The silence was wrong. Ayan felt it in his bones, a wrongness that crept along his spine like ice water. He adjusted the heavy satchel digging into his shoulder, eyes scanning the glistening walls where luminescent fungi normally pulsed with life. But today, their glow seemed muted, cautious—as if the cavern itself were holding its breath.
No distant growls, no flutter of membrane wings, no scuttling of Rotlings in the dark corners.
Nothing.
"Keep up, Hauler. Do you expect me to carry you on my shoulders?" Sharav called, his voice sharp with the casual contempt reserved for the servants. "We're not paying you to daydream."
Ayan shuddered. Kanshul had moved on ahead, leaving Sharav in charge of the group of disciples. Sharav was one of those disciples who filled a room before they entered it—with voice, with swagger, and with heat. Ayan had seen Sharav beat a servant girl nearly to death, only because she had missed a spot after washing his clothes.
Beside him, Reni stumbled slightly under the weight of her own pack. Ayan steadied her and held her hands in reassurance. She smiled back weakly.
"Something is off," Ayan whispered to her, careful to keep his voice low enough that Sharav wouldn't hear. "Listen."
Reni paused, her brows furrowing. "I hear nothing."
"Exactly." Ayan pointed toward the passage ahead where Kanshul, the expedition leader, had already disappeared around a bend. "The Buried Hollow is never silent. There's always some noise: creatures moving, making noises, water gurgling, something. But now…"
"Maybe they fear us," she offered with a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes. There was uncertainty there, a flicker of the same unease he felt.
Ayan shook his head. "I've been down here over twenty-six times. Never seen it this quiet."
His instincts were screaming warnings at him. The Caverns had a rhythm, a cacophony of life and death that played out in every corner. The sudden absence meant only one thing in this ecosystem: something changed the natural order. Something dangerous.
"We could tell Sharav," Reni suggested, glancing ahead to where the disciple was hanging near the rear of their group, looking at a crude map etched on parchment.
Ayan rubbed his temple, pausing in thought. She was right, even if warning them felt like voluntarily sticking his hand into a Mirefang's maw. He sighed, having decided. He quickened his pace, moving past the other disciples until he reached the front of the group.
"Sharav," he kept his voice level, neutral. "The dungeon is never this silent. No ambient noise. No creature sounds. Something's not right."
Sharav didn't even look up from his map. "Profound observation, Hauler. Perhaps the monsters sensed your stench and fled."
Laughter rippled through the disciples. One of them—Jagbir, his hand crackling with barely contained flames shaped by Prana—grinned widely. "The monsters know better than to approach the disciples of our caliber. Your paranoia is slowing us down, bagboy."
Ayan clenched his jaw. Bagboy. Hauler. Pack mule. He'd been called worse, but the casual disregard stung more than the insults. These disciples, with their awakened kundalini and abundant Prana, viewed him as nothing more than a beast of burden. Useful for carrying supplies and harvesting monster parts, but ultimately disposable.
"It's not paranoia. It's experience." Ayan fought hard to keep the irritation building in his chest. "I've hauled for four different expedition groups this month alone. The monsters don't flee from the disciples; they're attracted to Prana. And this group—" he gestured towards the radiant diamond emblem on Sharav's chest, with a blue hue, a clear sign of his Steel rank, "—burns brighter than most."
"Listen to the expert, everyone," Sharav's voice dripped with mockery. "He understands Prana better than we do."
"Something's disrupted the natural order. Something big," Ayan pressed, eyes fixed on the darkness rather than meeting Sharav's dismissive gaze.
Sharav stepped closer. "What you need to understand is only two things: harvest and carry. Got it? Nothing more. Now move."
He shoved past Ayan, deliberately knocking into his shoulder hard enough to make the satchel swing painfully against his back. The other disciples followed, giving him a wide berth as if his concerns might be contagious.
Ayan shuffled back beside Reni, who shot him a sympathetic glance. He exhaled slowly and continued forward, maintaining his position at the rear. As they pushed deeper into the Fungus Crest, Ayan's eyes swept from floor to ceiling, cataloging every detail, as they descended a gentle slope. The fungi clustered more here, clinging to the walls like frozen blue-green flames. They seemed different, their glow dimmer, sick.
That's when he saw the first carcass.
A Feralspawn, one of the wolf-like beasts that typically hunted in packs through the Buried Hollow. The corpse lay broken against a jutting rock, spine twisted at an impossible angle. Its throat lay torn open. Fresh. Only a day old, the blood still tacky rather than dried to dust. Not unusual in itself; these beasts often fought among themselves.
But twenty paces further, he found another. And another.
Ayan stopped abruptly, nearly causing Reni to collide with his back. The path ahead was littered with bodies—Feralspawn, Rotlings, even what looked like the remnants of a juvenile Howler, its long limbs splayed across the ground like discarded kindling.
A cold weight settled in his stomach. "This isn't right," he muttered, kneeling beside one of the corpses. The wounds were unlike anything he'd seen before—not clean cuts from the disciples' blades or burns from Prana techniques, but massive, crushing injuries. Bones snapped like twigs, flesh pulped rather than sliced.
"Stop," he called, his voice sharper now, urgent enough that the disciples actually paused.
Sharav turned, his brow furrowing, hardened at the command in Ayan's voice. "What now?" he snapped.
Ayan pointed to the closest carcass—a massive Rotling, its fungal body torn in half. "These kills are recent. Very recent. See how the ichor hasn't fully dried?"
Sharav snarled. "What's your point?"
"There are too many corpses. Something killed at least a dozen creatures in this area alone, probably in the last few hours. "
"So?" Jagbir, the disciple with the perpetual smirk, shrugged. "Makes our job easier."
"No." Ayan stepped forward, gesturing at the pattern of bodies. "Look at them. The wounds are wrong."
Sharav and Jagbir surveyed the scattered bodies for a moment. A brief uncertainty flickered across Sharav's face, but it vanished quickly behind practiced arrogance.
"Monsters kill each other all the time," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Territorial disputes. Nothing unusual."
Ayan stood, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior once again. "They didn't die fighting each other. They were hunted. Systematically. By something bigger."
"Should we listen to the expert now?" one disciple jeered, though his laughter sounded thinner than before.
Ayan held his ground. "The wounds are crushing injuries, not bites or claws. Most were killed for sport, not food. All of them killed within a few hours."
A ripple of unease moved through the group. Sharav seemed to reassess, as he studied the carnage with newfound attention.
"So what? A stronger monster cleared out the weaklings," he concluded with a shrug that didn't quite conceal his discomfort. "All the better for us. Less trash to wade through, if you ask me."
Ayan opened his mouth to argue further, when a sudden drop in temperature cut him off. The cold hit like a physical blow, sending a visible shiver through the group. His breath fogged in front of his face, a rare phenomenon this deep in the normally humid caverns. The fungi along the walls shriveled visibly, their glow dimming further until it barely illuminated the path ahead.
One disciple—a thin, nervous boy whose name Ayan had never learned—ignited a small flame in his palm, casting harsh shadows that seemed to writhe against the floor.
"The air," Reni whispered, her voice tight with apprehension. "It feels… heavy."
She was right. Each breath seemed to require more effort, as if the atmosphere had thickened. Ayan had felt this before, though never so intense, a pressure that pressed against his skin, against the mind.
The path curved sharply around a massive stalagmite formation, then opened into a broader chamber where the ceiling rose out of sight. Ahead, the ground dipped into a shallow depression filled with fungi and scattered rocks.
Reni stepped forward, her attention caught by a cluster of crystals embedded in the far wall.
"Watch—" Ayan's warning came too late.
Reni's foot broke through what looked like solid ground, revealing a camouflaged sinkhole beneath. She plunged forward with a startled cry, arms pinwheeling as she teetered on the edge of a pit Ayan knew would be lined with jagged stones and toxic moss.
He lunged, his hand closing around her wrist with bruising force. For one terrifying moment, her weight nearly pulled them both into darkness. Then Ayan planted his feet, muscles straining as he hauled her backward. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and labored breathing, more inches from the crumbling edge.
"Moss pits," Ayan gasped.
Reni's face had gone pale, her eyes wide as she stared at the innocent-looking patch of ground that had nearly claimed her. "I didn't see… it looked solid."
"Moss and bone dust," Ayan explained, helping her to her feet. "Crusts over sinkholes after cave-ins. Can support a hare's weight, but nothing more." He kept his voice calm, matter-of-fact, as if discussing harvesting techniques rather than a near-fatal encounter.
"Th—Thank you," she whispered, still trembling slightly.
"Stay close," Ayan replied, scanning the path ahead. "And watch the ground. There could be more traps."
The disciples had watched the commotion, but only momentarily. Sharav merely gestured for them to keep moving, though Ayan noted how carefully he now placed his feet.
They navigated the chamber with heightened caution, giving the revealed sinkhole a wide berth. The path narrowed again as they entered a tunnel where the fungi grew so densely it resembled a forest of pale, glowing stems. And rising from this unnatural garden were the towers.
Ayan's blood went cold at the sight. Spore bloom towers—massive fungal structures that stretched nearly fifteen feet tall, their surfaces covered in bulbous, quivering vesicles. He'd seen them only twice before, and both encounters had ended in disaster for unprepared expeditions.
"Wait," he called out, his voice echoing louder than intended. "Those are Spore bloom towers. Don't get close. Don't touch them."
For once, the disciples actually listened. The towers were imposing enough to give even the most arrogant pause. The pulsating columns of fungal flesh swayed slightly despite the absence of any breeze.
"What are they?" Reni asked, instinctively stepping closer to Ayan.
"Danger," he answered grimly. "They release hallucinogenic clouds. Airborne. Fast. Deadly if inhaled directly, and often far worse." He didn't elaborate; the unspoken horror hung heavier than any death.
A frown creased Sharav's face as his gaze narrowed, lingering on the towers. "We need to pass through. There's no alternate route on the map."
"We can skirt around them," Ayan suggested. "Give them a wide berth. The spores have limited range unless the vesicles are ruptured."
Jagbir stepped forward with a dismissive snort, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the fungal obstacles. "Or we could just clear a path. Fire purifies all, right?" His lips curled into a smirk as he glanced back at the group, clearly seeking approval.
"Don't—" Ayan started, but Jagbir had already raised his hand.
"Relax," the disciple drawled. "Let's clear out these towers."
Prana gathered visibly around Jagbir's arm, coalescing into a swirling orange energy that hummed with power. Ayan recognized the technique—[Ember Snake], a fire ability that manifested with a whip of controlled flame. It was an impressive display of mastery, one that would normally have the other disciples nodding in appreciation.
The fire whip materialized with a sound like angry breath, coiling and twisting through the air with serpentine grace. Its core burned white-hot, while its edges flickered with red-gold flame. In one smooth motion, Jagbir lashed out, the [Ember Snake] slicing through the nearest Spore Bloom Tower.
Time seemed to slow as Ayan watched, already knowing what would happen but powerless to stop it. The flaming whip connected with the tower's bulbous surface with a wet, sizzling sound.
For one heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the world exploded into chaos.