RYAZANIA POV:
After Vengir handed us the list and sent us on our way, the cold wind of Eldenforve greeted us like an old, unfriendly rival. We left the forge and split up in the snow-covered streets.
Fein walked beside me, glancing at the list I held in my glove. The parchment crackled in the wind.
"We need proper gear before we even think about entering that labyrinth," he said. "Armor, supplies… something to lighten our packs. Trust me, getting crushed under your own bag isn't as fun as it sounds."
I gave him a quick nod. "And we stick together in there. No wandering off."
We made our way to a shop called [Steel & Thread]
Inside, the walls were lined with rows of armor, enchanted belts, climbing tools, and rune-etched gear.
With Fein's advice, I picked out a sturdy pair of boots, gloves reinforced with what the merchant claimed were wyvern hide threads, and a belt enchanted to lighten the load of anything attached to it. The shopkeeper, a thin man with a pointed beard and deep smile lines, watched us with keen interest from behind the counter.
"Ah, excellent choice," he said, stepping forward with a flourish. "Those boots are stitched with frost troll sinew. Waterproof, durable, and stylish in a rugged kind of way, don't you think? Name's Ascertain, by the way, purveyor of practical marvels."
"Ascertain?" I blinked. "That's your real name? "
He grinned. "Might be. Might not. But names have power, and I rather like the power this one gives me."
Fein raised an eyebrow at him but didn't question it. He grabbed a collapsible polearm from a display rack, giving it a quick twirl before folding it down to the size of a dagger. "This'll do," he muttered. "Tight hallways, unpredictable corners, better to be versatile."
Ascertain's eyes lit up. "Ah, the Telari Mark Seven. Reinforced with void tempered alloy, and it sings in the hands of someone attuned to dark energy. Very rare. You've got an eye for deadly beauty, young man."
Fein didn't respond, but his smirk said enough.
"Anything else you recommend?" I asked, examining a set of glowing flares in a glass case.
"Those?" Ascertain leaned over dramatically. "Glowshards. React to ambient dark energy. Good for spotting lurking things. But be careful; they hum when they sense magic. Loud hum, bad news."
Fein picked up a pack. "We'll take a few."
Ascertain nodded, scribbled a note on a small parchment, and rang us up. "That'll be two silvers and three copper for the bundle. And the enchantment belt? One gold flat. No haggling. It's enchanted by the Sisters of Kelmor, and trust me, you won't find another one this side of the Spine."
Fein glanced at me. I sighed and paid. "We better not die in the labyrinth because you upsold us."
"Oh, perish the thought," Ascertain said, tipping his hat with a smirk. "If you do, I'll buy back the gear. Slightly used, of course."
Fein rolled his eyes and nudged me toward the door. "Come on, before he tries to sell us something cursed and slightly misunderstood."
While we stepped outside, I noticed the snow had started again, fine flakes catching on my cloak. Mal had already gone off alone, heading toward the quieter quarter of the city. He told us he was picking up potions and maps. Knowing him, he'd probably memorized every twist and turn of the labyrinth the moment he laid eyes on them.
I tightened the new belt around my waist. It felt lighter already. As strange as Ascertain was, I had to admit, he knew his wares.
"Ready for this?" Fein asked beside me.
I gave him a quick glance and nodded. "As I'll ever be."
MAL POV:
I made my way through the quieter side of Eldenforve, where the stone streets curved into narrow lanes lit by glowing lanterns.
The bustle of adventurers faded the deeper I went, replaced by a calm hum of old magic.
It didn't take long to find the shop I was looking for, a small, crooked building nestled between two larger ones. A wooden sign swung overhead, etched with the name [The Verdant Flask].
The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and something bitter, alchemical. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with vials in all colors, some softly glowing, others swirling with suspended sparkles or smoke.
An old elf stood behind the counter, polishing a green-tinted bottle. His white hair was braided back, and gold-rimmed glasses balanced on his nose. He didn't look up.
"Looking for stamina, healing, or something a bit... sharper?" he asked.
"Healing, mostly," I replied, scanning the shelves. "And anything useful for exploration...clarity, resistance, maybe a mana tincture or two."
He gestured lazily to the left wall. "Second shelf up. Those are the standard blends. You buying in bulk or just a few?"
"Depends on the price," I said, kneeling to check the labels. "You know how it is. Adventuring's expensive."
He snorted. "Don't I know it?"
I grabbed three small bottles; one minor healing, one mana, and one to resist cold and brought them to the counter. "How much for these?"
"Five silver," he said without blinking.
I narrowed my eyes. "That's steep. I've seen the same mix for three across town."
He chuckled. "Then you should've bought it there. But since I like your face, four silver."
I smiled thinly and placed the coins on the table. As he gathered them, something behind the counter caught my eye. A dark violet bottle tucked away behind a stack of dusty crates. Its seal was marked with a strange spiral... a sigil I hadn't seen in years, but one I knew well.
I leaned forward. "That bottle in the back. What is it?"
He followed my gaze, then frowned. "That one? Don't sell it often. Came in from the south, rare blend. Pain relief mixed with magic dampeners. Why?"
I stepped around the counter, my tone sharpening. "That's not just pain relief. That seal...do you even know what it means?"
He adjusted his glasses, squinting. "No. Bought it in a lot of trade supplies from a passing caravan. Thought it was mislabeled, honestly."
I picked it up carefully, holding it to the light. The liquid inside shimmered faintly. "This... this is an old poison base. Refined. Alchemically precise. A derivative of the Blackroot line. Masked as medicine."
The old elf's face paled. "You're sure?"
"I'm treating someone who was dosed with something nearly identical," I said, eyes locked on the bottle. "If this is circulating, then someone's selling poison disguised as aid."
He exhaled slowly, clearly disturbed. "I didn't know. Truly. It was in with the healing crates."
"Do you keep a log of who buys what?" I asked suddenly.
He looked surprised, but nodded. "Yes, of course. For the guild and tax purposes."
"Then can I see who bought this most recently?"
He hesitated, then reached under the counter and pulled out a thick ledger. "We only sold a few vials of that one. Barely anyone knows it's here... Let's see."
He flipped through the pages, finger trailing down the columns. Then he stopped. "Two weeks ago. Name's... Garret Halven. Bought one vial. Paid in coin, left no guild number. Said he was traveling south again. Human. Brown hair. Scar on his lip."
I leaned closer. "Can I make a copy of this entry?"
The elf tore out a small slip from the back of the ledger and jotted down the details. "Here. Just don't mention where you got it."
"I won't," I said, taking the slip. "You've helped more than you know."
He looked at me, concern etched into his features. "If someone's using this stuff... I don't want it tied to me. I just sell potions."
"I understand. Be careful who you trade with."
I slipped the vial into my coat and stepped back outside. The snow was falling again, soft and steady. I looked at the slip of parchment one more time before tucking it into my pocket. Garret Halven. Scar on his lip.
"Lady Elara was sick two weeks ago... surely this is not a coincidence"
Now I had a lead. And I didn't believe in coincidences.
RYAZANIA POV:
By midday, we all regrouped at the heart of Eldenforve. The Adventurer's Guild stood like a fortress, towering above the rest of the city.
Its black stone walls looked almost volcanic, etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.
I could feel the magic in them, humming softly like a warning.
This place was warded against danger, both inside and out.
The moment we stepped inside, we were swallowed by noise. The hall buzzed with life.. adventurers laughing over tankards, shouting across tables, trading gear, boasting about the treasures or beasts they had narrowly escaped from.
The air was thick with the smell of oil, parchment, sweat, and something being roasted near the back.
A wide counter stood near the entrance, and behind it sat a guild official who looked like he'd seen too many days and not enough naps. He barely looked up from his ledger when we approached.
"Here to register?" he asked, voice flat.
Mal nodded politely. "Yes. We're planning an expedition into the labyrinth."
The official let out a breath and pulled out a stack of papers. "Names, skills, and proof of your abilities. Fill these out. No form, no entry."
Fein handed over a worn medallion with a strange emblem stamped on it. I'd never seen that symbol before, but the official's expression changed. He raised an eyebrow and gave a short nod, scribbling something down.
I reached for my sword and set it carefully on the counter. The blade responded instantly, glowing with a soft white pulse. The official leaned slightly away from it and muttered, "Alright, that's convincing enough."
Mal stepped forward, raising his hand. A golden light curled around his fingers, warm and radiant. The clerk squinted into the glow and finally grunted.
"Okay, okay. You're in." He handed us three bronze badges. "These track your movements in and out. Lose one, and we won't bother sending a rescue party. They also grant access to safe zones inside the labyrinth, assuming you live long enough to reach one."
"Comforting," Fein muttered as he pocketed his badge.
"Stay alive, and don't cause problems," the clerk added, already turning to the next stack of paperwork.
Outside, the air felt cooler somehow. I took a deep breath and pulled out Vengir's list, written in his rough but steady dwarven script. The parchment crinkled in my fingers.
Fein leaned over my shoulder. "Let's see what we're hunting."
The list read:
Hardened Mithral {FOR PLATES}
Aether-Infused Metal {FOR GEARS}
Smokeglass {LENSE}
Clockroot Wood
Threaded Moonsteel {WIRE}
Iron Core Crystaphite
Fein gave a low whistle. "He wasn't kidding. That's one serious list. Half this stuff is hard to get."
"We'll figure it out," I said, folding the parchment carefully. "We have to. If we build this press, there's a chance to find him."
Fein questions... "him?"
Just then, Mal returned, a satchel slung over one shoulder and a small roll of scrolls under his arm.
"Picked up everything we'll need on the potion front," he said, handing me a vial. "Mana salves, three kinds of healing, and a few resistance brews. Oh...and I got three different maps of the labyrinth."
Fein raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
"They don't match," Mal replied, his tone dry. "One says the lower floors collapsed fifty years ago. Another one has entire chambers missing. Either someone lied… or the labyrinth shifts."
"Great," I muttered.
Mal shrugged. "At least we'll be prepared for lies."
I looked out past the rooftops to where the great stone door of the labyrinth loomed beneath the cliffs. Snow drifted gently over its surface, undisturbed. It looked silent, ancient, and far too still.
Even so, something in me stirred.
I was ready.
We all were.
Just as I slipped the folded list back into my cloak, a chair scraped against the wooden floor nearby.
We turned, and from one of the tables, a figure stood up.
A girl. No taller than my shoulder, with soft silver-blonde hair tucked behind pointed ears. An elf. She was small, almost delicate-looking, wrapped in a pale green cloak with a dagger fastened at her hip and a shortbow slung across her back.
She walked over, chin held high with an air of quiet confidence."You are heading into the labyrinth, right?"
Fein tilted his head slightly."That obvious?"
"You have that look," she said. "The kind people wear when they are half-ready for death but fully set on treasure."
I did not say anything right away. Just watched her. There was something off in her eyes...calm, but shadowed.
The guild clerk at the desk glanced up, then leaned forward."Tinsel. You are still kicking around?"
She ignored him, her gaze fixed on us."I can guide you. I know the upper and mid-rings of the labyrinth better than most. I have been through it five times."
Mal looked doubtful."Then why are you still here?"
The clerk answered for her."Her last party did not make it out. Traps. Undead. Bad luck. She came back alone."
I felt something cold twist in my gut."You went back after that?" I asked.
Tinsel's expression did not change."Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I still have things to do," she said simply. "Same as you."
That answer left me quiet. Fein, ever the observer, just crossed his arms and studied her. Mal's frown deepened.
"We only brought supplies for three," he said. "Potions. Food. Rations. Adding another person is going to make things tight."
Tinsel shrugged."I carry my own. Always have. I am not asking for charity! I am offering help."
She looked at me then, waiting for my call.
I reached into my cloak and pulled out Vengir's list, unfolding it and handing it to her.
"We are looking for these materials," I said. "It is for a craft. Something important. A dwarf commisioned us."
Tinsel took the list and scanned it quickly."Clockroot. You will want to check the Mossspire vaults. And if you need Moonsteel, there is a chamber in the lower ring. Old forge, abandoned. Dangerous, but possible."
"You know all that from memory?" I asked.
Her lips curled slightly into a faint, almost mischievous smile."Told you. I have been around."
Fein gave a slow nod."Well. She is either incredibly prepared or incredibly lucky."
Mal sighed."Let us hope it is the first one."
Tinsel tucked the list into her satchel and turned toward the great stone doors in the distance.
"Then let us not waste daylight," she said. "Follow me."
And just like that, we followed the girl with haunted eyes and a name like a winter bell, down toward the snow-covered entrance of the labyrinth.
She soon led us to a set of massive double doors...so large they dwarfed even the towering beast-like guard ahead.
Each door stood at least twenty feet tall, carved from a deep gray stone veined with streaks of shimmering blue. At first glance, I thought they were solid rock, but as we drew closer, I realized the material wasn't just stone...it pulsed faintly, like it was alive. The edges were reinforced with dark metal bands etched with ancient runes that shifted subtly when my eyes weren't directly on them.
At the center of the doors, a giant circular sigil sat inlaid..part lock, part magical seal. It glowed faintly with a soft amber hue, and as we stepped near, I felt a low hum ripple through my chest.
Above the doors, a massive relief had been carved into the arch. It depicted a long-forgotten battle between armored warriors and grotesque beasts, all frozen in time, locked in an eternal struggle of sword and fang. Some of the creatures had far too many limbs. Others had no eyes at all.
Fein let out a breath beside me. "Never gets any less creepy."
Mal walked forward, reaching out to press a hand lightly against one of the runes. "These doors weren't made to keep people out," he murmured.
I looked at him. "Then what were they made for?"
He glanced back at me, eyes serious. "To keep people in, I guess."
At the base of the steps leading to the labyrinth's gate, a guard stood watch. He was tall, broader than any man I had seen in the city. His thick fur cloak could not hide the beastlike features beneath...his nose was more snout than human, his ears were pointed like a bear's, and thick brown fur covered parts of his face and arms.
I had only seen characters like him in the pages of manhwas...half-man, half-beast.
He held up a clawed hand as we approached.
"Passes," he grunted.
Mal handed his over first. The guard took it, examined the bronze badge, and gave a nod. Fein followed, then me. The badge was cool in my hand, almost buzzing slightly with enchantment. When the guard took mine, his sharp eyes met mine briefly before shifting past me.
"Well, well. Look who's back."
I turned to see him addressing Tinsel.
"Another party?" he said, crossing his arms. "You bring bad luck, kiddo."
Tinsel didn't even flinch. "Better luck than sitting on your tail all day."
The guard snorted. "Still got that mouth, I see. Just try not to drag this group into another bloodbath, eh?"
"I'll try," she said, brushing past him.
We followed, stepping through the massive stone arch. Runes carved into the sides glowed faintly as we entered. The gate behind us began to close, groaning shut like a beast settling in for sleep.
Almost immediately, the air changed. It was colder, damper. The stone beneath our feet was dark and smooth, as if it had been worn down by hundreds of years of footsteps.
The space just inside the entrance was wide, with several tents set up along the walls. Wounded adventurers sat or lay on stretchers. A few priests in pale robes moved between them, channeling healing spells. Crates of supplies and shockingly crates filled with the covered bodies of the dead lined one wall. A thick silence hung in the air here, one that didn't match the chaos of the city above.
Fein grimaced beside me. "Looks more like a battlefield than a labyrinth."
"It's both," Tinsel said, stopping just ahead. She turned and faced us.
"The labyrinth is broken into rings. Upper, mid, and lower. Each one more unstable than the last. This entrance leads to the upper ring is the easiest to navigate, if you're lucky. But nothing here stays still. Doors move. Halls change. Sometimes even entire rooms vanish."
Mal narrowed his eyes. "You're saying the whole thing shifts?"
Tinsel nodded. "It does. That's why maps barely help. They're more like suggestions."
Fein let out a low whistle. "So we're going in blind?"
"Not blind. I've memorized the routes that stay stable most of the time. We stick to those."
I glanced again at the crates full of bodies, then at the priests still working. My grip tightened around my sword.
"You've been through this place five times?" I asked.
She met my gaze. "Six, now."
The silence that followed was heavy. Even Mal didn't argue this time.
Tinsel took a deep breath, turned on her heel, and started walking down a narrow corridor lit by flickering crystal lanterns.
We followed.
Behind us, the gate sealed with a final, echoing thud.
Tinsel moved with surprising confidence, weaving through the chaotic entry chamber of the labyrinth. The paper crinkled in her gloved hand as she held up Vengir's list, eyes scanning the area. I followed close behind, with Mal and Fein just a step back, alert as always.
She stopped by a small cluster of adventurers resting on crates and threadbare blankets. Most of them were wounded bandaged cuts, scorched armor, faces pale with exhaustion. Tinsel held up the list and asked, "Anyone seen or found any of these materials recently? Especially hardened mithral?"
A few glanced at the paper, then shook their heads or mumbled something under their breath. One man, younger than the rest, with half-burned gloves and eyes like ash, pointed silently across the room.
We followed his gaze.
A dwarf sat slumped against the far wall, his face buried in one hand. His other arm was gone, ending in a bloodied stump tightly wrapped in cloth.
A crude leather patch covered one of his eyes. His armor, once thick and proud, now hung loose and broken, smeared with soot and dried blood. Beside him knelt a priest, softly whispering healing prayers, glowing hands pressed gently to what was left of the dwarf's shoulder.
Tinsel approached him slowly, crouching beside him. "You were on the lower rings?"
No answer at first. The priest looked up and gave a quiet nod.
"We were mining Hardened Mithral," he said. "Found a rich vein near the lowest ring. Then it came. A Hydra....massive, ancient. Covered in fire and rot. It tore through the team like we were paper."
The dwarf's voice came at last, low and dry. "Nine of us went in. I'm the only one who made it out."
Tinsel's tone softened. "You remember the route?"
The dwarf's eye lifted slightly. "Every cursed step. But I'd never take you there."
"We're not asking you to," Fein said gently, stepping forward. "Just tell us what to look for. If we're better prepared, we stand a chance. That could save others."
Silence hung in the air. The fire from a nearby brazier flickered across the dwarf's single eye. Then, at last, he spoke.
"North tunnel. Fourth descent. You'll find collapsed runes etched in old Dwarven script over the archway. That's the marker. Keep going, and you'll feel the heat before you hear it breathe. That's when you turn back."
Tinsel nodded respectfully. "Thank you. We'll tread carefully."
The priest gave us a long look. "Be more than careful. The labyrinth doesn't forgive the greedy."
As we turned away, I felt a chill settle deeper than the cold stone around us.
Hardened Mithral would be our first challenge.
And now we knew what waited near it.
The stone beneath our feet grew darker as we followed the winding tunnel. We had descended past the second ring hours ago, and the markers around us were becoming scarcer. With each level, the air got heavier, and the quiet more pressing. Only the faint hum of our lanterns and the scuff of boots echoed through the depths.
"I've been meaning to ask…" I glanced over at Tinsel, who led us at a brisk pace. "Why didn't we ask that dwarf his name?"
Tinsel didn't look back. Her steps didn't even slow. But it was Mal who answered.
"Because he's already dead," he said quietly.
I looked at him, confused. "What?"
"Hydra burns," Mal continued. "They're toxic and radioactive. Healing only delays the inevitable. His organs will shut down before sunset."
A heavy silence followed.
"That's awful," I murmured. "He helped us anyway."
Fein shook his head. "That's what some people do when they know their story's about to end. They help write someone else's."
We reached an old stone corridor..crumbling arches lined its spine, half-swallowed by roots and rubble. Tinsel stopped and crouched, brushing snow and dirt off an inscription.
"Fourth descent," she whispered. "We're close. These runes are dwarven. See how they've caved in?"
Mal stepped beside her. "And the air is changing. I feel heat. Not fire. Radiation."
Fein pulled a cloth over his face. "Better shield up."
Suddenly, a low rumble echoed from the chamber ahead. The ground quivered...then a gust of hot, sulfur-scented air blew past us.
We all drew our weapons.
A massive shadow unfurled in the distance...wings scraping the stone ceiling, jagged claws clacking against the cavern floor.
A giant wyvern stepped into view.
Its scales shimmered a sickly green, streaked with obsidian, and its eyes burned with glowing gold. Poison drooled from its fangs and hissed on contact with the floor.
"Wonderful," Fein muttered. "Not the Hydra, but her younger cousin's here."
Tinsel unsheathed two thin, curved daggers. She grinned.
"This one's mine."
"You sure?" I asked, blinking at her sudden boldness.
She shrugged. "I'm a thief. Quick hands, quicker feet. I don't hit hard, but I don't get hit either."
Mal raised his staff. "Then move fast. If it has acid breath, you're the first it'll target."
The wyvern roared, tail slamming the wall.
"Ready?" I said, raising my blade, its edge glowing faintly.
Fein stood beside me, polearm at the ready. "One ring deeper, one step closer."
And just like that, we launched into the fray...blades flashing, spells flaring, shadows dancing in the dark of the fourth ring.
The wyvern lunged first, wings snapping outward with a gust that knocked over loose stones and stirred the dust like a storm. Its roar thundered through the corridor, deafening and primal.
"Scatter!" Fein shouted, diving to the left as the beast's jaws slammed down where he had stood.
Tinsel vanished in a blink. One second she was next to me, the next she was gone....just a blur of movement darting through the creature's legs.
I rolled to the right, narrowly dodging the swipe of a tail thick as a tree trunk. The floor cracked from the impact, shards of stone flying. I came up on one knee, gripping my sword tighter.
Mal was already muttering incantations, golden rings of light spiraling up his arms. "Don't let it fly!" he barked. "Keep it grounded!"
Tinsel reappeared behind the wyvern, blades glinting as she struck the joints in its hind legs. Blood black and thick like oil; splattered across the stones. The beast howled and turned with a snap of its tail, barely missing her again.
"Faster than it looks," she called, flipping backward and landing beside me.
"You said you're a thief, not a dancer," I muttered.
"Same thing in this line of work."
Fein rushed in from the side, polearm spinning like a wheel. He jabbed it beneath the wyvern's wing, where its scales were thinnest. Sparks burst from the strike. The creature shrieked, snapping its head toward him.
That's when I saw the opening.
I rushed forward, sword low, and slashed across its front leg. The edge of my blade sang as it cut, the resistance like metal meeting bone. The wyvern snarled, rearing back.
But Mal raised both hands now, the spell he'd been chanting finally complete. A column of radiant light exploded from the ceiling, striking the wyvern squarely in the back. It shrieked in agony, buckling under the weight of the holy energy.
Tinsel darted in again. One dagger sunk into the beast's throat while the other severed a tendon behind its foreleg. It collapsed with a crash that shook the cavern.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence.
Then the beast gave a long, shuddering breath… and lay still.
We backed off, weapons still raised, waiting.
When it didn't move again, Mal finally spoke. "It's done."
Fein exhaled, resting his polearm against his shoulder. "That was a warm-up, wasn't it?"
Tinsel wiped her daggers clean and sheathed them. "Let's hope not. I only brought five potions."
"You think the Hydra will be worse?" I asked.
Mal nodded. "Much worse. The wyvern was just a guardian../territorial, not intelligent. The Hydra… that thing's older than some cities."
Tinsel moved to the edge of the chamber and knelt beside a half-buried crate. She pried it open with her dagger. Inside were shattered mining tools, broken gear, and a chunk of something glimmering faintly.
Fein crouched beside her, brushing it clean. "Hardened mithral," he said. "Looks like this was their last stop."
I walked over, breath still heavy. The glow from the ore was faint but unmistakable, pulsing in slow waves like a heartbeat.
One item down.
Five more to go.
"Our next item should be the Clockroot," Tinsel said, scanning the moss-lined corridor ahead. "This path already leads toward it."
Mal, ever cautious, narrowed his eyes. "How do you even know that? And who exactly are you?"
"You kind of just… showed up out of nowhere," he added.
Tinsel shrugged. "I'm an opportunist. I need work to eat and live. If I get paid today, I live another day. Helping you helps me. Simple as that."
Fein nodded, adjusting the grip on his polearm. "Well, that sums it up."
Yes, all of this was overly convenient. I thought to myself, not for the first time.
I exhaled and nodded. "Then Clockroot it is."
The path to the Mossspire Vaults diverged from the main route leading to the fourth descent, winding through a narrow corridor slick with moss and condensation. The air grew damp and thick, the stone underfoot softened by layers of creeping vegetation.
Every few steps, pale blue fungi pulsed softly, casting a glow that barely lit the way.
Tinsel walked ahead, light on her feet. She glanced over her shoulder and whispered, "Stay quiet. Mossspire isn't just named for the moss. There are things that listen."
"What kind of things?" I asked.
She gave a small shrug. "Old things. Spirit born. They hate light, sound, and people who breathe too loud."
Fein tightened the straps of his pack and muttered, "So… the usual."
Mal walked just behind me, holding a light crystal low to the ground. "Keep close. These vaults were built during the Aetherian Wars, meant to hide relics from both sides. Some of those relics don't stay still."
Tinsel led us to a carved archway nearly swallowed by ivy and lichen. The runes etched into the stone had been long faded, worn down by time and neglect, but a faint magical hum still clung to the entrance.
She turned to us and said quietly, "This is it. Mossspire Vaults."
The air inside changed the moment we stepped through. The warmth of the labyrinth gave way to a chilling dampness. The halls were rounded and low, built not for grandeur but for security.
Every surface, it's floor, wall, ceiling was covered in the mossy green substance that gave the place its name. It clung to us in spots, soft but cold.
"Any idea what Clockroot looks like?" I asked.
Tinsel nodded. "Twisting vines, dark bark, silver threading through the grain. Grows around old cores, Aether crystals mostly. You'll smell it first. Smells like metal and rain."
Fein pulled a flare from his belt and gave it a soft twist. The glow it gave off shimmered blue in the mossy darkness, revealing deep claw marks along the vault walls.
"We're not alone," he murmured.
We moved slowly, weaving through collapsed pillars and ancient vault doors long torn from their hinges. At the end of one hall, the scent hit me, metallic and earthy, with a faint sweetness. Tinsel raised a hand and pointed silently.
In the center of a collapsed chamber was a cluster of Clockroot. It coiled around a broken pedestal, threads of silver pulsing faintly beneath the bark. Aether crystals, cracked and dim, lay half buried in the roots like forgotten bones.
But we weren't the only ones to find it.
A low growl echoed from the shadows as something stirred in the far corner, a hulking creature covered in moss and bark, its limbs shaped like warped branches, its eyes glowing dull green.
It had been sleeping beside the roots, half blended into the surroundings. Now it rose.
The Mossbound stirred fully, its body groaning with the sound of cracking bark and shifting roots. It towered above us, hunched but massive, like a corrupted tree twisted into the shape of a beast. Its moss-covered limbs scraped the ground as it lumbered forward.
Tinsel's daggers stayed at her sides, though she didn't strike. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at me, puzzled.
"What even is that thing?" I asked, clutching my sword tighter.
Tinsel blinked. "Wait… you don't know what a Mossbound is?"
I shook my head. "Sir Ignias certainly didn't cover this."
She muttered, "Huh. I thought everyone got taught this stuff."
Mal didn't take his eyes off the creature. "He didn't have the time."
Fein spun his polearm in a slow arc. "That explains so much."
Mal continued, voice calm but steady. "It's called a Mossbound. Guardian creatures created by old Aetherian druids. They bond with rare flora like Clockroot and mutate over time. This one's been here centuries, maybe longer."
"Guess that explains the size," Fein muttered. "And the temper."
The Mossbound let out a guttural snarl and began to advance. Every step made the moss on the floor curl back, as if nature itself feared its presence.
"Right," Tinsel said, flexing her fingers around her dagger hilts. "Lesson learned. Don't skip magical creature studies."
I smirked, stepping beside her. "Better late than never."
Then I raised my sword.
"Let's earn that Clockroot."
The vault shook as the Mossbound roared and charged.