The caverns stretched on, endless and winding and constantly sloped downward. The moist stench of rot clung to the thick air. The squad had been traveling for hours, down the branching tunnels that Sable seemed to choose at random.

  From the start, Mitch heard it–the faint, irritating sound of scratching. At first, they thought it was a phantom noise, but no, it was real. The scratching was there, a constant reminder of something unseen lurking. Like someone scribbling on parchment, the noise followed them at every turn.

  What is that?

  Mitch’s steps were heavy as he half-carried, half-guided Urgar along, the dwarf’s weight leaning into him. Urgar winced with every hobble.

  “Don’t know how you’re healing, but you best keep that to yourself, boy,” the dwarf muttered lowly, more out of habit than real concern. His voice was strained, a grim reminder that the wounds he carried were severe. Far worse than Urgar was letting on.

  Mitch didn’t reply. Sable and Warrick didn’t say anything, but he knew they wondered how he was able to heal himself with Flesh that he collected.

  He also noticed Urgar’s wounds knitting themselves faster than they should. Too fast for someone without a healing ability like Mitch. Warrick noticed too–Mitch caught the quiet orc glancing at Urgar’s closing wounds with suspicion.

  But Mitch kept silent. Whatever it was, they still needed to keep moving.

  Sable led the way with a relentless pace. She hadn’t slowed, despite Urgar’s obvious injuries. She refused to stop, even when the tunnel twisted into bizarre, unnatural shapes. Or when the walls narrowed so much that Mitch had to angle his shoulders to squeeze through. Her eyes darted along the cavern walls, her hands tightly gripping a map. To Mitch’s eye, it was becoming more useless with every step.

  Occasionally, she would pause to inspect the creatures scurrying along the cracked stone walls–Abyssal bugs, their hard black shells glinting in the faint green light. They were like living shadows, crawling in and out of unseen cracks. Disappearing into the dark as quickly as they appeared. A constant reminder that they were in the Abyss.

  Warrick grumbled from the back. “We’ve been walking for hours. We need to rest. At this rate, we’ll never find the Abyssal Hag, much less the way back.”

  Mitch had to agree. His muscles ached from carrying Urgar, and the pressing weight of the Abyss seemed to close in tighter with every breath. The cold, damp air clung to his skin like a curse, and the constant scratching noise only made it worse.

  Sable didn’t respond. She kept moving forward, constantly checking the map that clearly wasn’t of any use.

  Frantic.

  “This isn’t right. Where are the markings? There’s no markings.” Sable said to herself as she set off down yet another endless tunnel, searching for any sign they were headed in the right direction.

  “Haven’t seen a blasted marking yet, Sable.” Urgar grumbled while limping.

  Mitch could see the visible tension in her stance. “You know as well as I do the markings left behind by the Masked Lord and his army are the best way to navigate these tunnels,” Sable said through clenched teeth while squinting to scan the map.

  “Then where are they?” Warrick remarked, unease leaking into his typically stoic canter.

  Urgar was nearing his limit. The dwarf’s voice was rough and tired, “We’re proper lost, ain’t we?”

  Mitch didn’t say anything, but Warrick gave a low, rumbling laugh from the rear. “It’s looking that way.”

  Sable’s head whipped around, her multi-colored eyes wide and flashing in the dim light. “We are not lost,” she snapped, voice tight. “We just…need to keep moving. We’re close. We have to be close to a marking.”

  Mitch wasn’t convinced. The scratching sound grew louder in the stillness, gnawing at his nerves. It was like something followed them, scribbling incessantly on parchment just behind the next bend, but whenever he turned the corner, there was nothing. Only the dark.

  Urgar coughed, leaning harder into Mitch. “If we keep going at this pace…” he wheezed. “I’m strong, but…not that strong.”

  Sable glanced back at him, her expression conflicted. For a moment, Mitch saw the frantic determination in her eyes falter. She looked down at the map again, then up at the dark tunnel ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line.

  “Fine,” she conceded, her frustration leaking through. “We’ll rest. Sleep. First thing after you get some rest, we move.”

  She moved ahead, scouting the tunnel wall until she found a small hallowed-out section. It looked like it had been chipped away by something long ago. Miners, perhaps. Or something worse. Either way, it was large enough for them to settle into.

  Mitch helped Urgar down, easing him into a seated position against the wall. The dwarf winced as his back hit the stone.

  “Aye, how I wish that health potions were real,” Urgar muttered again, his voice a rasp. “Don’t I wish I had a healing Skill like you, lad.”

  Mitch was more concerned with the fact that Urgar was healing unnaturally fast. There was something about it that gnawed at the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside for now.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The cavern settled into a tense quiet as the group made camp. Each member was weighed down by exhaustion and the oppressive dark around them. The scratching noise had finally faded into the background, yet it lingered in Mitch’s mind like a haunting echo.

  Sable glanced at the group before turning to Mitch, her expression cold and commanding. “First watch,” she said, nodding down the tunnels where the shadows twisted. “Make sure we’re alone.”

  Mitch gave a curt nod and stepped away from the others, moving slowly down the rocky corridor.

  The scratching returned, faint but insistent, as if the Abyss itself refused to let him forget it was watching. His footsteps echoed softly as he walked alone through the tunnel.

  Behind him, he heard light footsteps approaching.

  “Wait,” Sable called, catching up with him.

  Mitch slowed but didn’t turn completely. “What is it?” he asked her.

  Sable stopped a few steps from him, her different colored eyes hard to read. She hesitated, and crossed her arms defensively. “I wanted to talk,” she said finally. “About earlier.”

  Mitch raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

  Her gaze dropped, and for a moment, she looked less like the confident leader she tried to project and more like someone carrying a heavy weight. “I was wrong to lash out,” she admitted. “I know why you did what you did with Urgar. It was the right call.”

  Mitch’s stance softened slightly. “Doesn’t mean it was easy,” he said after a pause. “I didn’t like doing it.”

  She nodded, fingers tightening around her arms. “I know. That’s why it worked. If you hesitated, there’s a good chance we might be dead.” She took a small step closer. “I’ve been trying to lead, to…push forward and do what needs to be done…” She faltered. “Sometimes it feels like I’m barely holding it together. Pretending, and it’s exhausting.”

  “You’re not pretending,” he said firmly. “It’s not easy, but you’re here, I’m here, Urgar and Warrick too. You’re still leading.”

  Sable let out a shaky breath, shoulders loosening. “And what about you? How do you do it? You act like none of this gets to you.”

  “It does get to me,” Mitch said simply. He hesitated, glancing down at his feet before meeting her eyes. “I know what it’s like to wear a mask. To pretend you’re fine because it’s what people need from you.” His voice dropped. “Before I came here, I learned to slip into the role people expected. It was survival. A cold comfort, but it works. Works for a while, anyways.”

  The walls she kept up cracked a little bit further. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Wearing a mask?”

  “I think you’re doing your best,” Mitch said. His tone softened, and he took a small step closer. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. Whatever you’re really doing with Crae’s. I know you think you have to, but…”

  Sable’s eyes lingered on him. “You’re not what I expected, barback,” she said finally, her voice carrying warmth beneath her exhaustion.

  Mitch smirked. “That a compliment?”

  “Don’t push it,” she muttered, though the edge in her voice was softened with amusement. She hesitated again. “That thing, back there–the Abyssal man? What it said about me…you know about Patchling souls?”

  Mitch’s expression grew more serious. “Yeah, I do.”

  She looked away, her jaw tightening. “Then you know what people think of me. What I am.” Her voice grew quieter, laced with bitterness. “Not even a real person. Just…scraps. Whatever was left.”

  Mitch frowned, stepping closer. “You’re not just scraps, Sable.”

  Her gaze snapped back to him. “You don’t understand. My soul is gone, Mitch. I don’t even know where it is. If it even still exists. What does that make me? A husk pretending to be something I’m not?”

  “You’re not a husk,” Mitch said, his voice gentle but firm. “And you’re not defined by what you think you’ve lost. You’re more than people think, more than what the Abyss thinks you are too.”

  She stared at him, lips parting as if to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she took a slow breath. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly.

  “I do,” Mitch said without hesitation. “You’re not what’s happened to you, Sable. You’re not just what people see, or what the Abyss says. You’re you. And that’s enough.”

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her gaze searching his face. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It’s not,” he admitted. “But it’s still true.”

  A silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. “You’re not what I expected, Mitch.”

  “Still not sure if that’s a compliment,” he teased, his voice carrying a low, amused tone.

  “I like your hair? Sure the white locks get lots of compliments,” Sable laughed finally. It warmed him in the cold, dark tunnel.

  “I like you too,” he shot back without hesitation, lips twitching into a grin, the banter slipping out before he could stop it.

  She froze for a fraction, her cheeks tinting slightly as her eyes rolled. Her expression shifted into a wry smile. “You’re impossible.”

  “I try,” Mitch replied, his grin turning cocky. He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, you could just admit you like me too. Save us both a lot of time.”

  Her laugh was soft but genuine. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, barback,” she said, turning abruptly on her heel. But her pace slowed as she walked away, as if waiting for him to follow.

  Mitch chuckled under his breath, “Guess I’ll take watch, then,” he called after her.

  “Guess you will,” Sable replied, her voice light. Mitch caught the subtle sway in her hips as she disappeared back toward the camp.

  He stood there for a moment longer, letting the last of their exchange settle in his chest.

  Even if he hadn’t been forced into this body, he would have liked Sable if he’d met her on Earth. He just wouldn’t had the guts to put himself out there.

  This can’t be all bad.

  The warmth of the conversation lingered, but the familiar weight of the Abyss crept back in. Mitch shook his head, pulling his focus back to the task at hand. The dimly lit tunnels stretched endlessly in front of him, twisting into shadowy unknowns.

  The scratching sound tickled at the edge of his hearing again, faint but persistent.

  Right. Watch duty. I know how to do that. You watch.

  He moved deeper into the tunnel, the glowstone light flickering over rough walls as his footsteps echoed softly. The faint dampness in the air clung to his skin, the rot and mildew pressing heavier now that he was alone. Mitch kept his grip firm on the hilt of his Soul Sword, his senses sharp.

  Then he saw it—a small, black shape darting across the ground ahead.