The tunnel entrance was almost invisible, hidden behind a fallen statue of some long-dead Runeguard hero whose face had been worn away by centuries of mountain weather. Thane had to crawl on his belly to fit through the opening, his armor scraping against rough stone.
"Remember," Verithax's voice followed him into the darkness, "the caves will try to break your mind before they break your body. Do not trust what you see or hear. The only truth is forward motion."
The tunnel sloped downward at a steep angle, forcing Thane to brace himself against the walls to avoid sliding into whatever waited below. He'd activated the light rune on his sword, but the pale blue glow seemed to be absorbed by the darkness ahead, illuminating only a few feet in any direction.
After what felt like hours of careful descent, the tunnel leveled out and opened into the first cavern. Thane froze as his light revealed the walls—they were covered in writing, thousands of words carved into the stone in dozens of different languages and scripts. As he watched, new words appeared, etching themselves into the rock with the sound of grinding stone.
Turn back, wrote itself in Common above his head. You will die here like all the others.
Coward, appeared in Draconic on his left. Running from your duty while better men perished.
The gateway cannot be closed, materialized in Ancient Dwarven beneath his feet. The corruption will spread no matter what you do. Your sacrifice means nothing.
Thane gritted his teeth and kept walking. The caves were playing their first trick, trying to fill his mind with doubt and despair. He'd been warned about this—the Whispering Caves had been twisted by centuries of exposure to minor void energies seeping up from deep beneath the mountains. They fed on negative emotions and grew stronger with every person who broke under their influence.
The next chamber was worse. The walls showed not words but images—scenes from his past failures played out in perfect, torturous detail. There was the village he'd been too late to save from bandits, the merchant caravan that had been slaughtered while he was drinking in a tavern three towns away, the young girl who'd died of plague because he'd spent the money for healing potions on new armor instead.
Every death is your fault, the images seemed to whisper. Every life you could have saved, lost because of your selfishness.
"Not real," Thane muttered, forcing himself to look away from the accusations carved in light and shadow. "Just cave magic. Just tricks."
But the worst was yet to come. In the third chamber, the whispers took on familiar voices.
"Thane?" Captain Aldrich's voice echoed from the walls. "Why didn't you come back sooner? We held the line as long as we could, but you never came."
"We trusted you," added Sergeant Korven's gruff tones. "Trusted you to bring help. Instead you let us die."
"You were supposed to be our brother," came Marcus's young voice, full of betrayal and pain. "Brothers don't abandon each other."
Thane stopped walking, his hands shaking as the voices of his dead friends surrounded him. These weren't random accusations from malicious cave spirits—these were his own thoughts, his own guilt given form and voice. The caves had reached into his mind and pulled out his deepest fears.
Maybe they're right, a treacherous part of his mind whispered. Maybe you did take too long. Maybe if you'd moved faster, fought harder...
"No." The word came out as a growl. Thane drew his sword, its light rune flaring brighter as he channeled his anger into it. "I did what I could. I followed orders. And I'm here now, trying to finish what we started."
The voices grew louder, more insistent. Other fallen Runeguards joined the chorus—men and women he'd served with over the years, all accusing him of failure, of cowardice, of being unworthy of the title he bore.
Thane raised his sword high and shouted over their voices. "I know what I am! I know my failures better than anyone! But I also know my duty!"
He brought the blade down against the stone floor, pouring power into the impact rune carved near the hilt. The explosion of light and sound that resulted drove the whispers back, silencing them momentarily.
"I am Thane Blackstorm," he declared to the darkness. "Last of the Runeguards, bearer of the Oathblade Dawnbreaker, sworn protector of the innocent. I have failed before and I may fail again, but I will not stop trying!"
The caves went silent. Then, slowly, new words began to appear on the walls—not accusations this time, but something else entirely.
The last flame burns brightest before it dies.
What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger.
Even the smallest light can drive back the deepest darkness.
Thane stared at the words, wondering if the caves were still trying to trick him or if something else was happening. Before he could decide, a new voice spoke from the shadows ahead—not the voice of guilt or despair, but something older and infinitely sadder.
"You carry their memory well, young Runeguard."
A figure stepped into the light of his sword—an old man in tattered robes, his beard white as mountain snow and his eyes holding depths that spoke of centuries lived. But there was something strange about him, something that made Thane's hand tighten on his weapon.
"Who are you?" Thane demanded.
"I am the Guardian of the Deep Ways. The last of the mountain hermits who once served as guides through these caves." The old man gestured to the writing on the walls. "The caves remember me, and through me, they remember truth as well as lies."
"Are you real, or another trick?"
The Guardian smiled sadly. "Does it matter? I have information you need, regardless of my nature. The fortress above has grown stronger since last you faced its master. Malachar has learned to channel void energy through the fortress itself, turning the very stones into weapons."
"How do I fight something like that?"
"You don't fight it directly. You turn its strength against itself." The Guardian reached into his robes and withdrew something that made Thane's breath catch—a Runeguard battle-charm, one of the blessed silver discs that only the Order's weapon-masters carried.
"That belongs to Master Korvan," Thane said, recognizing the intricate knotwork pattern etched into the metal. Korvan had been the Order's greatest artificer, capable of creating enchantments that could reshape reality itself.
"He passed this way weeks ago, before the fortress was complete. He left this for whoever came after, along with instructions." The Guardian held out the charm, and Thane took it with reverent care. The moment his fingers touched the silver, words appeared in his mind—Korvan's final message, preserved in the metal itself.
The gateway draws its power from the fortress foundations, the message began. Destroy the foundation stones and the portal will collapse. But beware—the fortress will fight back. It is alive now, fed by void energy. Use the charm to shield yourself from its influence, but know that the protection is limited. You will have perhaps an hour before the void corruption overwhelms even Korvan's craftsmanship.
The ritual chamber is in the highest tower, but the foundation stones are in the deepest cellar. You must choose—stop the gateway quickly but leave the fortress intact to spawn more horrors, or destroy everything but risk being trapped in the collapse.
Choose wisely, brother. The fate of the world rests on your decision.
Thane closed his fist around the charm, feeling its warmth pulse against his palm like a heartbeat. An hour to infiltrate a fortress of nightmares, fight his way to either the tower or the cellar, and somehow accomplish what an entire Order of Runeguards had died attempting.
"Is there another way out of these caves?" he asked the Guardian. "One that leads directly to the fortress?"
"Yes. But it emerges in the fortress dungeons, where Malachar keeps his most dangerous prisoners. You would face immediate battle."
"Better than trying to climb the walls in daylight." Thane hefted his pack and checked his weapons one more time. The sword's runes were still depleted, but he had a few explosive charges left and his armor's protection enchantments were holding steady.
"Before you go," the Guardian said, raising one weathered hand. "Know that you do not walk alone. The spirits of your fallen brothers travel with you, and their strength adds to your own. Feel for them in your darkest moment, and they will not abandon you."
As if summoned by his words, Thane felt a familiar presence settle over his shoulders like an invisible cloak. Captain Aldrich's steady determination, Sergeant Korven's unshakeable loyalty, Marcus's fierce courage—they were there, not as accusations but as support.
"Thank you," Thane said quietly, but when he looked up, the Guardian was gone. Only empty cave walls remained, and a narrow passage leading deeper into the mountain's heart.
Thane activated the battle-charm, feeling Korvan's protective magic spread over him like armor made of light. Then he stepped into the passage, walking toward whatever horrors awaited in the fortress above.
Behind him, words appeared one last time on the cave walls:
May the light of courage guide you through the darkness ahead.
May the strength of the fallen give power to your blade.
May the hope of the living give purpose to your sacrifice.
The blessing of the old gods, written in letters of silver fire that burned bright in the darkness for just a moment before fading forever.