When the Darkness Falls

Somewhere deep underground, in a darkness that knew neither time nor light, four figures moved through a narrow corridor. They were surrounded by absolute blackness, broken only by the uneven flicker of lanterns catching on dust and the ancient mining-stone walls.

At the front walked a man with glasses perched low on his nose, his face grim and focused. He held a map and a strange, finely vibrating compass in his hands. Its needle trembled, constantly changing direction.

Immediately behind him followed a woman. Her pale hair spilled from beneath her hood, her expression hard and determined. She never lagged—lighting the path ahead.

Behind them came the third—a tall, stocky man with a heavy blade strapped to his waist. He muttered under his breath and looked plainly annoyed.

"Hey, why am I the one dragging him at the back?" he growled, addressing those ahead.

Neither the mage nor the woman looked back. Only her cold voice replied:

"You beat him. Don't think we should be responsible now."

The man grunted, spat aside, and tugged on the rope with effort.

Sairen, his hands bound by rope, staggered but stayed upright. His lips were cracked, and he looked emaciated, yet his gaze remained clear.

"Move, leper," Rudd snarled, his eyes flashing.

Sairen said nothing. He stepped forward, obeying the jerk—only anger and hatred growing steadily in his chest.

Suddenly he noticed thin, nearly invisible tendrils of ether beginning to converge on a patch of the wall. They crept like smoke, barely touching the stone, but moving with deliberate purpose. He recognized the pattern: a stress point. He'd seen it in the mines before—inept miners who failed to notice it ended up trapped or maimed by etheric bursts.

Ahead, the mage halted abruptly. His shoulders tensed and his brow furled, as if he'd heard something alarming.

"What's wrong?" the woman beside him asked.

The mage glanced at his compass and shook his head.

"It's malfunctioning. The needle can't tell north from south. Something's warping the fields here."

Rudd snorted loudly upon hearing the exchange.

"So what now? Turn back like rats in a maze?"

The mage didn't flinch at his tone. He continued calmly:

"Let's take a short break. We'll continue in twenty minutes. Ayra, better secure this spot. I'll draw a barrier, and you check the walls for traps."

The hooded woman—Ayra—nodded wordlessly and began slowly to sweep the area, her hand tracing the stone. Her eyes sought the slightest irregularity, and her etheric dagger trembled softly in her grip, signaling danger.

Rudd shoved Sairen forward, planning to drag him closer to the group, but then suddenly stopped. Without warning, he drew the heavy dagger from his belt—ether crackling across its blade as he channeled power into it. The blade plunged into the ground beside Sairen with a dull thunk, burying itself almost to the hilt.

"Are you insane?!" Ayra snapped, stepping forward with clear reproach. "Why amplify without warning?! What if that triggered a trap?"

Rudd glared irritably, securing the rope binding Sairen to the dagger's hilt.

"Didn't trigger anything—did it?" he grunted. "Besides, dragging him along is suicide. He'll ruin the barrier, and we're all done for."

Ayra refused to back down:

"That's no excuse. Warn us ahead of time—we're not out in a field. Every step here could be your last."

"Cck. Next time. Back off," Rudd snarled and turned away.

Ayra threw him an angry look, said nothing more, and went back to inspecting the walls.

Rudd moved toward the mage, leaving Sairen alone. He made no attempt to resist—he understood by now these were not ordinary people. Ether use, barriers, enhancements—most could not do such things.

But Sairen had a different focus. He glanced once more at the spot on the wall where the ether continued to pool. Fine filaments converged into a single, pulsing vein.

Sairen's silvery eyes glittered in the gloom. He watched each of the three in his field of view: the mage concentrated, drawing intricate patterns in the air to form a protective dome; Rudd sat beside him, ripping into a dried ration that made Sairen's stomach ache from hunger; Ayra inched toward the danger zone, her ether blade tracing nearly invisible furrows along the stone. She edged ever closer.

Sairen sat by the dagger in the ground like a prisoner held at a spike. He made no sudden move, simply waited.

Once he was sure none were watching, he leaned low and carefully pressed the rope against the exposed ritual edge of the blade. The fibers scraped tight, and he did not hurry. The blade's rim shaved them as he worked methodically.

Then—snapped. The rope parted almost silently. Sairen held his breath. As he lifted a hand to rub at his wrists, he felt his own flesh—his arms—again for the first time in ages.

At that moment, a sudden hum filled the air, followed by a bright flash to the side that drew everyone's attention.

Ayra, probing the wall with her dagger, hadn't reacted in time. All she could do was shroud herself in ether, shielding against the blast. The wave of raw subterranean energy erupted from the rock, throwing her several meters like a ragdoll. Her body shimmered with silver—her enhancement saved her. She wasn't harmed, but the force slammed her against the opposite wall.

"What the—" The mage snapped his head up. The barrier spell faltered.

Rudd was already rising, hand tightening on the knife's hilt.

Sairen didn't wait for their attention. He dove away—still semi-crouched—and fled. The darkness swallowed him whole. The stone corridors of the catacombs unfolded into a silent labyrinth.

Wide, winding tunnels strewn with fallen rock and dust disoriented him. In that pitch-black gloom, most would hesitate to run, but thanks to his vision, Sairen sprinted forward without stumbling. He felt the airflow directing him, and saw faint ethereal wisps rising toward the surface.

Cries echoed behind him, but distance grew fast.

After several turns, Sairen finally stopped. He braced his shoulder against the wall, chest heaving, fingers digging into stone. His pulse pounded in his temples, his lungs seized—but he had escaped his pursuers.

Some time later, Sairen rose to his feet and resumed his path through the winding corridors. The strangest thing was the density of ether around him—a swirling tension in the air. In some passages, the ether was so concentrated that approaching felt dangerous. These charged pockets threatened to erupt any moment.

He wound his way around them, turning corners and avoiding danger. Hours seemed to pass as he trudged in darkness.

His strength nearly spent, his body refusing to obey, he finally spotted a small ledge of stone. With great effort, Sairen sat and closed his eyes. Sleep claimed him instantly—drowning him in its depths.