Calim checked his map and nodded to Erik standing behind him.

  “This is it,” he said quietly. “This is the gauntlet. We get through that, and we have a clear shot at the core chamber”

  Erik nodded and passed the message down the line. They had already gone through a number of trials, but from what previous expeditions had reported, the gauntlet was by far the most dangerous room in the entire dungeon except for the core room itself.

  Calim tapped his chin thoughtfully. He had a team of twelve people, and he was about as sure as he could be that they could handle it—but if they wanted to get through without losing anyone, they would have to be smart. Very smart.

  The dungeon had reawakened seven times over the last three hundred years, so much of the information they had was old. From what they had been able to gather during their research before entering, every gauntlet had been different.

  That alone wasn’t strange—change was normal in dungeons, even pseudo dungeons like this one —but it worried him nonetheless.

  He was the leader of the expedition, and he was determined to bring everyone back out again. They had split up near the entrance to clear the upper levels efficiently. The plan had been for the entire expedition to regroup here and face the gauntlet together, but Azila’s group still hadn’t shown up. He hoped they were okay. The third one had been forced to return topside, having lost three members to a nasty trap.

  He knew what a missing group could mean, but he rejected the thought outright. He would not believe they had been lost to the dungeon. He could not. True, some encounters had been significantly harder than anticipated—the guild had delayed action too long—but not to the extent that a group consisting of three strong teams would have been destroyed. At least, that was what he told himself.

  Calim gestured with a few hand signs, and the group moved forward as a unit.

  They reached the gauntlet room, and Calim paused just inside the entrance.

  “What in Razhal’s name is this?” he whispered.

  Erik stepped up beside him and let out a low whistle. “Looks like someone got here before us, boss. Seems Davon’s lads did all the hard work.”

  Calim scowled. “I told them to wait. Come—we must check for survivors.”

  Erik nodded, and the entire group ran into the circular room together. They stayed in formation, though the sheer number of corpses made it difficult. Harpies. Myrmexen. Even a Chimera. The room was covered in gore, the floor sticky with it.

  Calim’s gaze locked onto a massive humanoid monster lying on its side, its arms and head severed and scattered nearby.

  “What in the gods name is that?” he hissed.

  Erik followed his gaze and shook his head. “No idea, boss.”

  Calim gestured again, and the group approached the creature carefully. It was clearly dead. Four arms and a head lay nearby—someone had cut it to literal pieces.

  Erik looked openly impressed, but a slow, bubbling fury was building in Calim’s chest. This had been his expedition. What had Azila been thinking taking this challenge on by themselves? The orders had been very clear. He hated self-serving adventurers, their job was to safeguard the civilians, not seek glory. He knew he was among the minority to think like that, and it frustrated him.

  They searched the rest of the room and found no one, not a single corpse from the expedition.

  That was good, that meant that even if there had been casualties, enough had survived in good enough condition to drag them out.

  “It would seem they got out,” Erik said, relief evident in his voice.

  Calim nodded curtly. “It would seem so.” He pointed at a trail of dried blood leading out through another passage. “But not unscathed. Come, let’s not tarry. Have the corpses been looted?”

  One of the mages spoke up. “Yes, sir. Nothing left.”

  Calim nodded. “If they had time to loot everything, they’re likely fine.”

  Erik smiled. “That would make sense.”

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  They followed the blood trail for a short while until it led them into a large chamber that looked almost like a sitting room. Old furniture was scattered about, worn but intact. Calim guessed this had once been a waiting area—a place where fighters rested before facing the gauntlet. So much was unknown about the what the place had originally looked like, before being turned into a crypt that was.

  What he found in the room made him stop short.

  A woman sat against the wall, one grey-skinned leg bared up to the hip. It looked stiff, and a nasty looking scar circled the leg near her hip. He recognized the black mask and hood immediately, as well as the purple eyes that made his skin crawl. A large warrior, an undead servant—hers—sat only a few steps away. It was battered, skin and armor torn to ribbons.

  “Kaelith…” Calim breathed.

  The woman turned her head and stared at him, her gaze cold and unblinking.

  “Quiet, Calim,” she said. Her tone wasn’t aggressive, but it was firm—unyielding. “He is resting.”

  The ragged-looking man she referred to had his head resting in her lap. He looked terrible. Pale. Covered in now-dried blood. What must once have been a stylish outfit was little more than torn cloth.

  Calim was certain he hadn’t seen this man enter the dungeon with them, at least he didn’t recognise him. The pointed ears alone would have caught his attention. He was sure of it.

  Calim approached slowly, gesturing toward the man and lowering his voice. “He’s hurt? We have a healer with us. We can help.”

  Kaelith’s eyes narrowed. “Stay there.” Her tone darkened. “He expended himself. Who is your healer?”

  Ulin stepped forward, the stern expression on her face standing in sharp contrast to her otherwise beautiful features. “I am Ulin,” she said firmly. “B-rank healer. I will see to him.”

  Her tone brooked no argument, and she showed not a hint of fear toward the masked woman.

  Calim knew of Kaelith the Necromancer. She had a reputation—an invaluable ally, but a ruthless killer when she wished to be or so the rumors said. No one truly knew anything about her beyond what she had done. Even the guildmaster couldn’t say what motivated her. Still, her B-rank gave her considerable leeway, especially in a backwater like this.

  Kaelith studied Ulin for a moment, then her gaze softened slightly. “I have heard of you, Ulin. You have a good reputation. I will allow it.”

  Ulin scowled. “I will heal this child whether you like it or not, Necromancer. Your permission matters not.”

  Calim winced internally. That had been the wrong thing to say.

  Kaelith’s eyes narrowed again, and she spoke quietly, her tone promising violence. “He is mine. You will do nothing without my permission, healer.”

  Ulin scoffed. “You’re as brash as the rumors say, Kaelith. But it doesn’t matter. For the sake of peace between us—may I begin?”

  Kaelith nodded slowly, deliberately. “You may.”

  Ulin examined the man—Nikolai—carefully, and her expression hardened with anger. “What happened to him? He’s torn up inside… I can make sure he survives. There’s a lot to fix, though. His life force—he’s barely clinging on, thank the goddess. What did this to him?”

  Kaelith studied Ulin for a long moment, then glanced at Calim before looking back at her. “The gauntlet. It wasn’t that difficult, not any harder than anticipated, at least until the final wave—or rather, the final monster. It was beyond anything we expected. It ripped my leg off, tore my minion apart, and Nikolai… burned through everything he had to save me, despite his own injuries.”

  Ulin paused. “Nikolai… Where have I heard that name?”

  Erik rushed forward. “What? That’s Nikolai!?”

  Black flames roared to life around Kaelith’s hand as it snapped up toward him. “Not another step,” she hissed.

  Erik swallowed hard but met her gaze. “He saved my wife’s life. I know him. I owe him more than I can repay. I would never harm him—never. Kaelith, was it? I mean him no harm.”

  Calim stepped between them, blocking Kaelith’s line of attack. His hand rested on his sword hilt. “Erik is a good man, Kaelith. Cancel your spell.”

  Slowly, Kaelith lowered her hand, and the flames winked out. “I am not in a good state, Erik,” she said quietly. “Please—no sudden movements.”

  Erik nodded and approached carefully, kneeling beside Nikolai.

  “He looks different…” he murmured as Ulin began healing in earnest.

  “Was this him, Erik?” Calim asked. “The one who healed Christina?”

  Erik nodded. “It’s him. I’m sure of it. But… what happened to him? He looks like he’s both aged and grown younger at the same time. And his ears—”

  Kaelith placed a hand over Nikolai’s ears, hiding them from view. “What do his ears matter?” she said flatly. “He is himself. That is all that matters.”

  Ulin and Calim exchanged a glance.

  “We wanted to ask him a few questions,” Calim said carefully. “But never had the chance. The upper ranks of the guild have received some… interesting information about Nikolai Travelion. There are things we wish to confirm.”

  Kaelith’s hostility surfaced again. “You may heal him. You will not interrogate him.”

  “They’re just questions,” Calim countered. “Not an interrogation.”

  Lurk slowly rose to his feet. He was still missing an arm, but even so, the massive undead warrior radiated menace. Everyone except Calim, Erik, and Ulin stepped back instinctively.

  “Once we return to the surface,” Kaelith said calmly, “and only if Nikolai agrees that he is well enough—and only if he wishes it—will he speak with you, Calim. Do not push this.”

  Calim exhaled slowly. “Fine. I have no wish to fight you, Kaelith.” He hesitated. “Then allow me one question for you. Why are you so protective of him? What is he to you?”

  Kaelith tilted her head, met his eyes with firm conviction in them, and her voice softened, just a bit.

  “Everything.”