Through the Back Door
The mine did not rush to fill the space the fighting had left behind.
Bone lay where it had fallen, settling back into arrangement without purpose now that the will holding it had gone. The chamber felt wider for it—emptier, though nothing had been removed. Lantern light reached corners it hadn't before, revealing what had been obscured by motion and threat rather than shadow.
Xan did not move with the others.
He had already turned slightly away from the chamber's center, his attention drawn elsewhere—not by sight, but by the absence of resistance.
He crossed the room without urgency and knelt near the far wall, where fallen bone and debris lay undisturbed. His fingers brushed fragments aside with practiced care—more confirmation than search.
The scabbard lay exactly where it should have been.
Xan drew the blade once, quietly.
There was no change in the air. No answering sound. Only the faint, familiar sense of alignment settling back into place, as subtle as a breath released after being held too long.
He paused long enough to acknowledge it.
Then he slid the blade back into its scabbard and stood, the motion complete. Only then did he turn back toward the others.
Jaheira had already moved to Khalid's side, checking the cut along his arm where the blow had landed hardest. The blood had slowed, the wound closed enough to matter. Khalid flexed his fingers once, then nodded to her.
Rasaad stood a short distance away, shoulders squared, breath steadying as if counting himself back into alignment.
Imoen circled the chamber's edge, eyes sharp now that danger had resolved into stillness.
"He really liked order," she murmured, glancing at the bone arrangements. "In a very unsettling way."
Near the far wall, a small table stood half-carved from the stone itself. Two folded sheets of parchment rested atop it, weighted by a chipped stone. One bore creases from frequent handling. The other looked untouched.
I picked them up carefully.
The writing was precise. Deliberate. Instructions. Expectations. Names that pointed outward—beyond the mine. Nothing that explained why. Only how.
Set alongside the parchments—placed with the same deliberate neatness—lay a short sword in a serviceable scabbard. The leather was cracked with age but maintained, the grip worn smooth where a hand would naturally rest.
I lifted it and drew the blade partway, more habit than curiosity.
The steel caught the lantern light cleanly. No nicks. No corrosion. Better kept than the rest of his gear.
Xan glanced over.
"It carries something," he said mildly. "Very little. Enough to matter. Not enough to boast."
I slid the blade back into its scabbard and set it aside.
Only then did I turn back toward the body.
Mulahey lay where he had fallen. His shield had slipped from his grasp. The morning star lay several paces away, its head darkened with use. One hand rested awkwardly against the stone, fingers curled around nothing.
The ring caught the lantern light.
It looked unremarkable—smooth, unmarked, warm-looking despite the cold stone around it. It felt out of place.
I slid it free and held it up.
Xan's gaze lifted at once—not to the ring, but to the space around it. Stone to stone. Bone to bone. The careful order Mulahey had imposed on the chamber.
As if listening beneath the stillness.
He did not touch the ring.
Instead, he drew a slow breath and let it out as though easing himself into colder air. His eyes closed—not in ritual, but in attention.
The space clarified.
The ring's warmth thinned, its surface meaning peeling back to reveal a deliberate structure beneath—layers arranged to project presence, to suggest authority without anchoring it. A signal meant to be read.
The chamber answered differently.
Stone held its own memory. Bone its own discipline. The order here was real—but it did not settle. The currents of intent ran past him, through the room, and outward beyond it.
Xan's brow tightened.
When he opened his eyes, the spell was already finished.
"This," he said quietly, his gaze settling on the ring, "is not what it pretends to be."
A pause.
"And neither does he belong to the power that shaped this place."
No one spoke.
But the space felt different now—as though something essential had been identified, even if it had not yet been understood.
The stillness didn't break so much as loosen.
Jaheira straightened, studying Xan. She had learned when to trust that something unseen had shifted.
"We should not linger," she said.
Khalid adjusted his grip on his shield, testing its weight.
"Aye," he agreed quietly. "P-places like this remember when t-they're disturbed."
Imoen lingered near the wall, glancing once more at the bone arrangements before looking back to me.
"So—bad man, strange ring, worse friends somewhere else?"
It wasn't flippant. It was how she steadied herself—by giving shape to unease.
I folded the parchments and tucked them away. There would be time to read them properly.
Xan's attention drifted again to the chamber's edges. His head tilted slightly.
"Wait," he said.
He turned, gaze sweeping the stonework near the far wall. It settled where bone and debris had collapsed unevenly.
"There."
Jaheira followed his line of sight. After a moment, she saw it—a break in the stone, low and narrow, half-concealed behind the remains. Not a natural fissure. The edges were too deliberate.
"This wasn't made for ceremony," she said quietly. "It was made to be used."
Khalid leaned closer, squinting into the darkness beyond. A faint draft stirred the dust.
"A-and it leads somewhere."
Imoen craned her neck.
"So," she said, "our host had a back door."
Rasaad knelt beside the opening, fingertips brushing the stone once before withdrawing.
"Many hands passed through here," he said. "None lingered."
The passage beyond sloped gently upward, rough-hewn and uneven. It did not invite exploration.
It promised escape.
Jaheira looked to each of us in turn, then inclined her head toward the opening.
"This is not our enemy's beginning," she said. "It is his continuation."
She stepped forward first.
The rest of us followed, lantern light stretching ahead and pulling back behind, until Mulahey's chamber fell away into shadow.
The mine did not close after us.
It simply released us.