Cyrdel gasped as he bolted upright. His eyes opened to a strange landscape. He knitted his eyebrows as he reoriented his skewed glasses. That's an abundance of plants in one cave. The cavernous ceiling enveloped a collection of bushes, short trees, grass, and vines that reminded Cyrdel of the terrarium he built using dyed clay when he was five. Was Ravalee still holding on to it?

He pushed himself up, dusting his coveralls of whatever dust that stuck to him on his way here. Where was he anyway? He looked around, noting the carpet of magrora clinging everywhere from rocks, trunks, and even the walls and the ceiling of the cave. Somehow, an image of his mother's wing flashed in his head. It was a treasure trove of rugs as his mother was known to fancy them.

The thought of his drove a pang of guilt and dread in Cyrdel's heart. He had to hurry. He began moving forward, passing by sempervivum bushes that reminded him too much of Percester. Details blurred from his periphery as he ran towards the exit. Wait, did he even know if there was an exit?

He shook his head and forced his legs to go faster.

You are inside Cochraim's bosom, a familiar voice rang into the cavern, stopping Cyrdel in his tracks. He stepped back, craning his neck at the ceiling. That's where the voice came from, right? Cochraim lies at the end of this cavern. The test is whether you can get to it alive.

Cyrdel wrung his hands on his coveralls, hoping the fabric would absorb the moisture pouring from his skin. "Why?" Cyrdel crossed his arms. "What could possibly kill me in there? Isn't this a safe passage?"

The voice chuckled. Should he go along? It sounded like an amused laugh and Cyrdel was anywhere but near that. Do you know why almost none seek the Dead's guidance? The voice asked.

Cyrdel knitted his eyebrows and shook his head. "Look, Mister Voice," he felt strange about talking to empty air and calling it Mister Voice. "Just tell me what to do and let's be done with it."

You dread the test, Mister Voice noted. Do you know what's waiting for you at the end?

Nira's bottoms, Mister Voice was harder to figure out than Ravalee's mood swings. "Why don't we just start?" Cyrdel rubbed his hands together before stuffing them into the pockets by the hips of his coveralls. "Where's this Cochraim?"

Start by continuing in the Path laid out in your feet, Mister Voice advised. It will become clear as you journey deeper.

As if a light from a lamp snuffing, the voice quietened. Cyrdel exhaled through his nose and kicked at a random bush. Thanks for nothing, Mister Voice.

He sighed, casting his eyes into the darkness and mess of leaves beyond. Onward, it was.

He walked for about an hour, which was an empty assumption. For all he knew, he was walking for a whole day and his people had died already. He dug the timeteller off its place in one of his pockets. He knit his eyebrows. That's weird. The gears were still working when he left Depandes.

He slapped the side as Ravalee advised him. It should work every time, her voice echoed in his head. A sigh heaved off his chest as his shoulders slumped. Gods, he missed her.

Cyrdel shook his head and peered down at his timeteller once more. He frowned. That's weird. The needle still pointed to the first quarter. Wait, was it the first or the second sphere? Just how long were they in these caves for?

A distant cawing caught his attention. Blood surged to his head as his heart worked harder to break out of his chest. His hands gravitated to the belt slung around his hips that contained most of his inventions. These were the things he made with danger in mind. Thank the gods that he had brought them along.

He looked behind him but his eyes caught nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was still. He narrowed his eyes at the darkness beyond as he dropped into the most defensive stance he could muster. All that waved at him were the silhouettes of leaves of various shapes and sizes.

Cyrdel took a deep breath. Steady. Calm. Nothing's going to come at him. He started walking again. Then, his boots hit something hard. He felt the object fly away from the impact only to land with a brittle clutter a few distances from him. What was that?

He took another step. The crunch that greeted his soles and his ears sent shivers down his spine. What...

He looked down only to have his world stop for a while before speeding up fast enough to leave him behind. His arms whirled as he stumbled out of the mess of bones scattered on the cavern's floor. Holy gods...

Cyrdel squeezed his eyes shut, braced the cavern's wall, and took a deep breath. Calm. Steady. He could do this. Where was Ravalee? He sure could use her courage now.

He edged off the wall as soon as his heart relented its race inside his chest. The bones seemed to taunt him as he sidestepped it before continuing on his way. Freaky. This was worse than Master Philine's menagerie.

Since then, whenever Cyrdel wanted to step forward, he made a show of swiping his foot left and right just to clear anything that he might step on. This became his routine for the next half an hour, which again, was an empty assumption. He slapped the timeteller's glass surface once again when he dug it out of his pocket to check.

Stupid gears and levers.

Cyrdel frowned at the infinite darkness in front of him. How long must this cavern stretch? There were no signs of exits. There's no noise of running water either. Perhaps it was still a long way to the waterfall?

His insides churned. He shouldn't have agreed with the varichria when she suggested they take this road. Not only was it insane and murderous, it surely cost more time and only endangered them. He slapped the timeteller again when the needle refused to move. Stupid, useless thing.

A caw rang from the darkness yet again. Cyrdel froze. It was not something he had heard before. That usually spelled trouble. All unfamiliar things could be bad for him at first encounter. Cyrdel reached inside his belt and pulled the first thing he could reach. In the darkness, his eyes registered that it's a trapper. He clenched his jaw and breathed lightly as his fingers did the work of fixing the springs and the calibration. He held the device above his head.

Sweat trickled from his forehead. It wasn't even that hot. Silence.

Then, footsteps. Scratching against the magrora. It was heading for him. Cyrdel closed his fist tight around the trapper. Holy Nira, please make this work.

A slim, black mass of fur sped out of the darkness. Cyrdel scrambled back and let the trapper fly. The black mass slammed into him and they went down in a mess of flailing limbs. The back of Cyrdel's head hit the ground with a thud, making dark spots dance in his vision.

What—

His senses recovered just enough to register the sticky liquid wetting the front of his tunic. Something was sitting on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Then, his eyes cleared and he registered teeth. Claws. Red, beady eyes trained at him.

A scream tore through the cave's darkness. By the gods, did that come from him. His arms flailed and one fist slammed into the thing's snout. The teeth swiped for his hand as Cyrdel stumbled away. What in Pidmena's infernal name was that?

The creature snarled, its hackles rising. Leathery wings spread from the curve of its back. Fangs as long as Cyrdel's smallest finger glinted silver even though it was dark inside the cave. It lunged.

Panic gripped Cyrdel's throat as his leg swiped for the creature's neck by pure instinct. The tip of his boots slammed into the animal's windpipe, sending it skittering a few distances back. The animal panted then it cawed into the darkness. That couldn't be good.

Cyrdel exhaled the tension away as the creature whimpered before flopping unmoving to the cavern's floor. He retrieved the trapper that he threw. It didn't spring. He frowned as he turned the device here and there, checking the mechanisms. Everything seemed fine. There was nothing wrong with it. Why didn't it work?

His eyes went to the unconscious animal. White foam dripped off the animal's mouth. He didn't even kick it that hard. Cyrdel threw his trapper again. He watched it sail into the air before bouncing off the creature's coat. Nothing that's supposed to happen happened.

Cyrdel blinked. That's weird. His inventions never malfunctioned like this.

He tried again. And again. He reached into his belt and drew another trapper. After checking the mechanism, he threw it again. The trappers didn't spring. His throat constricted as he drew a sparker, a pipedart, even a spellstorer and tested them. Nothing worked.

The realization hit him almost as hard as the creature wheezing in front of him did. He had nothing with him. At least, nothing that worked.

Cyrdel's heart hammered in his chest. This couldn't be happening. Without his inventions, he's just a lame kid. He couldn't throw a knife. He couldn't handle a sword. He certainly couldn't punch anyone without hurting himself. Ravalee once teased him that he looked like a harmless stick. Cyrdel was close to believing her this time around.

Suddenly, a deep mass of cawing resounded from the darkness. The creature in front of Cyrdel was alive and cawing back. A bitter taste filled his mouth. No, no, no. He kicked the creature in the snout. "Shut up," he rasped.

The creature turned its beady eyes at him and Cyrdel could swear the look it gave him said, You're too slow. Now, you're toast.

The shrieks drew nearer. Leather flapped. Cyrdel squinted in the darkness. He saw the number of the approaching creatures. The ground beneath Cyrdel's feet rumbled as hundreds of feet slapped it over and over. The cave's ambience almost turned red by the abundance of beady eyes that neared him.

"Oh great, glorious Nira," Cyrdel cursed.

The creatures poured in.