The ruin grew darker as we pressed on. The torches left behind by the bandits became fewer, their flames struggling against the size of the halls. Shadows stretched and twisted across the bronze walls, and the low hum of the ruin never left my ears.
We had been walking for what felt like hours. The corridors turned endlessly, some leading to dead ends, others circling back on themselves. If not for Zavir's steady pace and the certainty in his movements, I might have thought we were lost.
But we were not alone.
The bandits had marked this place. I began to notice the signs—their boot prints pressed into the dust, the scratch of chalk arrows on walls, and once, even a strip of cloth tied to a Dwemer pipe like a trail marker. This ruin had become their den, their territory. Every step deeper was a step into the jaws of their hold.
We stopped at a bend in the corridor. Ahead, the air shimmered faintly, the bronze floor reflecting light strangely. Zavir raised a hand, crouched low, and inspected the ground. I followed his gaze and saw them: faint grooves, cut into the metal. Pressure plates.
"They're using the traps," Zavir murmured.
The words tightened my chest. It wasn't enough that the ruin itself wanted us dead. The bandits had learned to make its hunger theirs.
Zavir tested the path with the tip of his blade. A section of floor sank, and with a sudden hiss, darts shot from the walls, clattering against the opposite side. Bronze darts, green with age, but sharp enough to kill.
I flinched. My breath came too fast, echoing too loud in the corridor.
"We move slow," Zavir said. His eyes flicked to me. "Step where I step."
I nodded, though my legs felt stiff as iron.
We picked our way forward, one foot after another. The ruin seemed to hold its breath with us. My heart thundered so loud I swore it would trigger another trap on its own.
Halfway through, a voice rang out.
"There! Intruders!"
Bandits.
Figures emerged from the shadows beyond the traps, their weapons glinting in the torchlight. At least four, maybe five. They grinned like wolves that had cornered prey.
"Let's see you dance through the machines!" one of them jeered.
They didn't rush us. They waited, knowing the corridor itself was their weapon.
Zavir's blade slid free with a hiss of steel. "We go through. Don't stop."
He moved. I forced my legs to follow.
The first plate gave under Zavir's step, but he was already moving, twisting aside as darts screamed past. I tried to mimic him, my lungs burning, my sword clutched too tight. Another plate sank under my boot. From above, a bronze blade swung down, so close I felt the air move. I ducked, stumbling forward with a cry.
The bandits laughed.
Zavir reached the end first, cutting down the man who stepped too close. Blood splashed against the wall, dark in the torchlight. I was still halfway through.
A bandit raised a bow. The arrow loosed.
I didn't think—I threw myself forward. My foot slammed another plate. From the wall, bronze spikes shot out with a shriek of metal. One tore through the bandit's chest instead of mine, lifting him from his feet. His scream was cut short as the ruin itself claimed him.
I landed hard, scrambling up, my chest heaving.
Zavir was already in the thick of it, blades clashing, sparks snapping in the dark. I forced myself forward, clearing the last of the traps, and the fight closed in.
Steel met steel. A bandit lunged at me, his axe descending. I caught it on my sword, the weight rattling through my bones. He pressed down, grinning through rotten teeth. My arms shook. I shoved back, barely keeping balance.
He swung again. I ducked, panic guiding me more than skill, and slashed upward. The blade cut deep into his arm. He roared, staggered, and I drove the sword into his side before he could recover. His blood spilled hot over my hands. He crumpled with a choked cry, pulling free of my blade only to collapse at my feet.
My stomach lurched. The stench of copper filled my nose. I wanted to drop the sword, to step away, to breathe air that wasn't tainted by death.
But another came.
This one struck fast, twin daggers flashing. I barely caught the first blow, sparks bursting from the clash. The second dagger sliced across my sleeve, grazing my arm. Pain stung, sharp and real. He snarled and pressed harder.
Something broke in me then. A surge—not courage, not skill, but raw desperation. I shouted, a sound torn from my throat, and shoved forward with everything I had. My blade caught him across the chest, opening him wide. His daggers fell from limp hands as he dropped, gasping until he didn't.
I stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from my blade, from my arm, from him. My hands trembled so hard the sword nearly slipped free.
And then silence.
Zavir finished the last bandit with a sharp twist of his sword. The body fell, and the ruin was quiet again. Quiet, except for the hum that had never left.
I stood over the dead, my breaths ragged. My arm burned where the blade had grazed me, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside. Every kill felt heavier than the last. Every drop of blood clung to me, soaking into me, as though it would never wash away.
Zavir turned, his face unreadable in the dim light. His eyes lingered on me, then flicked to the corpses at my feet.
"You adapt quickly," he said. Not praise. Not coldness. Simply fact.
I swallowed, unable to answer. If only he knew how close I had come to breaking.
We moved on, leaving the bodies behind. The traps were silent now, their hunger sated. The ruin's hum followed us still, deeper now, louder, as though the mountain itself whispered.
Ahead, the corridor widened into another vast hall. More light glowed within, the flicker of many fires. Voices carried faintly through the air—bandits, more of them, gathered in their camp.
Zavir's grip tightened on his sword. His voice was low, steady. "We've reached their nest. The Unseeing Bandits won't give up their hold without blood."
My legs felt heavy. My hand ached from clutching the sword. My throat was dry, and my stomach churned. But still, I nodded.
Because there was no turning back.
The ruin was swallowing us whole, and at its heart waited the men who had made it theirs.