Jason followed Ylva into the right tunnel, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. The darkness pressed against them from all sides, broken only by the faint glow of phosphorescent moss that grew in uneven patches along the walls.

This was clearly a dungeon that had seen better days because it looked like it had regressed quickly. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

The fear in his eyes was clear—not that anyone could see it in the dim light, but Ylva’s ears twitched toward him, and Mae’s eyes glanced his way.

Things had already gone bad. Jason didn’t need Mira to spell it out for him. Her reaction—the way her tail had gone still, the way her voice had dropped to that low, sharp edge—told him everything he needed to know.

Mira was more experienced than Ylva. Jason didn’t know the extent of her combat prowess, but he had seen the way she moved. Fluid. Silent. Predatory. If she was worried, they should all be worried.

Mae, surprisingly, kept up with them with ease.

Her hooves clicked against the stone floor, but she didn’t stumble. Didn’t slow. Didn’t complain. Her chest moved all over the place—bouncing, swaying, threatening to escape its leather harness—but her breathing was steady, and her brown eyes were focused.

Jason tried not to stare. He mostly succeeded.

Ahead, a flicker of light appeared. It was fire.

Ylva grabbed Jason’s arm and yanked him to a stop. Her claws dug into his leather cuirass, her body tensing beside him.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice barely audible because she couldn’t risk alerting whatever it was that could draw attention.

Jason froze. Thalion stopped behind him. Mae pressed herself against the wall, her hand drifting to the hilt of her sword.

Ylva’s ears swiveled forward, straining toward the light. Her nostrils flared.

"Grunts," she murmured. "And... something else."

Jason strained to hear. At first, nothing. Then, faintly, the sound of low, guttural noises—like animals chewing, or arguing, or both. And beneath it, the crackle of a fire.

The cackling of flames.

There was something disturbing about all of this. A fire in a goblin nest? Goblins didn’t build fires. They didn’t need them. They ate raw meat and slept in piles and bred in the dark.

So who had lit the flame?

Ylva placed her finger on her lips—a universal sign for silence. Then she began to creep forward, her body low, her claws extended.

Thalion stepped past her.

"I will go first," the elf said quietly. His voice was calm, steady. The stutter was gone.

Ylva’s ears flattened. "The hell you will—"

"Stand down." Thalion’s pale eyes met hers. "I was an adventurer before you were born."

Ylva wanted to complain—Jason could see it in the set of her jaw, the flick of her tail—but she quickly remembered. This elf, broken as he was, had once crawled dungeons while her ancestors were still learning to hunt.

He knew more than her.

She stepped back.

Jason grabbed Thalion’s arm before he could move. "No magic," Jason whispered. "Not until you get your mental health under control. I mean it. If I see you cast anything, I’ll—"

"You’ll what?" Thalion asked, not unkindly.

Jason didn’t have an answer because Thalion was far stronger than him, and getting on his bad side wouldn’t be in his best interest especially since it had been established that he is unstable.

Thalion nodded. "I understand. No magic. I will observe only."

He walked toward the light.

Jason followed, Ylva and Mae close behind.

The tunnel opened into a large cavern. The fire was burning in the center—a crude pit of stones and ash, flames licking at what looked like broken furniture and torn cloth.

The smoke rose toward a crack in the ceiling, disappearing into darkness.

But there was no one there. No goblins, or spiders.

Just the fire. And the walls.

Thalion stopped at the entrance, his pale eyes sweeping the cavern. Jason stepped up beside him and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Eggs.

Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. They hung from the walls like grotesque fruit, suspended in sticky webs that glistened in the firelight. Some were intact—pale green, veined, pulsing faintly. Others had cracked open, their contents oozing down the stone in dark, viscous streams.

And many were empty because they had hatched.

Jason counted the empty shells. Then stopped counting.

"What the fuck..." he muttered under his breath, his voice barely a whisper.

It was clear. These things had just hatched. Recently. Hours, maybe. The webs were still wet. The shells were still dripping.

"We need to leave," Jason said. "Now."

He held up his hand in a peace sign—two fingers raised, the universal symbol for peace out—and turned back toward the tunnel.

"Yep. I’m out."

He took a step but the tunnel was gone.

Where the passage had been, there was only solid rock. Smooth. Unbroken. As if it had never existed.

Jason stared at the wall. His hand reached out and touched the cold stone.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no."

He slapped the wall. Pounded his fist against it. Nothing. Just the dull thud of flesh against rock.

"Jason." Thalion’s voice was calm. Too calm. "The tunnel is sealed."

"I can see that!" Jason spun around, his eyes wild. "How? Who sealed it? This is quite literally impossible!"

Mae stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the walls. "The ones who built this place. They designed it to trap intruders. To funnel them into... into places like this."

Ylva’s claws scraped against the stone floor. "So we’re trapped?"

"Not trapped," Thalion said. He was walking slowly around the cavern, his pale eyes scanning the walls, the ceiling, the floor. "There will be another exit. There’s always another exit. Dungeons are designed to be survivable. Otherwise, there’s no point."

Jason grabbed his hair. "Survivable? We’re in a room full of hatched eggs! The babies are out there! Somewhere!"

As if on cue, a screech echoed from somewhere deeper in the cavern—high-pitched, hungry, and very close.

Ylva’s ears shot up. Her body went rigid.

"We have company," she said.