Forgetting the place he was in, Finn bumped the back of his head against the ceiling. It wasn't particularly painful, more of an irritating sensation that pierced through his entire consciousness.
After regaining his composure slightly, he noticed a large backpack nearby—slightly smaller than the boy himself but still big enough to fit his body inside. Pulling it closer, Finn undid the ordinary knots holding the pack's flap shut and opened it.
There was nothing particularly interesting inside except for a small pouch that reeked of something foul. He wasn't in a hurry to open it, first digging deeper into the backpack. Inside, he also found part of a medical kit: old gauze wrappers, a jar half-filled with alcohol, and bandages… or rather, what was left of them—the packaging was there, but the actual bandages were gone.
There was also a small single-edged knife with a handle wrapped in rope, along with a few tools—a tiny pickaxe and a shovel.
Having finished inspecting the backpack's contents, Finn pulled out the stinking pouch and loosened the rubber band keeping it closed. Inside were ears of various kinds, ranging from human ones to those turned inside out, covered in fur or hair.
Wrinkling his nose at the sight and smell, he tightened the pouch again and stuffed it as deep into the backpack as possible, hoping to contain the stench or at least keep it from reaching his nose as strongly.
Closing the backpack, Finn slowly lowered himself onto the cold stone, stretching out along the wall. Even in this position, he had to be careful not to bump his head against the low ceiling. His eyes closed on their own, and he tried to focus on his breathing, ignoring the dull pain throbbing in the back of his head. Each inhale echoed unpleasantly inside his skull.
After a while, his fingers instinctively reached for the spot where he had hit his head. Carefully probing the area, he found a sticky patch of dried blood and a jagged wound, the edges of which stung unpleasantly when touched. The cut was about the length of his pinky finger, but it didn't seem too deep.
His gaze fell on the medical supplies in the backpack. It would be good to treat the wound, but the mere thought of rummaging through that bag again made him nauseous. The image of the pouch and its contents kept resurfacing in his mind, making his stomach twist.
The pocket of the cave would have been pitch black if not for the tulwar, its curved blade emitting a soft golden glow reminiscent of sunset reflections. This warm, living light cast strange shadows on the uneven walls of the shelter. Finn tried to keep his mind empty, letting thoughts dissolve without lingering. Any attempt to focus on something specific sent sharp pain shooting through his head, as if needles were piercing his brain.
Time passed slowly, dripping like water deep in the cave. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of falling droplets echoed, creating a peculiar rhythm. That monotonous sound gradually began to soothe him, distracting him from the pain and nausea.
The chill of the stone seeped through his clothes, making his body shiver slightly. This sensation helped him stay conscious, preventing him from slipping completely into darkness. Finn knew he had to keep moving, but every motion required immense effort.
Slowly opening his eyes, he looked toward the barely visible passage through which he had entered this hollow in the rock. In the dim glow of the sword, the entrance seemed like a blurred spot, almost merging with the wall—making this place a perfect hiding spot. But staying here wasn't an option.
Gathering the last of his strength, Finn pulled the backpack toward him. Despite its size, the weight was manageable. Slinging it onto his back and tightening the straps, he began crawling forward cautiously on all fours. His knees trembled but held.
The narrow passage out was the only way forward. His entire being resisted the thought of remaining in this hollow, saturated with the stench of decay and the metallic tang of blood.
Every movement was a struggle, but Finn stubbornly crawled toward the exit, pushing himself forward with his hands against the uneven floor. The golden glow of the sword lit the way, casting long shadows from the rock formations. Escaping this shelter was the only thing that mattered now—everything else could wait.
Squeezing through the narrow passage, Finn moved carefully, feeling his way forward. The tulwar's golden light, strapped to the backpack, cast eerie shadows, turning every protrusion into a potential hazard. His palms scraped against sharp edges more than once, forcing him to change course.
The backpack snagged on outcrops, sometimes forcing him to twist and contort to free it. The rock beneath his hands was cold and damp, in places coated with something slimy. Finn tried not to think about what it might be, focusing solely on moving forward.
A sharp edge of a jutting stone suddenly scratched his shoulder, tearing the fabric. Freezing for a moment, he carefully shifted away, searching for another path. He had to pause often, probing the space ahead, looking for a safer route among the chaotic stone teeth.
Gradually, the passage widened. At first, the change was barely noticeable—just a little more room to maneuver between obstacles. Then came the chance to rise onto his knees without risking hitting his head on the ceiling. The sword's light now illuminated more space, making it easier to plan his movements.
Another turn led him to a place where the cave's ceiling abruptly rose high above. Finn slowly stood up, straightening to his full height for the first time in what felt like ages. His muscles, exhausted from crawling, ached in protest. He leaned against the wall, letting his body adjust to standing again.
Here, the cave opened into a spacious corridor, wide enough to walk without touching the walls. The ceiling vanished into darkness beyond the tulwar's glow. The air felt fresher, as if somewhere ahead lay a way to the surface. Veins of pale mineral snaked along the walls, glinting faintly in the sword's reflected light.
Finn took a few unsteady steps, readjusting to walking upright. Every sound echoed, creating the illusion of footsteps behind him. He ignored it, focusing on keeping his balance.
The backpack, which had felt so heavy while crawling, now seemed almost weightless. The ability to walk normally, no longer pressed to the ground, gave him strength. Even the pain in his head seemed to dull—though that might have just been his attention shifting elsewhere.
The corridor continued to twist, but progress was much easier now. The walls bore strange markings in places, resembling ancient script or random scratches. In some spots, stone icicles hung from the ceiling, casting intricate shadows in the sword's light.