The preparation barracks was a long, low room of stone and timber, lit by a single row of guttering oil lamps. The air smelled faintly of sweat, boiled grain, and leather oil. Rows of weapon racks lined the far wall, each neatly stocked with spears, short swords, and heavy crossbows.
Kael stood at the entrance, silent as the guards removed his escort chains and shoved him inside.
Three men sat at a table near the center, bent over trenchers of steaming porridge and bread. All of them looked up when Kael entered.
One, a wiry man with pale hair cropped close to the scalp, spoke first. "So you're the poor bastard they're sending down with us."
Kael didn't answer. He crossed to the nearest rack, running his fingers along the hilt of a short sword, weighing its balance in his palm. The steel was serviceable but far from fine, the kind of weapon made in bulk for men expected not to live long enough to complain.
A second man, heavyset with a scar across his chin, gave a short laugh. "Doesn't talk much. Good. Less noise for whatever's down there to hear."
The third, younger than the rest and with the gaunt look of someone who'd been too long on rations, studied Kael with open suspicion. "I heard you're a prisoner. What'd you do?"
Kael glanced up, his expression unreadable. "I survived."
The pale-haired man grinned faintly at that, but said nothing more.
They ate quickly. Kael accepted the food without thanks, tearing through the bread with a quiet efficiency. The porridge was bland, the bread stale, but after days of near-starvation, it might as well have been a feast.
When the last of the bowls were scraped clean, Draev himself appeared at the doorway. He looked each man over before stepping aside to reveal a pair of soldiers carrying a crate between them.
Inside, Kael saw four hooded lanterns, coils of hemp rope, and a bundle of iron spikes. Draev gestured to the crate. "Standard issue for tunnel scouts. Keep your lights hooded until you have to see. Rope for climbs, spikes to mark your route." His gaze flicked briefly to Kael. "And if you get turned around, pray you die before you run out of oil."
The pale-haired scout muttered under his breath, "Comforting."
Draev ignored him. "You have one objective: locate the breach. If possible, collapse it. If not, return alive with a report."
He didn't say 'if you can'. It hung in the air anyway.
They set out at first bell. The morning air was damp with fog, the city still wrapped in the silence of pre-dawn. The streets were empty save for the occasional patrol, their armor whispering as they passed.
The entrance to the tunnels lay in a narrow courtyard behind the keep a squat stone building whose only feature was a rusted iron grate sunk into the floor. Two guards cranked the wheel that lifted the grate, revealing a yawning black mouth below.
A wave of cold, stale air rolled upward, carrying the smell of earth, mildew, and something faintly metallic.
The younger scout swallowed audibly. "That's… inviting."
Draev stepped forward, his voice low. "Once you're down there, you follow Kael's lead."
The scouts turned to stare at him, but Draev's gaze didn't waver. "He's been in places darker than this. He'll know what to watch for."
Kael said nothing, only took the rope coil from the crate and looped it over his shoulder. Without another word, he descended the ladder into the black.
The walls closed around them immediately — rough-cut stone damp to the touch, beaded with moisture. The narrow passage sloped downward, the echo of their boots swallowed quickly by the oppressive silence.
Kael's senses sharpened with every step. The cold bit into his skin, but he felt something beneath it, a faint tremor in the air, too subtle for most men to notice. It wasn't wind. It was movement.
They traveled in near-darkness, the hoods of their lanterns shut tight save for a sliver of light to guide their feet. The pale-haired scout led the rear, glancing back often as if expecting something to follow.
After a half hour, the passage opened into a small chamber where three other tunnels branched away. The scar-chinned scout knelt, examining the ground. "Tracks. Fresh."
Kael crouched beside him. The marks were strange long, narrow impressions with clawed tips, set far apart. Whatever made them was large. And fast.
The younger scout whispered, "Those… aren't human."
Kael's eyes flicked to the far tunnel, where the darkness seemed heavier, almost thicker. "That way."
They moved on, the air growing colder still. The walls here bore strange marks, deep gouges as though something had scraped through the stone itself.
The younger scout's breath quickened. "How strong do you have to be to..."
Kael raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.
The others froze.
From the darkness ahead came a sound, faint at first, then growing clearer. A slow, deliberate dragging. Stone against stone.
The pale-haired scout leaned in close. "What is that?"
Kael's voice was almost inaudible. "Not stone."
The sound came again, and with it a faint glimmer not of light, but of something wet catching the sliver from their lanterns.
The dragging stopped.
The silence that followed was worse than the sound.
Then, from the black, two points of pale, milky light appeared unblinking, fixed on them.
Kael's fingers tightened around his sword hilt.
"Lanterns," he whispered.
The hoods snapped open, flooding the tunnel with light.
And they saw it.
Something long and sinewed, its pale, slick flesh stretched tight over corded muscle. Limbs too long for its body ended in claws that bit into the stone with casual strength. Its head was narrow, almost featureless save for the lidless white eyes and a mouth that stretched far too wide, lined with rows of thin, hooked teeth.
It hissed, the sound like steam escaping a kettle.
Kael stepped forward, blade angled low. "Back to the chamber," he said, never taking his eyes off it. "Now."
The thing moved not toward them, but up, clinging to the ceiling as though gravity meant nothing.
The younger scout swore, stumbling back.
Kael's voice was calm, almost detached. "Run."
The last thing they saw before turning to flee was the creature unfolding its limbs wider than a man's height, its claws digging deep into the ceiling as it began to follow — silently, swiftly, without a single sound but the faint scrape of claw on stone.