Finn moved forward slowly, placing each step with utmost care. Every motion was calculated—any sound, no matter how small, could draw the attention of the creatures if they were still nearby. The tulwar's golden light caught every pebble and uneven stone beneath his feet, helping him avoid the treacherous rustle of loose gravel.
Fragments of memory spun in his mind—the underground river whose sound had once led him to that monstrous, hunchbacked beast, its jaws opening unnaturally wide, wider even than a serpent's. The recollection of that gaping maw still made him shudder. No, there could be no return to the river—surely other such horrors lurked there.
Instead, he chose to explore other tunnels, hoping to find a path that would lead him far from the monsters' lair. Every new turn held both the promise of escape and the threat of doom. Finn studied each branching passage carefully, searching for signs that one might lead toward the surface.
From time to time, he thought he felt a faint movement of air—an almost imperceptible draft that might hint at a connection to the outside. But in the labyrinth of tunnels, such currents could deceive, drawing him deeper into the mountain's bowels.
Some passages were so narrow they reminded him of the fissure where he had spent the last days, weeks—perhaps months. Others opened into vast chambers where his footsteps echoed against high stone vaults. Each such space made his heart pause—for in the darkness, anything could be hiding, and the tulwar's golden glow seemed only to emphasize the depth of the surrounding blackness.
Sometimes the way was blocked by piles of rock—remnants of ancient collapses, or perhaps the aftermath of recent quakes. In such places, he was forced to find alternate routes, further tangling his sense of direction. Without sun, without stars, without any landmark but the endless stone walls, it was all too easy to lose all sense of where he was going.
In one tunnel, he came upon claw marks gouged deep into the stone—scars left by something strong enough to tear into solid rock. The sight made him quickly turn aside; he had no desire to meet the creature capable of such marks.
At times he passed small shafts leading upward or downward. Some were wide enough to crawl through, but Finn dared not try—too great was the risk of becoming trapped or finding nothing but a dead end. And besides, such narrow tunnels looked like burrows, and who knew what might dwell within them.
Each new turn demanded more strength—both physical and mental. Exhaustion crept in, and the uncertainty of his path weighed heavily on his mind. At times he feared he was walking in circles, returning to the same places again and again. But there was no way to know—all the tunnels looked alike, as if cut from the same mold.
Hunger and thirst grew steadily worse. Drops of water trickling down the walls were far too rare to quench his thirst, and the food in his pack was nearly gone. He tried to conserve his strength, moving slowly and steadily, but every step became harder.
Sometimes he thought he heard sounds ahead—perhaps only the echo of his own footsteps, perhaps something else. At such times, he would freeze, straining to catch the source. More than once, he was forced to slip into side passages when the noises grew too distinct.
In one tunnel, he found strange crystals glowing faintly in the dark. Their pale light seemed almost ghostly beside the tulwar's bright gold. Finn wondered whether they might serve as a landmark, but their glow was far too dim to be of use.
The farther he went, the stronger the feeling grew that the cave was alive in its own way. The stones seemed to whisper in some language of their own, telling stories no human ear could truly understand. Perhaps it was only the delirium of exhaustion—or perhaps some ancient magic still lingered here.
More than once, he stumbled upon the remains of some creature—bones scattered across the cave floor, some ancient, others disturbingly fresh. Each such discovery only strengthened his resolve to find the way out—he had no wish for his own bones to join this underground graveyard.
At some point, the nature of the cave began to change. The tunnels became more regular, as if shaped not by nature but by some intelligent hand. Strange symbols appeared on the walls, carved with mathematical precision. This could mean that thinking beings had once lived here—and perhaps they had known a way to the surface.
Finn began to notice that some passages looked more "used"—the stone floor smoothed, as though worn by frequent passage. But whether those travelers had been human or monstrous remained unknown. He avoided such tunnels when he could, preferring less obvious routes.
The air shifted between damp and dry, perhaps hinting at the proximity of different subterranean systems. Occasionally he came across small underground lakes with crystal-clear water. Yet despite his thirst, Finn did not dare drink—who could say what creatures might lurk in those dark depths?
Gradually, a hazy sense of the cave's structure began to form in his mind. The tunnels seemed to follow a certain logic, like the branches of a vast tree growing beneath the earth. But the logic was alien—built on principles he could not fully grasp.
In moments of rest, when he leaned against the cold stone to regain his strength, his thoughts drifted. He imagined emerging from this nightmare, feeling the warmth of sunlight, eating real food, lying down on a soft bed and letting sleep erase all memory of the cave. These thoughts were bittersweet, but they gave him strength—for somewhere ahead there had to be a way out. A way out of this nightmare…