Chapter 11: Into Burnt Nest Hollow
Time to see if the draw was as sharp as it looked.
Frank stepped through the shimmer of the gate, a second behind Garna, his boots hitting the packed stone already dusted with ash. The air shifted quickly—hot, dry, and stifling. It wasn’t the heat of a flame; it was the oppressive warmth of an oven you couldn’t escape. Every breath felt like it scraped the back of his throat.
The tunnel was narrow, the walls pressing in on both sides, coated in soot and crumbling flecks of old carbon. An orange light glowed underfoot, with cracks spiderwebbing along the stone floor, each one pulsing as if something beneath was still trying to breathe.
He adjusted his grip on his new blade. The hilt fit cleanly in his palm—lighter, faster. Nothing flashy, but it moved as if it wanted to follow muscle memory he hadn’t yet earned.
Tace led them through the first bend without a word; he didn’t need to talk. Garna was a step behind him, her greatsword slung across her back, shoulders squared as if she were ready to take on the entire dungeon. Mik kept to the right edge, his body half-turned as he walked, twin daggers already drawn. Auri brought up the rear, shortbow in hand, three arrows notched loosely between her fingers.
Frank positioned himself just behind Garna—supporting her but close enough to cover a flank if needed.
The walls crackled.
Faintly, like a spark rolling beneath the surface.
Mik froze.
Two fingers up.
Everyone stopped.