Tessia Eralith
The choked dust hung thick in the narrow tunnel, stinging my eyes and coating my tongue with the bitter taste of pulverized marble. Redson's roar was a physical tremor in the confined space, raw agony given voice.
"HELP ME MOVE THESE ROCKS!" He heaved against a boulder twice his size, muscles straining like taut ropes beneath sweat-slicked skin. Veins stood out on his neck, his face a mask of desperate fury as his fingers scrabbled against the unyielding stone.
The entrance—our only link to Goldberg and Evelyn—was a jagged maw choked with tons of fallen debris. Each futile scrape of his boots, each grunt of exertion, echoed the frantic pounding of my own heart against my ribs.
"It's useless." Grey's voice cut through the chaos, cold and flat as the surrounding stone. He stood a few paces back, untouched by the swirling dust motes, his expression unreadable in the gloom. "The chamber ceiling collapsed entirely. Digging risks further instability. If we want our survival we need to advance."
Redson whirled, his eyes wild, reflecting the faint, dying luminescence of some distant crystal like trapped fire.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!?" His shout was a lash of pure, wounded rage that vibrated in my bones. "ARE YOU SUGGESTING I LEAVE BEHIND MITCH AND EVELYN!?"
"I am stating that grieving now consumes oxygen we need," Grey retorted, his tone unchanged, a brutal counterpoint to Redson's raw anguish. "Action preserves life. Inaction buries it."
Redson didn't reply with words. A guttural sound tore from him—part sob, part snarl. He slammed his fist into the unyielding rock face beside the rubble pile.
The sickening sound of knuckles meeting stone made me flinch.
He didn't cry out, just stood there for a terrible moment, his broad shoulders heaving, head bowed, blood welling darkly on his split knuckles, dripping onto the grey dust. Then, with a shuddering breath that sounded like the tearing of his soul, he turned.
"Fine." The single word was hollow, scraped raw. He didn't look back, just shouldered past Grey, deeper into the oppressive blackness of the tunnel, a mountain of grief walking on unsteady legs.
Grey's gaze, unsettlingly perceptive even in the low light, shifted to me. "Are you alright?" The question was direct, almost clinical. But for a fleeting instant, a flicker of something—concern? assessment?—seemed to cross his impassive features before vanishing like a snuffed candle.
No. The ground felt like it had fallen away beneath me, just like the chamber ceiling. Goldberg's easy grin, Evelyn's competence—gone. Crushed. I had known them barely an hour, yet their absence yawned, a chasm of sudden, meaningless loss.
"Yes... I am," I lied, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. My voice sounded thin, unconvincing even to my own ears. The princessly composure felt like a brittle shell threatening to crack under the weight of despair.
Grey gave a curt nod, his expression smoothing back into its customary impassivity. His eyes flicked to Percival, who had staggered to his feet nearby, leaning heavily against the tunnel wall, his breathing shallow and rapid.
Percival pushed himself upright, his knuckles white where he gripped his rapier's hilt. His eyes darted everywhere—the rubble, the tunnel ceiling, the darkness ahead—anywhere but meeting mine or Grey's.
"W-what are we doing," he stammered, his voice thin with residual terror, "if we don't find anything at the end of this tunnel?" The question hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken dread: If it's just more rock? More darkness? A dead end?
Grey paused at the edge of the light cast by a faint, phosphorescent vein in the rock. "We'll carve our own way out." His reply offered no reassurance, only the grim promise of relentless effort. It was a statement of fact, devoid of hope, only determination.
I turned to Percival, the most visibly shaken. His trembling wasn't just shock from the collapse; it was deeper, a fundamental vibration of fear. "Are you doing good?" I asked, pitching my voice lower, trying to sound steady despite the tremor I felt inside.
"Y-Yeah," he whispered, hugging himself. "Just… shocked." It wasn't just shock. It was the paralyzing grip of terror momentarily loosened, revealing a raw vulnerability beneath. I had mistaken his earlier fear in the chamber for battle nerves. Now, in this crushing aftermath, I saw it for what it likely was: a soul-deep anxiety, magnified a thousandfold by the catastrophe.
———
Percival, walking with his hand constantly brushing the cold, damp wall, suddenly froze. His fingers splayed wide, pressing flat against the rockface. A tremor ran through him, subtle but distinct.
"I-I feel something," he whispered, his voice thin with concentration and lingering fear. "Beyond these walls."
Redson, trudging ahead like a mountain of grief and tension, halted. His voice was a low rumble, rough with exhaustion and suppressed emotion. "You feel what?"
Percival closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in intense focus. "A chamber... A large one. Very large. Open space."
Grey, a silent shadow beside Redson, turned his head slightly. His question was directed at the veteran of our group. "Could it be the third floor?"
Redson considered, his massive shoulders shifting. "Aye," he grunted after a moment. "The Red Gorge proper. If we can reach it... there are known exits. We can reconnect with the surface." A flicker of desperate hope warred with the sorrow in his eyes. Reaching the surface meant escape, but it didn't bring Goldberg and Evelyn back.
Grey's gaze shifted to me. "Aria." He used the alias automatically, a necessary shield. "Can your magic carve a path?" His eyes flicked to the small pouch at my hip—my adventurer's kit, holding seeds gathered from a dozen different plants.
I nodded, the motion feeling stiff. Focus, Tessia. "Where?" I asked Percival, my voice thankfully steady.
He pressed his palm firmly against a section of the wall slightly smoother than the rest. "Here. The rock is softer."
I knelt. My fingers trembled only slightly as I selected three seeds from my pouch—Rockthorn seeds, known for their aggressive, deep-penetrating roots. I pressed them into minute fissures Percival indicated. Closing my eyes, I reached deep within my core.
Grow. Pierce. Break.
The command was silent, fierce. The seeds responded instantly. Tiny cracks appeared in the stone around them. Then, with a sound like grinding teeth, thick, gnarled roots erupted, pale and powerful in the gloom. They snaked into the rock, multiplying, thickening, forcing their way along the fracture lines Percival sensed.
I guided the growth, shaping it, forcing the roots to weave a dense, living lattice that pushed outward, widening the fissure into a jagged, root-lined passage. Sweat beaded on my forehead, the strain of such precise, forceful manipulation intense when finally a crevice opened.
Redson stared at the organic tunnel, a complex expression crossing his face—awe battling deep-seated prejudice. "Never thought I'd be thankful for elven magic," he muttered, the words rough.
My head snapped up, a spark of indignation flaring despite the gravity of the situation. My glare was sharp, unyielding.
He met it, then flinched, genuine shame washing over his weathered features. "That sounded wrong. I apologize." He ran a bloodied hand over his face, the knuckles still raw from his earlier fury. "My family, House Redson... we served under House Wykes. During the war against Elenoir."
"Bad habits die hard, again I am sorry." He looked genuinely contrite, the warrior momentarily stripped bare.
The unexpected vulnerability disarmed me. "Let's just get out of here," I said, my voice softer. The roots ceased their relentless growth, holding the passage open.
Redson took a deep breath, the first soldier again. "This is it. The third floor. Where the Red Gorge gets its name."
We stepped through the root-choked passage I made into immensity. A colossal, cone-shaped ravine opened beneath us, plunging hundreds of meters into the earth. Far above, a ragged hole in the cavern ceiling revealed a sliver of twilight sky—a distant promise of freedom. The air here was thick, humid, and scorching hot, like breathing inside a forge.
Grey scanned the dizzying drop and the distant opening. "Why is the main entrance on the mountain side if this exists?"
Redson snorted, a harsh sound in the vast space. "Not everyone fancies jumping into a pit and hoping they land soft, Grey. Or can survive what lives down here." He wiped sweat from his brow. "And the heat... it's worse than upstairs. Like the mountain's heart is boiling."
Percival, who had immediately crouched and placed his palms flat on the rough, reddish stone of the ledge we stood on, went rigid. His face paled. "I-I think I know the source," he breathed, his voice barely audible. He gestured frantically for silence, his eyes wide with dawning terror.
We listened to him and crouched low, peering over the ledge into the depths of the ravine. The walls were striated with bands of deep red and rust-brown rock. Strange, hardy flora clung to crevices and ledges—twisted, leafless bushes the color of dried blood, thick vines like braided copper wire, stunted trees with bark resembling cracked, cooled lava.
An autumnal palette of fire and decay.
And nestled amidst this fiery landscape, on a vast bed of what looked like glowing embers but were likely fallen, heat-blasted leaves and feathers, laid the source of the earlier roars that had shaken the mountain.
Redson sucked in a sharp breath. "Phoenix Wyrm," he mouthed, the words soundless but carrying the weight of a death sentence. He sank lower, every muscle taut.
An S-Class mana beast. The classification alone was enough to freeze the blood. But seeing it... feeling its presence even in slumber... was a different kind of horror.
The Phoenix Wyrm was colossal, easily ten meters tall even when curled. Its body was a masterpiece of the terrifying beauty of nature, armored in overlapping plates of crimson scales that shimmered with an internal heat, like molten metal poured over living stone.
Its wings, folded against its back, were not leathery membranes but vast, magnificent expanses of fire. Feathers ablaze in hues of molten gold, searing orange, and deep, arterial red flickered and danced with contained flames, casting shifting, menacing shadows on the ravine walls.
Its head rested on powerful forelimbs, ending in a cruel, hooked beak of obsidian black. From its forehead jutted a single, jagged horn the color of sulfur, gleaming wickedly.
And the legs... Grey had explained the difference. Dragons had thick, scaled reptilian limbs. This creature, despite its draconic torso and wings, possessed four legs unmistakably avian—long and ending in vicious, scythe-like talons capable of rending stone. It was a chimera of bird and dragon, forged in elemental fire.
Percival shifted his weight subtly, muscles coiling. "I-it was that... that ate the Behemoth Ants?" he breathed, barely a whisper. His gravity magic thrummed, preparing to make himself lighter, faster and quieter.
Clever, I thought with a pang of envy. As a Conjurer, I couldn't augment myself like that. My only hope was in stillness and silence.
"Silence," Grey hissed, the command absolute. "Move. Only when necessary." His eyes, colder than the deepest ice, scanned the treacherous path ahead—a narrow, crumbling ledge winding down and around the ravine wall, skirting the wyrm's fiery nest.
"Slowly. Follow my path exactly."
We moved like ghosts, or tried to. Grey flowed with unnatural silence, every footfall placed with preternatural precision. Redson, for all his bulk, was surprisingly light on his feet, years of experience guiding him. Percival focused intensely, his earth magic subtly cushioning his steps. I moved with the grace drilled into me since childhood, every nerve screaming.
But we were adventurers, not assassins. Our gear—Redson's heavy plate, the scabbards, the pouches—betrayed us. A loose stone, dislodged by Redson's boot, clattered down the rock face. The sound was horrifically loud in the cavernous silence.
The Phoenix Wyrm stirred.
One massive, molten-gold eye, slit-pupilled like a serpent's, flickered open. It glowed with ancient, terrifying intelligence. Not the mindless hunger of the ants, but the chilling awareness of an apex predator disturbed in its lair.
The fiery plumage on its wings flared brighter, casting the entire ravine in a sudden, hellish glare. The heat intensified, becoming a physical pressure, sucking the moisture from my skin. A low, rumbling growl began deep within its chest, vibrating through the stone beneath our feet, a sound that promised annihilation.
The sleeping giant awakened.
The world erupted in fire and fury. One moment, the colossal Phoenix Wyrm was a slumbering mountain of molten scales and ember-feathers. The next, it exploded upwards. Its ascent wasn't flight; it was a volcanic eruption given form—a geyser of flames and wrath.
Crimson wings, vast tapestries woven from living flame, snapped open with a deafening sound. They blotted out the distant sky, the hole above vanishing as if swallowed. The fiery plumage didn't block the light light; instead, it became the sun, flooding the colossal ravine with a blinding, hellish glare that seared my eyes and stole my breath.
Redson's curse was a guttural rasp lost beneath the wyrm's shriek—a sound that scraped the soul. "If only Evelyn was here!" The desperate longing in his voice, the name of our crushed comrade, was a knife twist. "Get in position!" he bellowed, the command raw with the futility he surely felt.
Position? Against this? Percival's terror was a palpable force beside me. He fumbled his rapier free, the elegant blade trembling violently in his grasp.
"W-What are we supposed to do?" His voice cracked, shrill with panic. "It's S-Class! We're just… B-Rank!" His words echoed the paralyzing dread locking my own limbs. The scale was obscene. We were ants before a burning giant.
"The only certainty is that waiting guarantees death." Grey's voice cut through the chaos, chillingly calm. His black iron sword materialized, and this time, it shimmered not with fire, but with a deep, swirling blue—water mana.
The Phoenix Wyrm didn't dive; it impacted. Like a lighting sticking a poor young tree, it plummeted towards our precarious position. The air screamed in protest, compressed and superheated. Instinct screamed louder. I threw my hands forward, wind magic surging from my core—a desperate, instinctive barrier.
"SLOW!" The command tore from my lips, raw with effort. My solid orange core flared, channeling every ounce of power I possessed. But my gale was a sigh against a hurricane. It barely ruffled the beast's blazing feathers before dissipating into useless steam.
KRA-KOOM!!!
A devastating, obliterating, impact. The world around me dissolved into noise, heat, and violent motion. It wasn't just the Phoenix Wyrm hitting the ground; it was the mountain itself being punched. Stone vaporized where it struck. A shockwave of pure force and blistering heat erupted outwards, a wall of destruction.
I was weightless, then brutally grounded. The air was punched from my lungs. I heard, rather than felt, the sickening SNAP deep in my chest—a white-hot lance of agony stealing my vision for a terrifying second.
My wind magic cushioned the worst of the landing, a desperate gasp of air softening the blow, but the damage was done. Agony bloomed beneath my ribs, sharp and nauseating.
"Grey!" My scream was a ragged, pain-filled thing, lost in the roar of flames and crumbling rock. Through watering eyes, blurred by dust and tears of pain, I saw figures flung like ragdolls. Redson, a massive shape tossed aside, his armor glowing red-hot in patches. And Grey… Grey had taken the brunt, thrown back hard against the unforgiving rock face.
Get up! The command screamed inside my skull, a frantic counterpoint to the wyrm's earth-shaking bellow. Get up, Tessia! Help him! You have to help Grey! You HAVE to get home! To Mother, Father, Corvis…
The names were talismans, anchors in the maelstrom. But my body betrayed me. My legs were shaking, unresponsive. The pain in my chest was a vice, stealing strength, stealing breath. The heat was suffocating, a massive weight pressing down on me, making black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
The grim, childish realization hit me with crushing force: I'm just a girl. Barely twelve. Facing a mana beast that only the best seasoned adventurers should face.
The absurdity, the sheer unfairness of it, was almost laughable if it weren't so terrifyingly final. My vision tunneled, the blazing form of the wyrm becoming a monstrous silhouette against a darkening haze.
The deafening shriek came again, promising oblivion. As my consciousness frayed, my heavy eyelids fluttering shut against the unbearable heat and light, a final, impossible image seared itself onto my fading sight: Grey.
Not thrown aside. Not broken. Standing atop the Phoenix Wyrm's heaving, scaled back. His hair wasn't pale blonde anymore; it was pure, shocking white, streaming like a banner in the superheated updraft.
His skin… it was etched with intricate, glowing lines of gold—runes that pulsed with an ancient, terrifying power. And curving from his temples, piercing through the white hair… two twisted horns of deepest obsidian black.
Then, I lost consciousness.