The caverns thinned until the air carried a damp chill, every breath echoing too loudly against stone that felt half-asleep, as though the earth itself waited for something to stir it awake. The humans carried what little rations they had, armor patched with scraps of leather and chain that looked more prayer than defense.
Lindarion led at the front, shadows flowing around his boots like a second cloak, the sword resting on his back in a sheath of living night. Nysha walked a pace behind him, crimson eyes flicking to every dark crack in the stone, shadows twitching restlessly as if they anticipated teeth waiting to snap.
The commander had chosen fifteen of his best to follow. Veterans, or what passed for them now, scarred men and women whose eyes had learned to narrow against the sight of blood, whose bodies hadn't yet bent to malnourishment.
Spears, chipped blades, and bows strung with threadbare gut filled their hands. One affinity each, shallow as a puddle compared to Lindarion's sea.
Still, they marched.
Hours bled together. The tunnel sloped downward, then veered sharply right, then opened to a narrow fissure that stank of iron. "The south," the commander muttered, voice hoarse. "If Dythrael's filth is spreading, we'll smell it before we see it."
Lindarion's thoughts pressed like a storm behind his eyes.
'Dythrael moves his hand already. This land rots not from time, but from his shadow. He wants me to feel it.'
Selene stirred faintly in the back of his mind, warmth against cold stone.
"Master, do not mistake the bait for the hunter. You will know him when he comes."
'I know.' He did not summon her further. Her voice receded. The weight of her promise lingered.
They pressed onward.
The cavern widened unexpectedly, revealing a natural hollow where water dripped slow from stalactites into a shallow pool. It gleamed silver in the dim torchlight. The humans slowed, murmuring.
Then the water rippled.
Something broke the surface, a spine, jagged, black as obsidian. Another followed. Then a head, too many eyes glimmering like pearls embedded in flesh, its mouth peeling open in a wet hiss.
Mutants.
They came not from tunnels this time, but from the pool itself, dragging their half-formed bodies out of water that steamed as if rejecting them. Limbs crooked at wrong angles. Mouths where no mouths belonged. Spines clicking against stone.
The commander's shout cracked across the hollow. "Form ranks!"
The humans scrambled, shields lifted, spears leveled.
The first mutant lunged.
Lindarion's hand was already on his blade. The shadows unraveled, and he drew the sword in a single motion.
Void answered him instantly, the air collapsing in a silent implosion that ripped the mutant's body apart before it even touched ground. Chunks of black flesh splattered into the water, steaming.
The squad flinched, but none broke. They had seen glimpses of his strength already. This was simply a harsher reminder.
Another mutant clawed forward, its skin stretching like tar. Nysha's shadows snapped outward, binding its limbs. Her voice was low, sharp. "Strike now!"
Two humans lunged with spears, driving points into its chest. The mutant screamed, tearing half its body free, until Lindarion lifted his off-hand and lightning sparked from his fingers. Bolts split across the stone, drilling through the creature and reducing it to charred bone.
"Keep formation!" the commander barked. "Do not scatter!"
But the pool kept birthing more. Four. Six. Nine. Their screeches made the stone quiver, their limbs thrashing, their bodies fused with scales and metal and bone.
The humans wavered. One whispered, "Too many—"
Lindarion moved.
Shadows pooled at his feet, stretching into spears that lashed outward. Blood affinity laced them, crimson veins spreading along blackened shafts. The spears impaled three mutants at once, then detonated in a spray of gore that hissed as it hit the water.
He strode forward, each step measured. A mutant lunged; he swung his sword in a broad arc, fire bursting along the blade's edge. The creature ignited mid-air, shrieking as it crashed into the cavern wall.
Another came low, jaws wide. Lindarion's free hand lifted, palm out. Time bent for a heartbeat, the mutant slowed, its charge dragging as though through tar. He pivoted, drove his blade clean through its skull, then let the world snap back. The body collapsed, headless.
The humans shouted, half in terror, half in awe. Their spears jabbed at the weaker stragglers, arrows clattering uselessly off thick hide until Nysha's shadows split flesh open for them.
But the prince's path was unbroken.
A hulking mutant rose at the far side of the pool, its chest gaping with rows of teeth, arms too long to be human. It roared, shaking water loose.
Lindarion exhaled once, steady. His blade lifted. Astral affinity bloomed, stars laced along the steel, light too pure for the cavern's dark. He slashed downward.
A crescent of white fire tore the creature in half, splitting it from skull to waist. The upper body slid into the water with a hiss.
Silence followed.
Steam hung thick in the cavern. The water was black now, clogged with limbs and ichor. The humans stood rigid, spears dripping gore, their faces pale.
Lindarion lowered his sword. Shadows curled back to sheath it. His chest rose and fell, steady. His eyes scanned the hollow. No more movement.
The commander's voice came hoarse, reverent despite himself. "You cut them down like…like nothing."
Lindarion did not answer. His gaze lingered on the pool. 'Not natural. Not chance. Dythrael seeds them here, even in water. Testing reach. Testing me.'
Nysha stepped closer, shadows retreating slowly to her skin. Her eyes burned crimson as they caught the corpses. "They'll keep coming," she said quietly. "This is no nest. Just a spill. The true swarm lies deeper."
Lindarion gave the faintest nod. "Then we burn every spill until we find the source."
The commander swallowed, then straightened, forcing command back into his spine. "You heard the prince. Strip the bodies. Burn them. We don't leave rot behind us."
The humans moved, slower than before. Fear clung to them, but so did something else, a pulse of belief that hadn't been there days ago. Their spears struck with more certainty. Their voices rose louder as they set fire to the corpses.
Nysha's gaze lingered on Lindarion, unblinking. She said nothing. But her shadows twitched faintly, as though they alone whispered the words she would not.
The march south continued.