The corridor screamed.
Not with sound alone, but with pressure—walls bending inward by a fraction, floor rippling like something beneath it had drawn breath. The shadows surged again, thicker now, less defined, no longer probing.
They wanted weight.
Klen felt it instantly. The way the darkness moved wasn't random anymore. It adjusted. Reacted. Learned.
"Lyra," he said without looking back. "Can you move?"
She forced herself upright, fingers trembling as she pressed against the wall. "I—yes. I can walk. Don't ask me to fight."
"I won't," he replied.
Marna rolled her shoulder once, testing it. Her jaw tightened at the pain but she stayed standing. "Just tell me where to hit."
The shadows came.
This time they didn't lash out wildly. They flowed low, spreading across the floor, climbing the walls, cutting off angles. Tendrils rose only when Klen committed to a step, forcing him to redirect, to spend motion.
It's herding us, he realized.
He moved anyway.
Steel flashed in tight arcs—economical, controlled. He didn't chase the shadows; he severed only what reached for him, carving space rather than victory. Every cut was followed by a step. Every step was chosen.
But the corridor shortened.
Not physically.
Perceptually.
The distance ahead compressed, like a throat tightening.
"Klen—" Lyra whispered. "It's reacting to you."
"I know," he said.
A tendril slipped past his guard—too thin, too fast.
Marna caught it mid-air, blade biting deep. The shadow shrieked as it tore apart, recoil snapping back into the mass.
"Then stop letting it think you're alone," she said. "Fight like we're still a unit."
Klen exhaled once.
"On me," he said.
He advanced again—but this time, Marna mirrored his steps, striking in counter-rhythm. When he cut left, she cut right. When he advanced, she anchored. The shadows hesitated.
That was enough.
Lyra slid down the wall, forcing herself into a kneel. Her breathing was shallow, uneven—but her eyes were sharp.
"Hey," she muttered, more to herself than them. "If you're listening… you're doing a terrible job hiding it."
The corridor pulsed.
The shadows surged again.
One lunged first—too fast, too reckless.
Klen stepped into it.
Steel met darkness with a sharp, grinding resistance, like cutting through soaked cloth wrapped around bone. The tendril severed and recoiled, the mass behind it thrown violently sideways. It slammed into the corridor wall with enough force to crack the surface, black residue splattering outward like wet ash.
"Marna—now!" Klen shouted.
She moved instantly.
Her short sword flashed as she followed through, driving toward the staggered shadow to finish it before it could reform—
The wall twitched.
A spike of condensed shadow erupted outward, a hidden tendril snapping from the mass that had just been struck. It aimed not for Marna's blade—but her ribs.
He was already moving. He crossed the distance in a blur, shoving Marna aside as the attack came down. The shadow struck him instead—wrapping around his forearm, biting deep— And then it failed.
The shadow dissolved on contact.
Not cut. Not burned. Gone.
Klen froze.
The darkness unraveled around his arm like smoke pulled into a vacuum, vanishing without resistance. No pain. No pressure. Nothing left behind—not even residue.
The second shadow hesitated. That hesitation cost it everything. It lashed out again, instinctively—too close. Klen turned, blade ready—
The tendril brushed his shoulder. And dissolved.
The remaining mass collapsed in on itself, unraveling rapidly, spilling into nothing as if it had never existed.
Silence fell hard.
Marna stared at Klen's arm, then her own hands. "…You didn't cut it."
"I know," Klen said slowly.
Lyra pushed herself upright against the wall, breathing uneven. "That's… not how shadows work."
They regrouped without speaking, backs close, eyes scanning every surface. Lyra sat down hard, pressing a hand to her chest, color slowly returning to her face. Marna rolled her wrist, flexing her fingers, testing the ache.
Klen remained untouched.
"Great," Marna muttered. "You broke it."
A sound cut through the corridor. A shriek.
Not close. Not distant. Contained. All three stiffened.
They followed the sound cautiously, corridor narrowing as it led them toward a door that hadn't been there before. It stood crooked, half-rotted, wood blackened by age or something worse.
Inside was a single room.
At its center, embedded in the far wall, was a massive crystal—clouded, fractured, its surface barely visible beneath a thick black mass clinging to it like tar. The darkness pulsed faintly, as if breathing, the source of the shriek now reduced to a low, strained whine.
Marna swallowed. "That's… new."
"And bad," Lyra added quietly.
They advanced together. Marna moved first, blade raised, jaw set. She struck the black mass hard.
Nothing happened. The darkness didn't resist.
Her short sword snapped cleanly in half.
The sound echoed.
"…I liked that sword," she said flatly.
Klen stepped forward next, drawing both kodachi and longsword. He struck once. Twice. Then again, crossing his blades, pouring force and precision into the blows.
The mass didn't move. Didn't react. Didn't care.
They stood there, breathing hard, staring at something that refused to acknowledge them.
"…Then what do we do?" Lyra asked.
Klen hesitated.
Then he stepped closer and placed his hand against the black mass.
It rushed into him.
The darkness tore away from the crystal in a violent spiral, flooding into Klen's arm, his chest, his breath. The room went silent as the black mist vanished entirely, leaving the crystal bare and exposed.
Klen staggered back.
"What—what happened?" Marna demanded.
"I don't know," he said, voice tight. He looked down at his hand. "It's… gone."
The crystal cracked.
A spiderweb of fractures raced across its surface before it shattered inward with a deafening crack.
The entire structure shook.
"RUN!" Klen shouted.
They bolted.
The room collapsed behind them as they burst through the door, the corridor warping violently—then snapping back into place. The moment they crossed the threshold; the hut vanished from around them.
They stood in the corridor.
Then the hut appeared behind them. And crumbled.
Stone and rot collapsed inward, dissolving into rubble and dust. The world tilted.
Klen felt his legs give way.
Darkness took them all.
They woke beneath a tree.
Morning light filtered through leaves overhead, birdsong cutting through the haze in Klen's head. He sat up sharply, hands moving instinctively—
His weapons were there. His clothes were clean. No wounds. No scars.
Marna groaned beside him, rubbing her head. "Please tell me we didn't die."
Lyra sat up slowly. Then froze.
"…I feel fine."
They all looked at her.
She stood. No shaking. No pallor. No pain.
"I feel… better," she said, surprised.
Silence stretched.
"…We should still get you checked," Marna said carefully.
Lyra nodded. "Yeah. Just in case."
Klen looked down the road ahead.
Marna unfolded the map, pointing forward. "Next city after Valmere… Hearthford."
They exchanged a glance. Then started walking. The road waited.