Ishar staggered forward, his breath ragged, his body protesting with every agonizing step. The cavern walls loomed around him, jagged and uneven, casting deep shadows that stretched like grasping hands. The dim glow of bioluminescent fungi clung to the rock, offering only the barest illumination as he pressed deeper into the unknown.

  Pain gnawed at him. His shoulder throbbed where the arrow remained lodged, a dull, burning agony that flared with each movement. His ribs screamed whenever he inhaled too sharply, and his legs wavered beneath him, barely able to support his weight. The crude club slung over his back felt heavier with each step, dragging on his already exhausted frame. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself onward, refusing to collapse.

  The ground was treacherous—loose rocks shifting beneath his boots, slick patches of moss threatening to send him sprawling. He had no choice but to slow down, every step a calculated effort to stay upright. The air here was heavier, damp with moisture that clung to his skin, thick with the scent of earth and decay. It smelled old, untouched.

  Behind him, distant but persistent, the hunters pursued.

  A sharp clatter echoed through the cavern as a loose stone tumbled down a slope. His heart pounded. He twisted around, body coiled with tension, but saw nothing in the murky depths. Just his mind playing tricks on him—unless the adventurers had sent scouts ahead.

  No. They wouldn't risk splitting up in unknown terrain. Not unless they were certain they had him cornered.

  Still, he couldn't afford to linger.

  His vision swam, exhaustion pulling at him like chains. Every inch of him ached, his wounds sapping his strength. He needed a moment, just a moment, to breathe. To assess.

  Staggering toward the nearest rock formation, he pressed his back against the cold stone, struggling to steady his shaking limbs. He exhaled slowly, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs. His fingers trembled as he reached for the arrow in his shoulder. He knew he had to remove it—leaving it in would only worsen his condition.

  With a sharp inhale, he braced himself. His hand tightened around the shaft, blood-slick fingers slipping slightly before he found his grip. One deep breath—

  Then he pulled.

  Agony ripped through him like fire. His vision flashed white, his stomach twisting violently, but he refused to scream. A strangled gasp tore from his throat as he dropped the bloodied arrow, his shoulder throbbing as fresh warmth trickled down his arm.

  He pressed his palm against the wound, breath shallow. The pain was unbearable, but it had to be done. He couldn't fight with it buried in his flesh. Now he just had to keep moving.

  Ishar pushed off the rock, forcing his body forward. The cavern sloped downward again, steeper this time. He eyed the descent warily. If he misstepped, he wouldn't just fall—he'd tumble uncontrollably, a broken mess by the time he reached the bottom.

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  But there was no other choice.

  Gritting his teeth, he pressed on. His steps were careful, deliberate. His body protested with every movement, but he swallowed the pain. He had survived worse.

  A distant echo—a boot scraping against stone. The hunters were close.

  Ishar clenched his jaw. He was running out of time.

  He steeled himself, then stepped off the ledge, surrendering to the descent.

  Ishar landed with a controlled roll, knees bending to absorb the impact. He staggered but didn’t fall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The descent had been easier than he expected—no broken bones, no twisted ankle. A small victory.

  He moved forward nimbly, every step cautious, his senses stretched thin. The cavern was eerily silent, save for the occasional drip of water echoing from unseen depths. The air was thick, damp, carrying the scent of something old and rotten. His grip tightened on the crude club slung over his back.

  Then, a sound—small, almost negligible. A faint, eerie chittering.

  Ishar froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. His gaze darted around the cavern, scanning the shadows, but nothing stirred. The silence stretched, pressing down on him like a weight.

  Instinct screamed at him.

  Slowly, he tilted his head up.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Above him, hidden in the darkness where most eyes would see nothing, countless spindly legs moved in a synchronized, nightmarish dance. A tide of Umbrarach Spiders—skittering, clicking, waiting.

  To a normal eye, the ceiling would be nothing but darkness. But to him, it was a writhing mass of skittering limbs.

  Ishar forced himself to steady his breathing, tamping down the surge of panic clawing at his chest. A single errant sound, a sharp inhale, a careless step—any of it could draw their attention.

  With measured care, he moved.

  His steps were quick but precise, avoiding loose stones and damp patches that might betray him. The weight of the club on his back threatened to slow him, but he adjusted, keeping his posture low, muscles coiled like a predator stalking through hostile territory.

  The clicking remained above. The spiders hadn’t noticed him yet.

  Yet.

  Every step felt like treading the edge of a knife. But Ishar knew—hesitation was death.

  He pressed forward.

  A single spider detached from the ceiling, descending on a thin thread just a few feet ahead. Its many eyes gleamed in the dim light, its grotesque form twitching as if sniffing the air.

  He froze, his every instinct screaming at him to stay still.

  Ishar controlled his breath, forcing himself to remain motionless. A droplet of blood slipped from his wound, falling soundlessly onto a nearly invisible strand of webbing below.

  The reaction was instant.

  The ceiling shifted. The spiders stirred, their chaotic clicking intensifying. He had mere seconds.

  Ishar moved.

  He stepped lightly, swiftly, weaving through the cavern without disturbing the webbed zones. His muscles burned, but he kept his pace controlled. The clicking above grew restless, but they hadn’t found him yet.

  A goblin corpse, wrapped in thick silk, dangled from a rock formation ahead. Its hollowed-out eyes stared at him, a grim reminder of what awaited if he failed.

  Another spider detached, landing with a soft thud just a few feet to his left. Its legs twitched, sensing vibrations in the stone.

  He barely avoided it, slipping into a narrow crevice before it could react. He pressed himself against the cold rock, forcing his breath to slow as he waited, heart pounding in his ears.

  For a long moment, the cavern was filled with nothing but the rhythmic clicking of the Umbrarach above.

  Then, ever so slowly, the sounds faded.

  Ishar exhaled silently.