The tunnel continued to twist and narrow, walls closing in just enough to make John feel claustrophobic. Moisture dripped from the ceiling in a slow, maddening rhythm. Their boots squelched on damp moss, and every creak of leather or clink of metal echoed too loudly in the confined space.

  “Tell me we’re done with surprises for the night,” John muttered.

  “Don’t tempt fate,” Kaia replied. “You remember what happened last time.”

  John groaned. “Right. Never again.”

  A low growl interrupted them. Thorin raised his hand in warning, and they halted in place.

  From the gloom ahead emerged a misshapen creature, its skeletal frame bulkier than a goblin’s, but hunched and animalistic. Glowing eyes fixed on them as it hissed—a feral undead hybrid of beast and man. Behind it, two more followed.

  “Undead wargs,” Kaia whispered. “Those things are fast.”

  The lead creature bolted forward with shocking speed, claws scraping stone. Thorin met it head-on, shield raised. The impact nearly knocked him back, but he planted his boots and shoved.

  John moved to intercept the second one, flanking left and using the narrow corridor walls to his advantage. He waited until it lunged, then leapt up and off the wall, twisting midair to drive both daggers down into its back. The creature screeched and bucked, trying to throw him off.

  Kaia backed up as the third one barreled toward her. She raised her staff, channeling raw light into a burst of force that caught the creature in the face and sent it tumbling. But it recovered fast, claws lashing out.

  “Kaia, duck!” John shouted.

  She dropped low as Thorin barreled through, swinging his axe with a furious roar. The weapon bit deep into the creature’s neck, nearly decapitating it. It collapsed twitching as Kaia scrambled back.

  The warg John had stabbed still writhed beneath him. It slammed into the wall, trying to crush him, but he kicked off and landed nearby, panting.

  “Resilient little bastard,” he muttered. “Let’s fix that.”

  He lunged again, this time jamming his blade under the jaw and up through the skull. The creature spasmed once and went limp.

  The first warg wasn’t done. It and Thorin were locked in a savage struggle—axe vs. claws, shield vs. fangs. Thorin’s armor was slashed in several places, and blood stained the edges.

  John flanked it. “Thorin, brace it!”

  Thorin snarled and rammed the creature against the wall with his shield, holding it in place with brute force.

  John drove a dagger into the base of its spine. Then again. And again.

  The creature collapsed with a groan and a crunch.

  All three of them stood still for a long moment, chests heaving.

  “Everyone alive?” John asked.

  “Barely,” Kaia said. “I’ve got one heal left. Anyone bleeding worse than they look?”

  Thorin inspected his side, then shook his head. “Just bruised. You?”

  John flexed his wrist. “Bit sore. Could use a nap and a donut.”

  Kaia laughed once, weakly. “You’re getting stew. If we’re lucky.”

  The corridor finally opened into a small chamber—a branching point or long-abandoned storage room. Cracked crates lined one wall, and a few broken barrels littered the corners.

  “Let’s rest here a moment,” Kaia said. “I need to recover before we find another pack of those things.”

  Thorin nodded, wiping gore from his axe. “Good call.”

  John sheathed his daggers and leaned against a stone pillar, breathing hard. “I take back what I said. Glowing-eyed skeletons? Not the worst thing down here.”

  Kaia smiled tiredly. “Welcome to dungeon life.”

  They collapsed into a quiet rest, eyes still on the shadows, knowing it wouldn’t last long—but taking it anyway.

  ***

  (Keep all previous content intact up to the end of the sandwich conversation between John and Thorin.)

  They moved out once Kaia had recovered enough to stand, her energy steady but clearly depleted. The corridor ahead felt endless, winding deeper into the dark like the throat of some ancient beast. Their torches flickered with each step, casting elongated shadows across walls damp with condensation.

  John walked slightly ahead, his posture slouched, his face pale. “We’ve got to be getting close to something. Even monsters need places to nap, right?”

  “No one’s stopping you from curling up in the next puddle we pass,” Thorin grunted.

  Kaia’s smile was faint, but there. “I’d rather not step over a snoring rogue.”

  John raised a hand as he paused mid-step. “Wait. Hold up.”

  He ran his fingers along the right-hand wall, then stepped back and crouched beside a strange patch of stone. It looked smoother than the rest—too smooth. As if it had been polished by hands instead of time.

  Kaia tilted her head. “What is it?”

  “There’s a seam,” John muttered, brushing away dust. “And a locking mechanism.”

  He pulled a dagger from his belt and gently probed into the cracks. “It’s disguised… damn good, too. Whoever built this didn’t want it found by accident.”

  Thorin kept watch as Kaia crouched nearby, watching curiously. “Is it trapped?”

  “Probably. But let’s not think about that right now.”

  Minutes passed as John worked, tension thick in the air. Sweat beaded on his brow. He whispered to himself, turning gears delicately, aligning symbols beneath the surface.

  Click.

  Then another. A grinding of stone followed, as if the dungeon itself were sighing.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  A hidden panel slid open, revealing a short corridor with a rune-marked arch at the end.

  Kaia’s eyes widened. “It’s not another boss room, is it?”

  “Only one way to find out,” John said, stepping through cautiously.

  They passed under the arch—and a warm, golden light bathed them. The walls inside were smooth and unbroken. A circle of glowing glyphs pulsed gently in the center. The air smelled faintly of sage and clean linen.

  Kaia gasped. “It’s a safe room.”

  Thorin let out a long breath. “Thank the gods.”

  John just grinned, leaning back against the wall. “Alright. Now this is a good find.”

  Together, the three of them stepped into the chamber, the heavy stone door sliding shut behind them with a final, comforting thud.

  The safe room was a haven of calm after the chaos. Warm, golden light pulsed from the embedded runes in the walls, casting a soft glow over the stone chamber. A central fire pit, already stacked with dry wood, crackled gently as Kaia kindled the flames with a kindling. The smell of old soot and enchanted herbs filled the space.

  Thorin dropped his pack near the fire and let out a long sigh as he unstrapped his armor, revealing bruises already blooming across his ribs. Kaia lowered herself carefully to the floor, pulling out her cooking kit.

  John rummaged through his inventory with a grin. “So… what’s for dinner?”

  Kaia looked over her shoulder. “Dried meat stew. Not exciting, but hot food is hot food.”

  John raised a finger. “Counter-proposal.” He produced another bundle of cleaned rat meat from his bag and held it up triumphantly.

  Thorin stared at it. “You’ve been carrying that around?”

  “Preserved and vacuum-sealed,” John said. “Dungeon cuisine, baby.”

  Kaia groaned, but she didn’t protest. “Fine. You cook it, then.”

  John set up a small pan over the fire, slicing the meat into small strips and tossing it in with dried vegetables and a few pinches of herbs Kaia handed him. The smell slowly shifted from questionable to surprisingly savory.

  Thorin sniffed the air and grunted. “Not bad.”

  John smirked. “Told you. Gourmet garbage.”

  As the stew simmered, John pulled something else from his bag—a bundle of fine, inky black fabric.

  Kaia blinked. “What’s that?”

  John didn’t answer. He sat near the fire, threading a needle with quiet focus, and began to sew.

  Kaia raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Thorin glanced at him once, then shrugged and leaned back with a grunt.

  The fire crackled. The only sounds were the bubbling stew and the quiet rhythm of thread passing through fabric.

  Eventually, John’s hands slowed. He stared down at the half-finished project in his lap.

  A strange expression crossed his face. His jaw clenched, his brow furrowed.

  Kaia noticed first. “John?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Then he set the fabric down and leaned back against the wall, eyes fixed on the fire.

  “I’m a shitty friend,” he said quietly.

  Kaia frowned. “What?”

  “I’ve been traveling with you two for weeks. Fighting, eating, nearly dying... and I don’t know anything about you. Not really. Like, childhoods. Families. Who you were before this.”

  Kaia’s lips twitched—and then she laughed.

  Thorin chuckled and reached into his coin pouch, tossing a silver piece into Kaia’s hand.

  John stared. “Did you two seriously bet on this?”

  Kaia nodded, grinning. “We figured you’d crack eventually.”

  John threw his hands up. “Unbelievable.”

  Kaia chuckled. “We’re not hiding anything, John. You just never asked.”

  “Well,” John muttered, “I’m asking now.”

  Thorin stretched, wincing slightly. “Get comfortable. This might take a while.”

  ... (previous content remains the same up until the line)

  Kaia looked at Thorin, then back to John. “Should we flip a coin?”

  Thorin grunted. “Ladies first.”

  Kaia rolled her eyes but smiled. “Fine.” She stirred the stew slowly before speaking again. “I was raised in a small village north of Goldspire. My parents were herbalists. Good people. My mother taught me about plants, remedies, salves. My father taught me how to listen to people. How to see pain even when someone wouldn’t speak it.”

  She paused, poking at the fire, her expression softening with memory. “Our home always smelled like crushed mint and warm tea. My mother used to hum while she worked. I can’t remember the tune anymore, but I remember the sound of her voice.”

  John sat still, listening closely.

  “When the sickness came through our village, the Church sent healers. They saved maybe half of us. My parents didn’t make it. One morning, they just… didn’t wake up.”

  Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “I was too young to understand the weight of it. I remember being angry. Angry they left me. Angry the healers couldn’t fix them. Sister Miren—one of the healers—she took me with her. Said I had a gift. Maybe she just didn’t want to leave a child alone in a dying village.”

  John’s expression softened. “She saved you.”

  Kaia nodded slowly. “In a way. The Church gave me structure, purpose. For a while, it felt like the right place. But then… things changed. Miracles stopped. The Grandfather’s silence grew louder. And the Order changed with it. Less compassion. More rules. More fear.”

  Her gaze drifted to the fire. “So I left. I couldn’t keep pretending. I still believe in helping people, but I don’t need robes or rituals to do that.”

  Silence hung for a moment before John quietly said, “Thank you for telling me.”

  Kaia offered a gentle smile. “Your turn, Thorin.”

  The big man snorted. “You sure you’re ready for my thrilling tale?”

  John managed a grin. “If it involves you punching a bear, I’m all ears.”

  Thorin chuckled low. “No bears. Not that day.”

  He leaned back, staring into the flickering fire. “I was a blacksmith’s son. Small mountain village near the border. Cold winters. Hot forges. My da had hands like stone and a heart to match. Taught me everything he knew—how to temper steel, how to swing a hammer, how to stand when the wind tries to knock you down.”

  He paused, jaw tightening. “When the war started, I volunteered. Thought I’d protect people. Thought I’d matter.”

  Kaia reached over and gently touched his arm.

  “I mattered to the men beside me,” Thorin continued. “But we weren’t heroes. Just names on scrolls, marching into places no one wanted to see. Lost friends. Lost sleep. Came home… but not the same.”

  He looked down at his scarred hands. “I tried to go back. Tried the forge again. But everything I made just felt wrong. Too clean. Too quiet.”

  He cleared his throat, voice softer now. “So I wandered. Took jobs. Broke things. Protected people when I could. One day, I helped guard a caravan near Bjornfell. Kaia was there. She healed a kid’s leg—shattered from a bandit’s trap. Watching her work, seeing the way she looked at people… I remembered why I picked up a weapon in the first place.”

  He looked at Kaia. “I stuck around.”

  John was quiet for a long moment. “You both… you’ve lost so much. And you still keep going.”

  Kaia nodded. “We all have something we’re trying to fix. Or outrun.”

  John swallowed hard. “I just want to get home to my family. But if I can help people like you two do along the way… maybe it’s not just about getting back.”

  Thorin smiled faintly. “You’re not a bad friend, John. Just a slow learner.”

  Kaia laughed. “A very slow learner.”

  John grinned, eyes a little damp. “I’ll take it.”

  Outside the safe room, the dungeon waited—but for now, the three of them sat in quiet companionship, the fire crackling steadily between them.

  The stew was gone, and the fire dimmed to glowing embers. One by one, they rolled out their bedrolls around the safe room, settling in for a much-needed rest.

  John lay on his back, hands behind his head, staring up at the carved ceiling. The firelight flickered across the stone, casting slow, warm shadows.

  “You know,” he said into the quiet, “I used to go camping with my daughter. Rosie. The first time we went out, she was bouncing with excitement. Couldn’t sit still for more than ten seconds.”

  Kaia turned her head, her voice soft. “How old was she?”

  “Five,” John said, smiling to himself. “She had this tiny bike she insisted on bringing. Rode it around the campground like she was queen of the forest. Waved at every person we passed like she was in a parade.”

  Thorin gave a low chuckle. “Sounds fearless.”

  “She was,” John said. “Wanted to do everything. Help pitch the tent, start the fire, catch fish—though she wouldn’t touch the bait. Said worms were ‘icky.’”

  Kaia grinned. “Smart girl.”

  John’s voice dropped a little, warm and wistful. “She kept running over to me every five minutes. ‘Daddy, what’s next? Can we go hiking now? Can we sit in the hammock again?’ She just… she wanted every moment. Her giggles… they echoed in the trees like magic.”

  He stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. “That night, she fell asleep in the hammock before dinner. Curled up in a ball, the biggest smile on her face. Like she’d found the whole world in one day.”

  No one spoke for a few seconds.

  Thorin finally said, “She sounds amazing.”

  John nodded once. “She is.”

  The fire crackled softly. In the shelter of the dungeon’s hidden chamber, surrounded by stone and silence, the warmth of memory lingered a while longer.

  Then Kaia murmured, “We’ll get you back to her. One day.”

  John didn’t answer right away. But when he did, his voice was steady.

  “Yeah. One day.”