Kade sat cross-legged on the floor, legs going numb beneath him, but he didn't care.
Books were everywhere. Some stacked high enough to lean, others splayed open in mid-thought. The smell of old paper and ink clung to the air like memory.
Beside him, his father's fingers danced across a yellowed page, tracing symbols carved centuries ago.
"See this?" his father said, voice low, reverent. "That's pre-Scholarch script. Not many can still read it. But you can learn."
Kade leaned in, wide-eyed. "It looks like… claws."
His father chuckled. "That's not far off. The early scribes believed writing was a way of anchoring truth to the world. They carved it like it might run away if they didn't."
Kade's hand hovered over the page. "Will I ever be able to write like this?"
His father looked at him then—not with amusement, not with correction, but with pride so quiet it sat in the room long after he spoke.
"You will. And you'll do more than write. You'll uncover."
Kade nodded, trying to sit straighter, even though his legs were tingling. "Like you?"
"No," his father said, brushing dust from a cover with care. "Better."
The memory shimmered—warm, grounded, impossibly gentle.
His father's hand resting briefly on his shoulder.
His voice, soft but steady:
"Knowledge isn't light, Kade. It's structure. It holds when nothing else does."
And then the light went out.
Pain ripped through him—not a spike, not a stab, but a storm. His body hung weightless, breath torn away by claws that shouldn't have been there. The warmth of the past shattered into blood on stone.
A gurgled breath clawed up his throat.
His eyes didn't track the dungeon.
They didn't find Averic.
They just blinked, once.
"F-father.."
His lips barely moved. The word wasn't a cry.
It was a tether fraying.
The creature didn't pause.
Didn't admire the kill.
Didn't gloat.
It just tilted its head—slow, almost curious—like it had been expecting something more.
Something better.
Then it huffed.
A sound like dry laughter scraped through broken glass.
Disappointment.
But not regret.
As if this one—the trembling scholar, the boy who shimmered for a moment—had been a joke with too long a setup.
Then, with lazy contempt, the creature flicked its arm to the side.
Kade's body tore free like it weighed nothing.
He hit the wall with a sound too solid to ignore, then crumpled—sprawled in a mess of limbs and blood and silence.
The creature shook its hand once.
Black ichor dripped from its claws, trailing little arcs through the air.
Then it dragged them slowly across the dungeon wall—smearing what was left of Kade like it was wiping off a failed experiment.
A low, throaty rasp escaped its grin.
Amused. Satisfied.
Like it had expected resistance—and instead got to break a flimsy toy.
It didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
Kade, to it, was already forgotten.
But I saw everything.
The flick of the arm.
Kade's body hitting the wall like broken furniture.
The smirk that didn't need lips to land.
I didn't rage.
Didn't scream.
I just clocked it—distance, angles, motion.
Two creatures now. One still pressing me. One bigger. Bloodier. Closer.
And Kade…
Fuck. Kade.
I didn't know if he was breathing. But I knew he wasn't screaming.
That meant one of two things—and I didn't have time to figure out which.
The first creature lunged again—claws wide, fast, a slashing blur.
I ducked beneath the swipe, scythe cutting across its midsection just enough to force it back a step.
It hissed, more annoyed than hurt.
My eyes flicked to the larger one.
It was moving now. Not rushing. Not running.
Stalking.
Pacing toward me like I was dessert after a disappointing appetizer.
I didn't have a plan. Didn't need one. I just needed space.
So I ran.
Straight at the big one.
Its grin twitched wider, like it couldn't believe its luck.
It lunged.
I slipped.
Not by chance. By inches. I dropped low, scythe dragging sparks as I skidded under its swipe, shoulder nearly brushing the ground as momentum snapped me past its flank.
And then—
Impact.
The first creature had been chasing, claws ready.
It never expected the second one to be in the way.
They crashed—shoulder to chest, claws scraping claws. A snarl. A grunt. Then a violent shove.
Both beasts stumbled, not down—but disoriented, shoved off their rhythm.
And worse—for them—they looked pissed.
Not at me.
At each other.
Eyes locked. Snarls rising.
The first one hissed something guttural. The second flared its claws wide, stepping forward like it meant to dominate the space.
For half a second, I saw nothing but monsters sizing each other up.
And I used it.
I moved—fast, brutal. Across the stone floor. Toward the crumpled figure at the wall.
Kade wasn't moving.
Blood trailed from his side, pooling under him slow and steady. His chest rose. Hardly.
Still breathing.
I didn't speak.
Didn't whisper comfort or curse.
I just dropped to one knee, hooked my arms under him, and lifted.
His weight folded against mine, head lolling against my shoulder. His skin was cold. Too cold. But I didn't stop to think about it. Not yet.
His blood soaked through my side—warm, steady, accusing.
I turned, adjusted my grip, and slipped back the way the second monster came from—quiet,
fast, low.
Behind me, the two creatures had stilled.
The smaller one bared its teeth, recovering from the crash, body crouched and bristling.
The larger stepped forward. Unhurried.
Its eyes locked onto the other's.
No noise. No growl.
Just presence.
And in that silence, something shifted.
The smaller beast hesitated—then lowered its head.
Not in submission to a leader.
In recognition of something it couldn't beat.
The larger one leaned close. Let its claws scrape lightly down the smaller one's shoulder.
A gesture that said: Next time, don't get in my way.
Then both turned—almost in sync.
Their eyes scanned the corridor.
But I was already gone.
The Plateau didn't stop me. It just watched to see what I'd carry out.
——
The stone corridors twisted ahead—sharp turns, split passages, iron-slick walls that smelled like rust and rot. I moved without thinking, every footfall
calculated, silent, fast. Kade's weight pulled at my spine, but I didn't slow.
I wasn't looking for safety.
Just distance.
Those bastards weren't behind us—yet. But that didn't mean we were safe. The Plateau had a habit of waiting just long enough to punish relief.
I took a blind right, then cut left around a collapsed support beam. The passage narrowed—tight enough I had to turn sideways to slip through with Kade's body against mine. My boot scraped stone. I cursed under my breath. Kept moving.
Then—ahead:
A break in the corridor.
Small chamber. Low ceiling. Uneven floor, but defensible. One entrance.
I moved in, dropped to one knee fast but careful, and laid Kade down.
His face was pale. Sweat matted his hair.
Blood still leaking, slow but steady.
He was alive.
I pressed my hand to his wound. The heat was fading.
"C'mon, Kade," I muttered, voice low, almost automatic. "Don't fucking do this right now."
His eyes fluttered. But they didn't open.
Pressure was building again—air thick with that same static tension that always meant something was watching.
I didn't care.
Not right now.
I reached for the one thing I still had: time bought by momentum.
Time to breathe.
Time to keep him breathing.
The run was over. The fight was paused. Now it was just this.
Stone. Blood. Silence.
And Kade, holding on by a nose.
His breathing was shallow. Uneven.
Every inhale sounded like it had to push through gravel and blood.
I kept pressure on the wound, glancing between his side and his face. No color in his lips. No focus in his eyes.
Nothing.
Until a twitch.
His fingers curled, weak and slow, like they were reaching for something just out of reach.
I leaned in. "Kade?"
No answer. But his mouth moved.
Barely a breath.
"Hey. Don't fade on me. Eyes open."
His lashes fluttered. His chest stuttered. Then, rough and rasping:
"…Grimoire…"
The word cracked on his lips. More reflex than thought. Like his body said it before his mind caught up.
I looked down—pack still strapped to him, torn but not ruined.
Of course.
The spellbook.
Even like this… he was still trying.
Still thinking like a scholar.
Or maybe like something else now.
"Got it," I muttered, one hand still pressing the wound, the other digging fast through the buckles. "Hold on. I'm not going to let you bleed out in a hallway after you finally grew a spine."
The grimoire came free—edges cracked, cover soaked halfway through with blood.
I looked at him.
His hand moved. Weakly. Just enough to lift two fingers off the stone.
Barely reaching. But still reaching.
I placed the book into his palm.
It pulsed—faint, but real.
The grimoire settled in his palm like it belonged there.
Then Kade exhaled—one long, shuddering breath. And didn't take another. His eyes fluttered closed. His hand slackened.
I froze.
"…Kade?"
No answer.
His chest didn't rise.
I leaned in, hand on his sternum, heart pounding like it was trying to shout in his place.
Still nothing.
Was he—?
'Shit.'
I shook him gently. "Hey. Hey. Focus. You said the word. You're not done. Not yet."
Still nothing.
Suddenly, a sound.
Not from him. From the book. A low, whispering hum.
The kind that didn't vibrate in the air—but under it.
And then the light came.
Dark green—so deep it looked black at first—began to bloom from the seams of the grimoire. Slow, liquid, alive. It spilled up his arm in thin lines, veins of light crawling across skin like they were being etched in real time.
Then it reached the wound.
And held.
The glow pulsed once—deep, heavy—and the blood slowed. Then stopped.
The jagged hole in his side started knitting closed—not fast, not clean, but with the steady certainty of something ancient and deliberate.
I watched, breath stuck in my throat.
The glow deepened—veins of green threading tighter around the wound, pulling flesh together like it had no interest in asking permission.
Then—
Kade gasped.
A sharp, ragged inhale like someone coming up from under ice. His back arched, hand clenching the grimoire like it might vanish if he let go.
He coughed once—wet, ugly—then choked out:
"Fuck—that hurt."
His voice cracked halfway through the curse, but it was alive. Raw. Real.
I didn't smile.
Didn't say anything.
I just exhaled—relief sharp in my throat like a blade being sheathed.
Then I leaned back against the wall, just for a second.
"…Next time," I muttered, "try not getting impaled."
We sat in silence for a while. Not because there was nothing to say. But because saying anything too soon might make it real again.
Kade laid back against the stone, one arm draped across his chest, the other still clutching the grimoire. The green glow had faded, leaving behind torn robes, bloodstains, and a scar that hadn't been there before.
His breathing was steadier now. Shaky, but steady.
Eventually, I broke the silence. "…What the hell was that?"
He cracked one eye open, jaw clenched. "The spell?"
I nodded.
He didn't answer right away. Just stared at the ceiling like it might finish the thought for him. Then, with a tired breath and a grimace:
"I was still learning it."
I blinked. "You're kidding."
"Nope." He shifted slightly, wincing. "Started parsing it back at the plateau. Had the theory. Structure was solid, mostly. But I hadn't cast it yet."
I stared at him.
He looked back with half a shrug.
"Didn't know if it would work. Figured I'd find out."
He closed his eyes again like that settled the matter.
It didn't.
But I didn't push it.
We didn't stay long.
Just long enough to feel the silence settle without thinking it meant death.
The chamber's air had turned stale, thick with the coppery smell of blood and old stone. Whatever peace it offered was the kind that soured if you lingered too long.
Kade sat up slow, arms braced against his knees, jaw tight. His robes were still torn. The scar on his side was angry and fresh, but sealed. Barely.
He glanced over. "You good?"
"Not really," I said. "You?"
Kade snorted. "Absolutely not."
We let that sit a beat. Then he pulled himself to his feet, wincing but steady. He tucked the grimoire back into its slot at his hip like it was armor.
I rolled my shoulders, checked the weight of my scythe. Still light. Still deadly enough, I hoped.
We didn't look at each other when we stepped out of the room.
Didn't need to.
There was nothing to say. No rallying words, no bullshit confidence.
We weren't ready.
But we were going anyway.
Because this place didn't care if you were prepared. It only cared if you could endure.
So we walked.
Back into the dark.
—
Time got weird in the Plateau. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like they didn't exist at all. There were no windows, no stars—just torchlight and the things that waited outside it.
We didn't speak much. Every sound felt like bait.
We ran into the first beast an hour later. Or maybe less.
We'd just crossed a corridor lined with half-melted statues when it dropped from the ceiling—something spiderlike but wrong.
Too many legs. Too many mouths.
The eyes blinked out of sync, swirling like they were watching from inside your skull instead of outside it.
Every mouth hissed something different. Different languages. None human.
Kade didn't hesitate.
He whipped his arm forward, and the air split.
Chains burst into existence—cobalt blue, spear-tipped, and furious.
No magic circle. No casting delay. Just will.
They struck in waves.
The first few tore into its legs, anchoring it in place with wet, bone-snapping cracks.
Another volley slammed through its chest and side-mouths—shattering teeth, splitting limbs.
It shrieked while Kade sent more.
Chains lashed out in arcs, stabbing from above, the sides, below. Eight. Ten. Twelve.
They didn't strike all at once—they punctuated. One after another. Brutal. Rhythmic. Relentless.
The creature twisted in agony, shrieking curses in a dozen tongues, legs trying to scuttle, to climb—to flee.
Kade yanked all of them back at once.
The beast tore apart.
Flesh pulled one way, bones the other.
Chunks of it slammed into the walls, ichor steaming where it landed. A final shriek ripped from what was left of its throat before a chain speared through its head—snapping it back in silence.
Then it stopped moving.
Chains lingered, twitching like they wanted more, before dissolving into motes of blue.
Kade exhaled through gritted teeth. Not triumphant. Not proud. Just…tired.
We didn't celebrate.
We barely even breathed.
The second fight came not long after.
Something that might've once been a man—long ago. But now?
Limbs too long. Spine bowed. Joints cracked with every twitch. I didn't have a name for it. So I gave it one.
"Bonejack."
Seemed to fit.
It moved before we did.
Kade barely had time to react. The thing was on him—snarling. A clawed hand locked around his throat. Then it slammed him into the wall. The crack of impact echoed like a gunshot.
I didn't think. Just moved.
I lunged—low and fast—aiming not to kill, but to stop this thing from strangling Kade.
The blade caught the creature across the back of the knee, dragging a line of blood and tendon. It shrieked and staggered, but didn't fall. Just turned—too fast, too smooth—and bared a mouth full of mismatched teeth.
I ducked the first swing as claws whistled past my neck.
I didn't stop.
I planted my boot in its ribs and kicked, hard.
It stumbled back—arms flaring wide, almost feral—and Kade dropped, coughing, gasping for air.
I stepped in front of him, scythe already swinging into guard.
The creature paced sideways, flaring its fangs like it thought that counted as intimidation.
I didn't flinch. Just glanced down at Kade.
"Well, that looked fun."
He didn't answer. Too busy trying not to choke on his own lungs.
I shifted my stance, eyes locked on the thing as it flexed its claws.
"Anytime you wanna rejoin the fight, professor, I'd appreciate the backup."
Then it lunged.
And I swung.
The scythe arced low, catching it in the thigh—not deep, but enough to drag a snarl out of it. It came in fast, claws raking for my chest. I twisted, let the blade pull me sideways, turned a full spin to bring the edge around again.
Too slow.
It crashed into me mid-motion, forcing the scythe between us like a bar. We slammed into the wall—stone to spine, teeth gritted. Its breath stank of rot and something metallic.
I kneed it in the gut. It didn't flinch. Just drove a claw into my shoulder like it was testing meat.
I yelled—couldn't help it—and shoved back, freeing the blade just enough to slash upward. It recoiled, barely, a shallow line across its collar. Not enough. Never enough.
My hands slipped on the handle—sweat or blood, I couldn't tell—and the thing lunged again, faster now, sensing the edge tipping.
I ducked, barely. Its claws scraped the wall behind me.
Kade groaned behind us, shifting.
The creature turned one eye toward him.
I slammed the butt of my scythe into its jaw. "Eyes on me, ugly."
The thing snarled. Real words, maybe. Or just noise.
It slashed—fast, low.
I pivoted, steel ringing as the scythe knocked its claw aside.
Another swing—this one high.
I ducked, came up with the haft in both hands, drove the tip forward into its side. It hissed, backhanded me across the jaw.
I caught myself on one knee, blinked, spit blood.
Kade shuffled behind me as he tried to stand up.
"Any day now, scholar," I muttered, not taking my eyes off the beast. "Really could use the whole chain-stabbing magic trick again."
The creature hissed and charged again.
I didn't move.
I waited.
Then stepped aside at the last second, let it carry its own weight past me, and raked the scythe across its back.
It howled, spun—more pissed now than wounded.
"Little help!" I barked.
Kade was up to one knee, face pale, blood in his hair. His hand trembled—but it still glowed faint cobalt as the first chain began to shimmer into being.
He didn't speak. Didn't need to.
Kade looked up—slow, deliberate.
His eyes burned.
Not with rage.
With focus.
That same deep cobalt glow—bright, steady, absolute—seethed behind his stare.
The first chain was already formed, humming in the air beside him. Then another. And another.
They didn't spark into place—they unfolded, like they'd always been there, just waiting for him to catch up.
Six. Eight. Ten.
Each one twitching, hungry, rattling faintly like they were eager to be let loose.
The air around him crackled.
The creature froze mid-lunge, its head snapping toward him, instincts finally kicking in.
Too late.
Kade stood, blood streaked down his face, lips set in a thin line.
He raised one hand—fingers twitching.
Suddenly the chains lunged.
Spearheads screamed through the air—blurs of cobalt fury, whistling as they closed in from every angle.
The beast roared, swiping wide, catching two mid-flight and knocking them off course.
But the others didn't stop.
One chain screamed into its thigh with a sickening crack.
Another speared its shoulder, twisting mid-strike like it wanted to rip the arm off.
A third veered wide and tore a fist-sized chunk from its ribs.
The fourth skewered its forearm and pinned it down—only for the thing to rip free with a wet snap.
The fifth drove into its chest and knocked it back, staggering.
Sixth. Seventh. Eighth—Kade didn't stop. The chains flew like they had scores to settle.
No mercy. No pause.
And still—it didn't fall.
It charged, roaring through blood and pain, caught the eighth chain between its claws—and shattered it.
Kade flinched, caught off guard, barely stepping back in time.
Grinning through torn muscle and broken teeth, the beast closed the gap—claws raised, killing blow primed.
But it never got the chance.
Because I was already there.
No warning. No shout.
Just motion.
A blur of black steel. A hiss of breath.
The scythe came in from behind, curved wide and low—and took the creature's head clean off.
It didn't even flinch. One moment, snarling. The next—just gone.
The body stood for half a heartbeat, claws twitching in confusion, before it
collapsed forward in a heap.
I exhaled through my nose, wiped blood off the blade with the edge of my sleeve , and glanced over at Kade.
"Figured I'd return the favor. You looked like you were about to get hugged to death."
Kade slid down the wall until he was sitting, breath ragged, face streaked with red.
"…I fucking hate this place," he muttered.
I nodded once, deadpan.
"Yeah. Real welcoming."