Finn's mind drifted between waking and oblivion, his thoughts circling endlessly around his grim predicament. He pictured himself starving to death if he couldn't find a way out—his body slowly withering, turning into a mummy that might be found centuries later. Or perhaps the creatures would eventually force their way through the crack, tearing him apart and dragging the bloody remains through the dark tunnels.
Sometimes it seemed to him the air was growing ever more stale, that one day he might simply suffocate in this stone tomb. Maybe that would be kinder than a slow death from hunger. Or perhaps the dripping water would stop, and thirst would dry his body to a brittle husk.
At other times his mind conjured stranger visions—of the cave's ceiling collapsing, burying him under tons of rock. Or of an earthquake splitting the stone so he would plunge into a bottomless abyss, falling endlessly through impenetrable darkness.
There were even more bizarre imaginings—that the tulwar would consume his soul, leaving only an empty shell glowing with the same golden light. Or that he would become one of the creatures roaming outside, forgetting his human nature, becoming part of this underground world.
At times, he entertained the thought that all this was nothing but a bad dream, that he would wake in his bed and see the nightmare dissolve like morning mist. But the cold stone at his back and the aching weariness in his body reminded him of the cruel reality.
Finn thought of those who might be searching for him—if any such people existed. He imagined a search party passing the narrow crack without noticing his hiding place. Or years later, a lone traveler finding his remains, still clutching the glowing tulwar to his chest.
Darker thoughts sometimes came—that this cave would be the place where his sanity finally broke. That hunger and solitude would drive him mad, and he would begin speaking to the shadows on the walls, forgetting his own name and the reason he had come here.
In moments of clarity, he tried to devise an escape plan. Perhaps the creatures would wander far enough away for him to slip out. Or an earthquake might miraculously open a new passage.
Sometimes he pictured a heroic death—stepping out to face the creatures with the blazing tulwar, taking as many of them with him as he could. Such an end seemed more dignified than slowly wasting away in this stone trap. But something always held him back—perhaps instinct for survival, or perhaps hope.
There were moments when he thought of his sword as his last friend. The tulwar seemed alive, a guardian whose golden glow shielded him not only from the physical darkness, but from the darkness of despair threatening to swallow his mind.
In the deepest troughs of hopelessness, he considered ending it himself—a swift strike of the tulwar could end his torment. But each time something stayed his hand—perhaps the ancient magic of the blade, or a stubborn will to live stronger than fear or misery.
From time to time, stranger dreams came—of the cave walls dissolving to reveal paths into other worlds, of ancient warriors' spirits arriving to take him to their halls, of the stone itself speaking in a tongue he almost understood. But he always awoke in a cold sweat, realizing it had been just a dream.
These thoughts and visions chased each other in an endless kaleidoscope until exhaustion pulled him under again, into a restless sleep. The tulwar kept shining with its steady golden light.
In rare flashes of lucidity, Finn understood he had to keep his sanity at all costs. He began mapping the caves in his mind, basing it on the sounds and echoes from outside and what memory he had. He tried to track the creatures' patterns, hoping to find a rhythm in their movements. This exercise helped distract him from grim thoughts, giving him the illusion of control.
Each new wave of hunger brought a fresh surge of despair and new fantasies about how it might all end. But Finn clung to reality as best he could—counting water drops, occasionally eating the monsters' ears from his sack, checking his healed wounds, going over the contents of his pack. Anything to keep the darkness—not the one outside, but the one within—from swallowing his mind whole.
In one such moment of clarity, Finn suddenly noticed an unfamiliar silence around him. Listening closely, he realized what was missing—the growls and footsteps of the creatures beyond his refuge. Only the steady drip of water disturbed the tomb-like quiet of the cave.
His heart beat faster with a surge of hope. Could this be the chance he'd been waiting for? Finn had spent enough time in this stone pocket to learn every sound of the underground. Now, they told him the way might be clear.
For several minutes he kept listening, afraid to believe in his luck. But there was truly no sign of the creatures—no sound betrayed their presence outside. Perhaps they had wandered far, deeper into the maze of tunnels in search of new prey.
The thought of sitting in his hiding place any longer, like a cornered animal, suddenly became unbearable. Fear mingled with desperate resolve—it would be better to die trying to escape than to slowly lose his mind in a stone cage.
Gathering the last of his strength and courage, Finn began preparing to venture out. He checked the straps of his pack, made sure the tulwar was firm in his grip, and started inching toward the exit. Every movement was an effort—his body, weakened by long confinement, resisted obeying his commands.
Squeezing through the narrow crevice was easier than before—starvation had left him much thinner. The sharp edges of the rock still scraped his skin, but there was now more room to maneuver. Finn moved slowly, careful not to make any noise that might echo through the tunnels.
The tulwar's golden light lit his way, casting strange shadows across the uneven walls. Every faint sound made him freeze, straining to listen. But the silence beyond remained unbroken—only his heartbeat in his ears and the rare drip of water disturbed the underground stillness.
At last, the final narrow stretch was behind him. Finn stepped cautiously out of the crack, the tulwar ready in his hand. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of danger in the dim light. But the space around him was empty—only the shifting shadows from his sword moved across the stone walls.
Standing outside his refuge for the first time in what felt like ages, he felt exposed as never before. Here, there were no tight walls to protect him—only open space, where at any moment the creatures could appear. But there was no going back now—only forward, toward freedom… or death.