Nineteenth Entry

The vastness of the mine stretched endlessly before us—an expanse of shadow and stone, echoing with the hum of distant creatures and the ever-present crash of waves. We had only traversed a fraction of it and already it felt like we had wandered for half a day.

We clung to the left wall as we pressed forward, winding our way into a new cavern, wide and dim and shrouded in stale air. Ragar wordlessly volunteered herself into the open like it would cost her nothing.

The others muttered whispers from the back of the group, revealing their divided opinions over her intentions. Was she leading for first pickings on another treasure? To atone for the hurt she had caused us? Just tired of walking in formation with people who barely looked at her?

Whatever the reason, no one’s opinion would sway them from their own. Jack still held on to his fervent disdain for her like an unsheathed blade. Raph’æl would still invoke Pass Without A Trace—extending its sanctuary to all of us, even her. And Super would keep his personal thoughts private while making his idiosyncrasies everyone’s business.

Further down the passage, I found a closed door. Curious, I pressed an eye to the keyhole. Darkness. And something else. Something too close. It felt… wet. Breathing.

I turned away from it slowly. “Ragar. Please lock this.”

She didn’t argue. She just did it.

As I stepped back, I thought I heard Jack whisper, “How can she even see through that flat mask?”

Raph’æl hushed him. “Focus.”

If only he knew… that I often wondered the same thing.

Fate. Destiny.

No. Shut up.

Keep moving. No assumptions.

We came to an intersection, then turned south. Another intersection. Each turn more uncertain than the last. Too many dragging minutes, thick with indecision. Another booming sound tremor. Another dead end. It began to feel like we were crawling through the veins of something ancient and indifferent. And it would never let us out.

But as we turned to retrace our steps, Sildar’s footfalls slammed down in a sudden panic. I spun around and saw him held rigid by an oozing, amorphous thing— bile yellow and nearly rivaling Jack in height. No one moved. Everyone seemed to have frozen in either awe or horror. Even I was motionless for a breath too long.

But then I heard it.

That voice of molten gold that always seemed to reveal itself in the moments I needed the most, just barely audible in the cavity behind my ribs. It began to whisper an arcane blueprint. A malleable key to the door between realms. Quick, concise, natural. No components, just intent.

I had no reason to distrust it.

I strode quickly towards Sildar as I pulled and wove this “key” into existence with an unnatural ease. As if it was a spell I’ve cast a hundred times before..

“Don’t fight it,” I told him as I tightened the arcane threads between us.

He gave me the smallest nod.

The words formed in my mouth like a reflex, spilling out in my mother tongue of Undercommon.

“Vortex Warp.”

In an instant, he vanished from sight. His energy lurched through the weave like a breath through a lung. I felt him land safely in the place I’d designated safe—right next to Jack—as if I had cradled him and set him down with arcane hands.

He was safe.

The ooze wasn’t.

Super descended upon the grotesque thing like a thunderclap. Blow after blow, fast as raindrops. He found its center, if such a thing could be said to exist. It dissolved into a slick mess, steaming and dead.

No one asked what I had just done.

They just urged us forward to escape from whatever else could possibly drip down in front of us. But not before Super asked us to please help him bottle up the creature’s core to use for cooking or brine later. Gross.

As we moved away, I clasped my hands together to stop them from trembling.

I could hardly believe it. Vortex Warp.

I shifted space itself. I was going as far as toying with the pockets in between planes… and no one acted any different around me.

So… this should be standard magic… right?

My thoughts wandered toward what might come next. Could I perform this upon myself?

For you, the key is different, the voice of magic whispered inside me. But you are capable. Capable of more than you’re ready to understand.

I’m not sure I really liked what that implied.

I wasn’t paying attention.

The auditory tremors jolted me back to reality. The roar swallowed everything else, including the cries of my companions. By the time the sound ebbed, the others were already in motion, blades drawn, spells flying. Two ghouls, lunging out of the dark. It had caught us flat-footed again.

You can’t afford to be this careless, I scolded myself, springing to heal an equally rattled Sildar. A shallow victory followed. We dispatched the undead quickly—too quickly for the kind of panic it stirred in my chest.

We couldn’t keep letting the cave decide when we were ready.

When the air calmed, Ragar was already off investigating the room like nothing had happened. A pair of polished brass braziers caught her eye and she immediately pocketed them.

Rogue doing rogue things.

I turned to the dead—dwarven corpses, long decayed. Every corpse throughout the cave seemed to have perished around the same time. Like a massacre had swept through in a single breath.

The bodies led toward another mound—larger, an unsightly barricade of limbs and armor that obscured our view further down. I could have approached and used my darkvision to see what lay beyond, but… my sight wasn’t the only one that mattered anymore.

Instead, I lifted fire from Jack’s torch with Control Flames, coaxing it past the corpses to light the space beyond. I was careful not to set the mound ablaze. I didn’t want to take any chances anymore. Just needed a beacon.

The wave came again. It was louder than before, enough to deafen my perception. But it did not stall Raph’æl’s elven ears.

“I heard something,” he muttered, raising his arm as if to deter us from further advance.

“Yah, we’ve been hearing something, every two minutes,” Ragar said, walking past him.

“No, I mean—”

“Fanesca, move your fire up there, will ya?” she interrupted, tossing a femur wrapped in tattered cloth into the air like it was nothing more than kindling.

Something about her tone made me listen. Despite our differences, despite everything… she hadn’t steered me wrong during a mission.

I ignited the morbid projectile midair, letting the fire blossom along its length. The flame sailed, casting flickering light across a towering structure that emerged from the dark: a massive blast furnace, half-built into the natural pillars of the cavern, as if grown from the stone itself. Dwarven craftsmanship, unmistakable in its angles and strength. It hadn’t burned in years. Rust clung to the bellows like moss, and a waterwheel sat still beside a long-dry canal.

And in the furthest corner of the forge…

A green flame floated silently in place—held aloft by nothing, its heart a skull grinning in the gloom.

My breath caught.

The moment the torch landed, the skull stirred.

Ragar and I darted back toward the others without a word.

She was the one to explain. Or try to.

“Okay, so, past the corpses there’s this big, like, chimney thing with machines and tools and—”

“A dwarven forge,” I offered softly.

“Right. And there’s a floating green fire-skull guy just kinda gliding around—”

“A flameskull?” Raph’æl paled. I watched his hand tighten around the sleeve of his robe. “They don’t stay dead. They regenerate—and if it saw us, it’s going to tell someone. Probably its creator. They’re guardians. Wizards make them to patrol near their valuables.”

I could have sworn that I saw a glimmer in Ragar’s eye at the mention of valuables.

It took effort not to sigh.

My voice was quieter than I intended when I offered a plan. “Jack and Sildar could stay behind the furnace—near the back, where it’s dark. The rest of us could try to sneak around. Maybe it’s guarding something important. The Rockseeker brothers, even.”

I didn’t mean to imply that Jack and Sildar were… burdens. But their armor, their gear—it didn’t exactly whisper.

I turned toward Raph’æl, already wincing inwardly, and asked, “Would you… please cast Pass Without a Trace again? I’m sorry to ask. I know your magic—”

He raised his hand before I could finish, then clasping them back in clerical supplication for the divine. I sighed as I welcomed the comfort of his holy magic’s canopy. I knew it was of his heart to aid us, but it still felt so wrong to request anything of him. It was bad enough that he still didn’t feel worthy of casting in Ilmater’s name.

“I’m willing,” he gently insisted. “I’m just… personally not liberal with my magic usage. But you don’t need to apologize.”

“I-I just don’t want to assume—”

“You’re not assuming. I want to help.”

He acknowledged me. Smiled.

I wish he knew I smiled back.

But maybe… maybe it’s better that he doesn’t know.

I wouldn’t know how to explain the flush that rises every time he looks at me like that—like I matter more than the mission, even for a breath.

Like he somehow sees me through this shield.

And if he kept looking long enough, I think I might start to believe it.

I can’t do that.

Not when everything could end between all of us after this mission.

Shh.

Focus. Focus.

We fell into formation. Ragar at the lead. Raph’æl beside Super, maintaining the veil of stealth like a protective net. I trailed behind them all. We hugged the cavern’s wall, past the forge, far behind the flameskull—its flickering gaze turned away—to find a stone door. It was scorched and blackened in it’s center like it had staved away a fireball.

Ragar examined it. Unlocked.

She peered in.

And then bolted back.

“Bugbears.” The word burst from her lips, half-whispered, half-delighted. “About five, maybe six. Just sitting around in there.”

Wide-eyed, Raph’æl stepped forward. “Wait here. I’ll bring the others.”

As he disappeared into the dark, my thoughts spun.

“Bugbears,” I muttered to myself, confused. They weren’t part of the Spider Alliance’s implied agents. We’d only seen evidence of drow, humans, and… some otherworldly things. What if these bugbears weren’t hostile? What if they were just… surviving? Were they prisoners once? Or just clever opportunists? And if the scorch marks on the door were anything to go by, would they have been running from the flameskull?

Maybe they were squatters. Maybe refugees from the forge, trying to stay out of the enemy’s path. Maybe…

So many maybes.

When the rest of the party returned and was briefed, I turned to Ragar again.

“Ragar, I think… w-would you be willing to approach them?” I asked, tentative but sincere. “They might be receptive to a sister figure. We can stay by the door and… make sure you’re okay. Support you from here.” I turned to the others. “Right, all?”

Jack rolled his eyes, but didn’t object. Everyone else nodded.

Ragar met my eyes, surprised. Thankful.

A ghost of a smile upon her face.

Then, as we hung back, she stepped forward and knocked on the door. She then opened it like her name was carved in the stone above it. No second glance. She simple walked inside and vanished from view, the heavy door slamming behind her, marking the decisiveness of our choice.

A fresh wave echoed through the cave, and its tremors camouflaged the sound of my hurried footsteps as I darted toward the door, pressing my face to the keyhole.

From the narrow sliver of sight I had, I could see her standing confidently. The bugbears inside were already shifting. At least a few had risen. Tension rippled through the room like the aftermath of a thunderclap.

My stomach coiled.

Far too late did I start questioning whether this had been a mistake.

Yes, she had once turned an entire goblin war camp against its king—after five full days of scheming. Yes, she’s technically one of us. But this is still the same bugbear who sometimes speaks in half-grunts and unfinished threats. The same one who barely trusts herself enough to speak plainly to us, let alone strangers. The same one who forms alliances behind closed doors and expects us to understand why later.

And yet… gods help me… she really was our best chance.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I felt him beside me.

Raph’æl approached without a word, the subtle shuffle of his robes the only sign of his presence. I didn’t look away from the keyhole, but my heart lurched all the same—caught between the stress of what was unfolding in front of me and the quiet gravity of him standing so near.

His voice came low. Unsettled. “What’s happening?”

I kept my eyes forward. “She’s inside. Standing her ground. A few of them rose when she entered. No weapons drawn… yet.”

I felt the brush of his concern before I heard it in his voice. “Did she speak?”

“Not that I can tell,” I whispered. “But they haven’t rushed her. That’s something.”

He didn’t reply right away. I could sense him glancing toward the stone door, calculating. Preparing. There was always a stillness to him in moments like this—like he was listening to more than just what was spoken. Like he could hear the shape of the danger before it revealed itself. In past analysis, I would have wondered if this was a clerical thing or an elven thing. Maybe it’s just a… him thing.

I forced myself to exhale, slowly, caught up in my previous chest knot. “I know it was a gamble. But it felt… right.”

There was a pause—long enough to make me doubt what I’d just said.

Then, quietly: “I trust your instincts.”

I turned, just enough to see him from the corner of my eye.

His gaze was still fixed ahead, but his words had been for me alone.

And I couldn’t help it—the hearth-like warmth that rose unbidden again, a familiar and unwelcome flush. My hands, hidden at my sides, curled just slightly.

I didn’t deserve this faith.

I remained at the keyhole, breath shallow, eyes fixed on Ragar, trying to read the shifting lines of dialogue between her and the bugbears. They weren’t loud. No weapons either. All good signs.

But something— …something was wrong.

A thread inside me tugged sharply, as if my body knew what my ears had not yet caught.

And then I turned.

Behind me—Jack, Super, Raph’æl, and Sildar were already mid-battle. Steel flashing. Movements sharp and silent. I didn’t hear a single sound. Not the clash of weapons, not the bark of commands, not even Super’s usual grunts of effort.

Just nothing.

It was a terrifying kind of quiet—the kind that made the world feel unreal.

I sprinted toward them, wondering at every step if I had slipped into some sort of dream, only realizing I had crossed a magical barrier when the cave’s ambiance disappeared mid-stride. One step I could hear my breath—then nothing. Not even my footsteps.

And then I understood: Silence.

Raph’æl must have cast it—cutting off all sound to prevent reinforcements from being alerted. A spell of mercy and strategy. But to me, it was disorienting. Isolating. I hadn’t even noticed the moment it bloomed around them. I had been at the door.

Their fight was well underway.

I could see that my comrades were holding back. Pulling punches. Going for injuries, not deaths. Subduing, not slaughtering. And it made sense—if the bugbears weren’t part of the Spider Alliance’s forces, then maybe they were just protecting territory. Maybe they didn’t deserve to die.

But good intentions don’t protect you from bad angles.

I saw Super go down—a greatclub catching him square across the chest and sending him sprawling.

Instinct took over.

I ran toward him, hand already reaching for healing magic I didn’t have time to shape. I barely noticed the blur of motion beside me until it pierced through.

A javelin. Straight through the side of my chest. Between the ribs. Out the back.

The pain didn’t even register before my knees buckled.

I hit the ground without a sound. Only sensation.

The smell of the cave—damp stone, rusted blood, something rotting far away.

The taste of copper flooding my mouth.

No voices. No shouting. Just silence.

And the faint flicker of a thought: When was the last time I healed myself?

Then…

Then nothing.

No sense of how much time passed—just a dim awareness that I was slipping farther and farther from the edge of something I couldn’t return from. And then—

Tepidity.

A new scent.

Raph’æl’s goodberry tea—the potent, spiced version he brews when he’s worried. I’d recognize that scent anywhere. It spilled over my neck and its deity-blessed properties soaked through me, filling my lungs like breath itself. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know it was him. He had brought me back.

My lovely fool.

When I did come to, my vision was clouded. Obscured by smoke.

I panicked, and instinctively cast a gust of wind to clear it—only to realize too late it had been a smokescreen. Cover. Protection. Meant for us.

I had exposed us.

And the first thing I saw through the dispersing haze was a bugbear, mid-swing, charging toward me and Super, both of us still prone on the ground.

And then Raph’æl—

He moved without hesitation, stepping in front of us, shield raised, cloak flaring. This loving dolt! No! My body screamed to move, to act, but I was still regaining my limbs—useless beneath me.

And that’s when Jack appeared.

A blur of bright, ochre scales and steady resolve. He grabbed the bugbear by the scruff, slammed him against the stone, unholstered his “rifle staff” in a single practiced movement, and aimed.

I saw it all.

But I heard nothing.

Not the crack of the shot. Not the impact.

Only the twitch of the bugbear’s body and the sudden stillness as its head evaporated in silence.

The blood sprayed, the smoke lingered, and Jack stood over the body like a statue, rifle still warm.

I would have never known what happened… if I hadn’t seen it.

In the aftermath, we gathered ourselves slowly—gingerly checking wounds, confirming movement, counting heads.

The Silence spell finally dropped, and with it came the strange, almost cruel return of sound: the drip of water, the crunch of gravel beneath boots, Super’s quiet hum as he brushed grime and who-know-what else off his tunic. It was too loud and too normal, as if nothing had happened. As if we hadn’t just bled and almost died in total silence.

“Whew! Well, wasn’t that something,” Jack exhaled with great exaggeration, almost seeming desperate for levity. I’ve been there.

Sildar eyed him strangely, but said nothing of it. Just wordlessly began to separate the bugbear corpses from the unconscious ones.

I turned to Raph’æl, ready to ask what we should do with the bodies. I never got the words out.

He knelt—without ceremony or hesitation—and wrapped one arm around me, the other around Super. A quiet embrace. Protective. Grounding. Like a rope thrown into a storm.

It stunned me. Not because of what he did… but how natural it felt.

My breath caught in my throat. For one blinding second, I could feel every inch of where his arm touched me, could feel the memory of the warmth still lingering from the goodberry tea.

I almost—gods help me, I almost melted into it.

He only pulled away when his hand brushed against Super’s skin and the sting of poison snapped him back. Super just shrugged and wandered off like nothing had happened.

And I…

I had to sit in it. In the echo of that closeness.

I wanted—needed—to reach out. To fold myself back into his arms like a ribbon pulled loose.

But I didn’t.

It’s not the time.

And I’m not a damn child.

Still… his hugs are intoxicatingly wonderful. The kind that feel undeserved. Dangerous.

I turned to cleaning. It gave me something to do with my trembling limbs.

With Prestidigitation, I swept blood and bits of brain matter from the walls, scrubbing away the last visible proof of what had happened. Ragar could be arriving with new allies any moment now. We didn’t need any sort of confusion or alert on their part.

That’s when I noticed it.

One of the bugbear corpses looked… different.

Unarmed.

But the body was shriveled, like something had clawed the life from inside it. Its skin clung tightly to its bones, black veins creeping like ink across its chest. The unmistakable mark of necrotic magic. I froze.

None of us cast necrotic spells.

Except him.

And Raph’æl—Raph’æl who hates killing with absolution—had done this to an unarmed foe?

I looked closer.

Then I realized: this was the one who had thrown the javelin.

The one who had nearly ended me.

He’d let go of his weapon to strike me down.

And Raph’æl had seen it.

He’d seen it—and he’d made a decision.

A decision that strayed away from the intended mission.

I turned to him.

He was leaning back against the cavern wall a few feet away, gently pouring himself tea with hands that weren’t as steady as they tried to appear. His face was calm, but I could see the scaffolding of that calm being rebuilt in real time. Piece by piece. Carefully placed.

He saved me.

Again.

But this time, I could see another revealing layer unfurl from his actions.

Not just what he did. But why.

The cost of it.

The line he crossed, without hesitation, for my sake.

There’s a kind of devotion that doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t roar. It doesn’t beg to be witnessed.

It simply acts.

And I think—well… at this point, I know—I had only just begun to understand the full extent of what Raph’æl is willing to do for the people he alowed into his heart.

And what it would mean to be one of them.