When the Darkness Falls

Siren found himself in an endless corridor, drowned in shadow, deeper than any dungeon.

The floor beneath his feet was submerged in dark, almost black water.

With each step, ripples spread outward — faint, yet deep, as though every motion disturbed the fabric of the dream itself.

The corridor stretched infinitely ahead, flanked by towering, polished walls — smooth and impenetrable.

Even his sight, honed to perceive ether in absolute darkness, found no anchor here — only clinging blackness, without depth or shape.

Above him, there was no ceiling.

Just void — a starless sky without moon or wind.

The air stood still, heavy and unmoving, like the breathless stillness of a tomb.

Gradually, the walls gave way to columns — identical, as if carved by the same ancient hand.

They stood like silent guardians on either side of the path.

Hanging from each was a banner — frayed, colorless with time.

The image was faded, almost lost, yet Siren made out the emblem:

a bird, fierce and sharp-eyed, with wings that blotted out the moon and talons clutching a downward-pointing arrow.

He stopped.

Something stirred in him — part reverence, part unease, and something older still… something instinctive.

He walked on, not of his own will, but as though compelled.

Time stretched and lost meaning.

The water beneath mirrored him like a second self — warped, but disturbingly alive.

Eventually, he heard it: the faint clink of chains.

Far ahead, in the unseen depths of this cursed place, something scraped and stirred, as if yearning to break free.

He stopped again and listened.

The chains returned — closer now.

Heavy. Steady.

As if something — or someone — was waking after a thousand years of silence.

Siren kept moving, though each step felt heavier than the last.

He could feel a presence — eyes, watching, pressing into him from every direction.

He turned his head.

Nothing behind him — only the columns, only the banners.

Only the birds with their faded, all-seeing eyes.

And still, he could feel them watching.

Like predators who'd waited too long and forgotten mercy.

The chains were louder now — rhythmic, cold, deliberate.

Fear gripped him — not reasoned, not logical, but old and real.

His walk turned into a hurried stride. Then into a run.

Shadows swirled at the edges of his vision. The corridor itself seemed to narrow.

The chains rang out beside him. Behind him.

His heartbeat roared in his throat.

He didn't know what hunted him, but he knew this:

if he stopped — even once — it would reach him.

He ran.

Until the sound was right behind him—

"Kha!"

Siren jolted upright, gasping for air.

He was soaked in cold sweat, heart pounding, skin crawling.

Stone walls. Dust. The rubble of collapsed tunnels.

He was back — in the underground catacombs.

And somehow, that truth brought comfort.

It had only been a dream.

But the weight of it, the sound...

That had been more than a nightmare.

"Just a dream... ha..." he muttered, wiping his face with one trembling hand.

He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing pulse.

The darkness around him closed in once more — but it felt less threatening now.

Until he saw the movement.

A man stood just a few paces in front of him — glasses low on the bridge of his nose, wand raised.

At its tip, a silver swirl of ether pulsed with quiet menace.

Behind him stood two others: Ira in her hood, arms crossed, and the broad-shouldered Rudd with his usual scowl.

They'd found him.

And they'd cornered him.

"Well now," the mage said with a crooked smile, "you're a light sleeper, aren't you? We just found you, and you woke up like you knew we were coming."

Siren rose slowly to his feet. The worst part wasn't being caught.

It was that there was nowhere left to run.

"Enough, Lanns," Ira snapped, her voice edged with disgust.

She looked at Siren like standing near him was physically offensive.

"We don't have time to waste on this cursed stray."

Lanns tilted his wand slightly, the glowing tip pulsing with cold light. His tone was almost friendly — but the mockery beneath it was sharp.

"Tell me, is it true you worked in the mines?" he asked, watching Siren intently.

"Not that I doubt your... competence as a slave," he emphasized the last word with a smirk, "but I'm curious. Your skills go far beyond luck. How did you make it this far — through total darkness, evading every trap?"

Siren felt his spine tense.

There was something in Lanns's gaze — too still, too focused. Like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

"Silent?" Lanns leaned in slightly. "If I were you, I wouldn't keep quiet."

Siren hesitated, weighing the silence — then answered flatly:

"You learn to move in the dark. When people die around you in the mines, over and over again, you... develop a sense for danger."

It was a lie.

And a practiced one.

No reason to tell them about his eyes.

Lanns raised his eyebrows, mildly impressed.

"A sixth sense, huh?" he exhaled like a bored lecturer, then turned away.

The ether on his wand flared — and suddenly, a blast shot toward Siren.

But Siren felt the ether building up.

He saw the motion, the shimmer in the air, the pull of intent.

And before thought could catch up, instinct took over.

He dodged. Fast. The silver bolt sliced past his head, slammed into the wall, and exploded in a crack of stone and dust.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Ira shouted — and a second later, her fist drove into Lanns's side.

Rudd followed suit, punching him in the gut with a low grunt.

"Idiot!" she snapped.

Lanns doubled over, gasping, bewildered by the sudden blows.

"Want to bring the whole place down on us?! How many times do I have to say it — no ether use in unstable zones!"

Rudd chuckled and glanced at Siren, who remained still, tense and alert.

"Not bad for a cursed rat," he said. "Guess the kid wasn't lying after all."

Siren's jaw tightened.

Rudd stepped forward.

"Alright, listen. You're our canary now. You feel danger, you speak up. No debate."

Siren stared at him like he was mad — then narrowed his eyes with contempt.

"Go to hell."

He didn't move.

Not yet.

He knew trying to run again wouldn't work.

Not with these three.

Rudd seemed deaf to his refusal.

"Great. We've got a deal." He tossed him a rope. "Tie that around your wrist."

Siren looked at it.

Did he even hear me?

But with Ira's blade-sharp glare and Lanns's smile still crawling across his face, resistance seemed... pointless.

He tied the rope around one wrist. The other hand stayed free. No one cared.

That alone struck him as strange.

Just like how they found him.

Too quickly. Too precisely.

He was certain they shouldn't have.

And yet — there they stood.

As if they had known exactly where he'd be.

Siren said nothing more.

He followed them, step by step, deeper into the catacombs.

Their footsteps echoed, but the sound vanished — swallowed by stone, like the jaws of something vast and ancient.