The pull was immense, but I did not yield. My heels dug in, muscles locking as I refused to give even an inch.
More tendrils followed, thrashing wildly.
Behind me, Branek and Nib sprang into motion. Blades flashed as they hacked at the encroaching shadows, severing coils and defending the helpless Corvin, still cradled in his cart.
The Warden fluttered backwards, wings beating erratically now, its voice no longer calm.
"You do not understand this place," it whispered. "You stand at a convergence. Every step you take invites the Abyss to claim you."
I laughed softly, bracing myself as another tendril snapped up around my torso.
"Oh, I understand it perfectly," I said. "That's why I stepped in."
Steel rang as Branek hacked through another writhing limb. Nib shrieked something incoherent and stabbed downward, Skorn's blade shrieking in answer as it bit into shadow-flesh.
"This lake is a doorway," I said. "And I'm going to shut it."
I spread my hands wide and drew in a slow breath. Then I brought them together with brutal force.
The clap detonated.
A thunderous shockwave ripped outward from my palms, the air itself cracking as it surged across the lake. The black tendrils were torn apart mid-lash, shredded into mist and shadow. The lake itself buckled, its glassy surface exploding into towering sheets that hurled themselves back toward the cavern walls.
The butterfly was swatted from the air, its fragile body smashed against the far rocks in a spray of violet motes. It clung there, wings twitching.
Beneath the water, my clap had exposed it at last: a swirling portal, vast and ravenous, its edges folding inward like a wound that refused to close. The silhouettes scattered, driven back into the depths of the portal.
Ripples raced outward from where I stood, the echo of the clap rolling through the chasm like the roar of a god stirring from slumber.
I lowered my hands slowly as the towering sheets of water collapsed back into the lake, sealing over the exposed portal with a deafening crash. The impact sent a tidal wave surging toward me.
I turned my head slightly, eyes never leaving the churning water.
"Retreat to the wall," I commanded. "Quickly."
They didn't falter. Branek and Nib seized Corvin's cart together, wheels rattling as they dragged him away from the lake's edge, pressing themselves against the cavern wall as far from the flood as the chamber allowed.
The wave slammed into me.
Water surged around my legs, hammering against my chest and shoulders, trying to drag me under. But once more, I did not yield. I stood fast, boots locked in place, the force breaking around me instead of through me.
By the time it reached the others, it had lost its fury. The water lapped up to Nib's knee before receding, leaving behind a cavern filled with steam, echoing drips, and the low humming of dark energy underneath the lake.
"So the gate lies beneath the water," I said, intrigued. "Very well. I suppose I'll simply bring the ceiling down and bury it-"
"Wait!" the Warden cried.
The butterfly peeled itself free from the cavern wall, wings tattered as it fluttered weakly back into the air. Its voice trembled now, the childlike cadence fractured by fear.
"Do not do this," it pleaded. "You do not understand what you would destroy."
I turned slowly, one brow raised.
"Oh," I said calmly, "I know exactly what would be destroyed. A source of evil and cruelty."
"But it is far more than that!" the Warden protested. "It is knowledge. It is strength. It is power... If it were to shut, my existence would cease to be."
I smirked, then pondered.
"Well, if I'm to leave this place intact, I want something in return."
"You already possess such might," it said, the faint glow of its wings casting shadows across the water. "What more could you possibly desire?"
I chuckled, letting my gaze drift toward Corvin's cart.
"Funny you should ask," I said. "I want you to remove the corruption your enchanted weapon has inflicted upon my friend. He will not become a wraith."
"It shall be done," the Warden replied.
"And then," I continued, my voice hardening, "I want you and the Lake... to serve me."
The butterfly recoiled, drifting backwards as if struck. It hesitated.
"The Lake Beneath the Mountain is not a thing to be owned," it said urgently. "It is a force. A convergence. It cannot be commanded-"
I took a single step forward. The water around my boots rippled outward in perfect circles.
"You will serve me," I said, each word deliberate and final. "Or I will destroy this place, and you will die with it."