Kael stirred, the haze of unconsciousness slowly giving way to the sharp ache that radiated through his body. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of a room he didn’t recognize. He lay on a sturdy bed, his body tightly bound with white bandages, though most were stained with the sickly black of his blood. The faint scent of medicinal herbs hung in the air.

  Gritting his teeth, Kael pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting every movement. The stiffness in his body was a reminder of the battle—a battle that should have claimed his life. With a grim expression, he began unwrapping the bandages. Beneath them, his skin bore new scars: jagged, pale lines against his otherwise hardened flesh. They looked years old, though he knew they were fresh.

  Before he could contemplate further, the door creaked open. Zeveron entered, his face a mixture of worry and relief. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Kael sitting up.

  “You’re awake!” Zeveron exclaimed, his shoulders sagging with visible relief. “By the gods, you had me worried there. Thought you might not make it.”

  Kael’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp. “What happened?”

  Zeveron stepped closer, pulling a stool beside the bed and sinking into it. “After we crossed the bridge, we followed the path through the tunnel. It was... strange, honestly. The path twisted, like it wasn’t meant to be there. But we didn’t have much choice. Next thing I know, we’re back in the deep roads. I turned around to check the tunnel, but... it was gone, Kael. Just gone. Like it was never there in the first place.”

  Kael frowned, the memory of the demon’s mocking laughter and the swarm of undead flashing in his mind. “Gone?” he repeated, his voice low and grim.

  Zeveron nodded. “Aye. Just a solid wall of stone where the entrance had been. No sign of the city, no trace of that... thing we saw.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “I’ve seen strange things in my time, Kael, but that? That’s something I’ll be seeing in my nightmares.”

  The room fell silent for a moment before Zeveron added, “Gazelle isn’t doing so good, either. She’s been jumpy—constantly looking around like something’s stalking her. I can’t blame her, though, after what we saw. I’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t say much.”

  Kael’s expression hardened, but he said nothing. He knew what fear like that could do to a person.

  “The other three mercenaries,” Zeveron continued, “they’ve already been paid. They’re gone. Can’t say I blame them. If I wasn’t honor-bound to see this through, I’d have run too.”

  He hesitated before meeting Kael’s gaze. “I owe you an apology. None of us expected things to go like this, and you paid the highest price. I’ve taken steps to make things right.” He gestured toward Kael’s waist. “I’ve got a replacement sword on order for you. The finest steel I could get my hands on. It’s being forged as we speak. Should be ready in a day or two.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with faint sarcasm. “Didn’t know dwarves felt guilt, Zeveron.”

  Zeveron huffed, crossing his arms. “We’re stubborn, not heartless. And I’ll do you one better—I’ll pay you double for seeing this through. You’ve earned it.”

  Kael gave a faint nod, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips despite the pain. “Fair enough.”

  The two fell into silence again, the weight of their recent ordeal settling heavily in the room. Kael leaned back against the headboard, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the mystery of the city, the demon, and the strange disappearance of the tunnel.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  One thing was clear: whatever they had encountered wasn’t done with them yet.

  Kael stood in the dim light of the chamber, the faint scent of iron and oil lingering in the air. His new armor gleamed faintly, a blend of sturdy leather reinforced with interwoven metal plates that caught the light with a muted sheen. The craftsmanship was impeccable, offering both flexibility and protection.

  Reaching to the side, he picked up the black cloak Zeveron had procured for him. The fabric was heavy yet smooth, its surface subtly textured like flowing shadows. He draped it over his shoulders, fastening the clasp at his collarbone. The cloak fell around him in soft, layered folds, the hem brushing lightly against his boots. As it settled, it seemed to meld with the dark tones of his armor, lending him an air of quiet menace and purpose.

  Kael’s eyes drifted to the sword lying on the table nearby. The weapon was a work of art, a testament to Zeveron’s apology and the skill of its maker. The blade shimmered faintly under the light, the wavy, water-like patterns etched into the steel rippling as though alive. The crossguard and pommel were forged from gleaming gold, their curves elegant yet functional. The handle was a sturdy bronze, wrapped tightly in fine leather that fit comfortably in his grip.

  He picked up the sword, testing its weight. It felt balanced, as though it was an extension of his arm rather than a separate tool. The edge was keen, the craftsmanship unmistakable. Kael slid the blade into the finely crafted scabbard at his waist, the soft sound of metal meeting leather resonating in the quiet room.

  Draping his cloak slightly over the hilt, he adjusted it so it hung perfectly, concealing yet hinting at the lethal weapon beneath. Kael looked down at himself, his new armor and sword a stark contrast to the battered, blood-soaked image he had carried only days before.

  With a faint exhale, he turned toward the door, his black cloak billowing lightly with the movement. The weight of his new gear felt right—like he was ready to face whatever horror awaited next.

  Kael stepped cautiously through the final stretch of the winding tunnels, the oppressive darkness of the Underworld clinging to him like an unwelcome memory. The air was thick and damp, the weight of the subterranean world pressing down on his shoulders with every step. The only sounds were his boots crunching on the uneven stone and the faint rustle of his cloak brushing against his armor.

  The torch in his hand flickered, casting distorted shadows on the jagged walls around him. For weeks, the Underworld had been his battlefield, its labyrinthine depths a constant reminder of the horrors lurking in its shadows. He had faced death at every turn, seen the unspeakable, and bore the scars to prove it.

  As he ascended through the winding passage, a faint, cool breeze kissed his face—a whisper of the surface world. His pace quickened, the promise of open air and sunlight urging him forward. Each step brought him closer to escape, to freedom from the oppressive confines of the Underworld.

  The path began to widen, and the darkness ahead grew lighter. The earthy scent of damp stone gave way to the faint aroma of fresh grass and pine. Kael’s heart quickened, a flicker of relief cutting through the exhaustion that gripped his body.

  At last, he reached the surface. The mouth of the tunnel yawned open into a world bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The vibrant hues painted the sky in fiery oranges and soft purples, a stark contrast to the cold, lifeless palette of the depths he had left behind.

  Kael paused, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation, the warmth of the sun on his skin a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. The Underworld had taken its toll on him, and the scars—both physical and mental—would take time to heal.

  He looked back at the tunnel’s entrance, its shadowed maw a grim reminder of what lay below. A shiver ran through him, and he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He had seen enough of the Underworld to last several lifetimes.

  Turning away, Kael began his journey across the grassy hillside, the sun casting long shadows behind him. He felt the weight of the Underworld begin to lift, replaced by the resolve to keep moving forward. For now, at least, he was done with the darkness. The surface, with its unpredictable dangers, was still preferable to the suffocating horrors of the deep.

  He whispered to himself, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not going back down there. Not for decades… maybe not ever."