Chương 9: Throat of Stone

The group reached the choke point just as the last light began to fade from the ravine walls. The path had narrowed gradually over the last half hour, the sheer rock faces closing in like jaws. Overhead, the open sky had given way to a dense, grey murk that shimmered faintly with dungeon energy—like sunlight trying to push through thick oil. Somewhere above, birds might've once flown. Now there was only stillness.

The ravine tightened until it funneled into a shallow hollow, hemmed in on all sides by high stone and split by a natural cleft—tall, narrow, and dark.

"This is it," Halric said, dismounting.

"The throat. If anything's going to come through, it'll be here." The soldiers moved quickly. A few broke off to scout higher ground while the rest began setting up lanterns and unpacking gear. A rough perimeter was drawn—pikes and rope line at the edge of the crevice, a fire pit scraped out near the ravine wall. Tessa stood near the cart, arms folded, eyes drifting toward the entrance to the crevice. It looked like a gash in the world.

Not a tunnel yet, but it wanted to be—stone sloping inward, just wide enough for two to walk side by side if they didn't mind their shoulders brushing. Larry shifted beside her, feathers ruffling. He didn't like it either.

"Rest for now," one of the soldiers told her with a nod.

"We'll keep watch." Tessa gave a quiet thanks and returned to the cart, watching as Rellen moved through the camp. He stopped near the crevice, staring into the dark like he was listening to something. Then he turned and walked back toward her.

"Not a bad place to camp," he said, sitting on the edge of the wagon with an ease she found vaguely unfair.

"If you ignore the part where it looks like a throat."

"Comforting imagery," she muttered. He chuckled.

"It's the shape. Narrow entry, wide basin. Old water-carved pass, probably. But that entrance…" He tilted his head slightly.

"It's new. You can see the break lines. This wasn't open last season."

"Think it has something to do with the dungeon?" He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached down, picked up a loose stone from near the wagon wheel, and tossed it gently toward the crevice. It skittered across the ground, bounced once, twice—then disappeared into the dark without a sound.

"Could be," he said finally.

"Or it could be the dungeon's reshaping something old. Either way, it leads somewhere." Tessa swallowed.

"They're going in, aren't they?"

"Not tonight. Not yet. But they will." She shivered slightly and leaned into Larry's side. He made a low, almost purring noise—calm but alert. His eyes stayed fixed on the crevice. Around them, camp settled into its strange rhythm. Lanterns were placed in a wide semicircle around the basin, casting a dull amber glow against the darkened stone. Soldiers moved like silhouettes—quiet, controlled, efficient. Watches were assigned. Bedrolls were unrolled. Rations passed hand to hand. No one spoke too loudly.

Even the fire burned soft and low, like it knew better. Rellen left and returned a few minutes later, carrying a bedroll and a small leather satchel. He laid both out near the cart, a respectful distance from Tessa but still within the wagon's protective shadow.

"I figured I'd camp close," he said, voice calm.

"Keep your mount from spooking. Or at least keep him from stepping on me." Larry eyes flickered to him, but didn't react otherwise. Tessa gave a half-smile.

"He only steps on people by accident. Mostly." Rellen eased down beside his bedroll, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees.

"Have you been in a dungeon before?" Tessa hesitated.

"No," she admitted.

"First time." He nodded, unsurprised.

"You're doing well, considering." She shrugged, not sure what to say.

"Not really a choice, is it?"

"No," Rellen agreed, "but some people panic when faced with something like that." Tessa let that sit for a moment. The air had grown heavier again. Not colder, but close—like it carried weight now. She didn't like how her thoughts felt slower out here, like they were being dragged down with the fog that curled at the edges of the ravine floor.

"Has anything caught your attention about this dungeon?" Rellen asked suddenly, his tone light.

"Anything peculiar?" Tessa blinked, caught off guard by the question. She looked toward the crevice. The shadows inside had begun to look wrong—longer than they should be, bending at angles that didn't make sense. She frowned.

"I mean… is it the name?" she asked, finally.

"When I got the message, I couldn't read it. It was just… blanked out.."

"Correct," Rellen said softly, eyes still on the crevice.

"It has no registered name in the system."

"Is that normal?"

"No," he said.

"I have not seen anything like it. It's not just unnamed. It's unreadable."

"So it's new?"

"Not necessarily," he said.

"New dungeons usually come with a name. Mana spikes. Wild monster patterns. This one feels... different." Tessa felt a prickle at the back of her neck. Rellen glanced at her, and for the first time, there was something just a shade more serious in his expression. A sudden snap of gravel broke the quiet. Every soldier stilled. Hands went to weapons. Larry lifted his head sharply, gaze snapping to the crevice. Tessa's breath caught in her throat. Another sound— skritch —light but grating. From inside.

"Eyes on the gap," Halric ordered, his voice low but firm. The fire dimmed slightly, as if something were pressing against the air itself. Tessa rose halfway, hand on her crossbow. Rellen didn't move. He was still watching the darkness. Listening. The soldiers stood motionless, every eye turned to the crevice. Nothing emerged. No footsteps. No growl. Just that soft, irregular skritch sound. Like claws—or stone—scraping over stone. Faint enough that it could've been imagined, but loud enough that no one moved.

Tessa's fingers tightened around her crossbow, the worn leather grip grounding her more than the weapon itself. Larry shifted closer to her, silent, his feathers bristling in a slow wave that started at his shoulders and rolled down to his tail. He didn't growl. That was worse.

"Hold positions," Halric murmured, stepping to the front with a raised hand. His other rested on the hilt of his blade.

"Light up the forward arc." A soldier stepped forward and tossed a light crystal. It bounced once, then rolled into the narrow gap—casting out a soft, pale glow as it disappeared into the dark. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then— Something moved. Tessa didn't see it directly. Just a flicker. A smear against the light. Like the afterimage of motion, not the motion itself. A shape too low to be a person. Too smooth to be an animal. Just a ripple in the shadow. Her breath caught.

Beside her, Rellen exhaled slowly.

"That's new," he said, voice barely above a whisper. Tessa turned toward him.

"You saw that?" He gave a single, short nod. From the crevice, the light crystal flickered once—twice—and then went dark. No sound followed. The soldiers didn't relax. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Fall back," Halric ordered.

"Maintain the line." Tessa stepped back with them, Larry pressed close to her hip. She couldn't stop staring at the crevice, her heart thudding too loud in her ears. She tried to shake it off, tell herself it was just dungeon weirdness—old stone echoing strange. She looked toward Rellen, who had crouched now, one hand pressed flat to the earth. His brow furrowed. A soldier near the crevice—a younger one, barely more than a recruit by the look of him—let out a sharp gasp.

He staggered backward, as if something had yanked on his chest harness. Before anyone could move, his feet left the ground. He was dragged.

"No—!" he shouted, scrambling, boots kicking up dust as he was hauled toward the gap, arms flailing. His torch clattered against the stone and went out, plunging the edge of the ravine into deeper shadow.

"Reed!" someone yelled—one of the older scouts. The scout dove forward without thinking, arm snapping out. In one smooth motion, she pulled a slim whip from her belt and cracked it—snagging the recruit's leg just as he reached the lip of the crevice. The kid screamed, flailing, half-vanishing into the dark maw as the whip went taut.

"Pull!" barked Halric. Two other soldiers grabbed the scout's belt, anchoring her as she dug her heels in, teeth bared with effort. For one horrible second, Tessa saw the soldier's upper body disappear completely—his hands scrambling at the ground, nails clawing stone—and then the tension in the whip shifted. Whatever had him let go. With a cry, he came tumbling backward, crashing into the dirt hard enough to knock the wind from him. The others rushed forward to pull him clear.

"Healer!" someone shouted. The scout recoiled her whip with fast movements, hands steady. Tessa saw the end of it—cleanly sliced off, like something had sheared it mid-pull. Halric was already kneeling beside the fallen recruit, checking for wounds.

"He's alive," he confirmed, voice clipped.

"Shallow cuts. One nasty gash along the ribs. Something grabbed him by the chest."

"Claws?" someone asked.

"No. Fingers." The word hung in the air like smoke. Tessa took an instinctive step back. Then another. Her boot scuffed a loose stone, and she flinched at the sound. Larry moved with her, ever her shadow, his head low and gaze fixed on the crevice as if daring it to try again. Her skin crawled with the memory of the whip's end—severed clean. Too clean. And the look on that soldier's face as he was pulled toward the dark. Desperate. Disbelieving. She looked down at her own hands. Still trembling.

Her grip on the crossbow felt wrong now—too tight, too stiff, like she'd forgotten how to hold it properly. She didn't want to be next.

"Not exactly a safe place to rest," Rellen said beside her, voice dry as stone dust. Tessa gave a short, humorless exhale that might've been a laugh if she hadn't still felt sick.

"Should we even be staying here?" one of the soldiers muttered. A tall woman with a scar along her temple—nervous energy in the twitch of her fingers. Halric didn't answer right away. Another soldier—lean, weathered, the kind who didn't waste words—spoke up instead.

"If that thing's what took the other scout teams, we're already better off than they were. We've seen it now."

"But we haven't fought it," the woman snapped.

"Would you rather it dragged you in instead of Reed?" That shut her up. Halric stood, brushing dust from his gloves, expression unreadable.

"We hold the position. No one approaches the crevice. No solo shifts. We pair up, rotate every two hours. If it tests us again, I want eyes on it. Lights up, weapons ready." He turned to glance across the camp. His gaze stopped on Tessa and Rellen, just for a breath.

"You both too," he added.

"Stick close. Don't wander." Tessa didn't respond. Just nodded tightly and stepped closer to Larry's flank, letting her free hand press into his side. His body was warm. Solid. Real. But even he was watching the dark like it might reach out again. Rellen crouched again near the cart, pulling something from his satchel—small mirrors, etched with words along the edges. He placed one facing the crevice, its glass catching the low firelight.

"What's that?" Tessa asked, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.

"Just some trinket," he said without looking up.

"It won't stop whatever's in there, but it might let me see if it moves." She didn't ask how that worked. Instead, she sat down beside Larry, close enough to feel his feathers brush her arm with every breath. Her back stayed to the stone, her eyes on the crevice, her thoughts churning. She'd wanted to leave at sunrise. Now she wasn't sure she'd make it to sunrise at all. She didn't sleep. She tried.

Curled beside Larry, wrapped in her cloak, head resting on her bundled pack—but every time she closed her eyes, her mind replayed the soldier being yanked across the stone, the silent flicker of movement in the dark, the snap of that whip being sliced through like thread. She kept listening. Waiting. Every rustle of cloth, every crunch of gravel set her on edge. Hours passed. Or maybe only minutes. Time felt like it was dragging its heels just to spite her. At some point, the watch changed.

Voices murmured in soft tones. Rellen hadn't moved from his place near the cart. He sat cross-legged now, eyes half-lidded, like he was dozing—though Tessa didn't buy that for a second. She stared into the dark for a while longer before forcing herself to close her eyes. Her heart was still pounding. Then she heard it. A slow, deliberate crunch of gravel from behind. From the direction they'd come. Larry rose without warning, feathers puffing, his stance low and tense.

He faced the narrow trail that wound back along the ravine—leaning forward, body still. Tessa followed his gaze and froze. There was movement. A large, hunched shape at the edge of the light. Another to the side. Both silent. Watching. Stalking.

"Contact," one of the watch called out, level-voiced.

"Rear perimeter. Confirming two—possibly three." Halric walked toward the rear line, calm and composed. He didn't shout. Didn't draw his weapon yet.

"Can you make them?"

"Velk-hounds," came the reply.

"Ambush breed. Looks like a pack." Tessa felt her pulse spike.

"Aren't they dangerous?"

"Yes," Rellen said beside her, already standing.

"But not new. Not like what's in the crevice." She looked toward the soldiers, expecting unease. There was none. Halric gave a sharp nod to two standing near the rear edge of the camp—a pair of older soldiers, one carrying a long polearm, the other drawing twin short blades from behind his back.

"Take care of it." They stepped forward without a word. The Velk-hounds didn't retreat. One came into full view now—big, furred and plated with rough bone growth along its back and forelimbs. Its eyes glowed faintly, jaw slightly parted to reveal long, mismatched teeth. It gave a throaty snarl and took a slow step forward. Tessa raised her crossbow, but Rellen gently lowered it with two fingers.

"They don't need help," he said. The two soldiers advanced—measured, synchronized. The hound charged. The polearm wielder didn't flinch. She stepped left, planting her rear foot. As the beast lunged, she swept her weapon in a tight arc—a ripple of pressure trailing behind, like heat over stone. The haft caught the hound mid-leap with a hollow crack, redirecting its weight. It landed awkwardly, claws scraping.

Before it could recover, the second soldier was already in motion—twin blades gleaming, trailing streaks of silvery light. He struck low and clean—one blade at the foreleg, the other slashing across the hound's neck. The beast snarled, twisted, lunged— The swordsman shifted, his shadow flickering, displaced a heartbeat behind him. He ducked low, stepped in, and drove both blades into the beast's chest. It collapsed mid-turn, wheezing. The second hound circled, jaws parted.

The polearm wielder turned smoothly, raised her weapon, and tapped the base against the ground—a pulse of red light burst from her boots, like dust stirred by a heartbeat. The hound faltered. Then it charged. Her spear swept up, catching it mid-stride. She pivoted, leaving a crimson arc in the air, slicing through the night. The beast staggered from a shallow flank wound. Enough. Her partner moved—his blades glowing faintly blue.

With a tight exhale, he struck once—a crosscut that left a glowing afterimage, like drawn light. The hound yelped, stumbling. It didn't fall. It reared with a snarl—then froze. A long breath passed. Its eyes flicked between them. Then, it backed away. Step by step. Hackles raised. Blood dripping. It turned and bolted down the path. The soldiers let it go. The woman lowered her polearm.

"Two down," she said.

"Third retreated. No others." Her partner cleaned his blades, the glow around his hands fading.

"Tracks came from the ridge. No den. Followed our scent."

"Won't return," she added.

"Not alone." Halric nodded once.

"Well handled." Tessa let out a slow breath she hadn't known she was holding. The glow from their skills still lingered—ghosts of motion and power fading into calm. They'd made it look easy. Tessa slowly sat back down, her arms still tight around her crossbow.

"That was…" she started, unsure what to call it.

"Efficient," Rellen supplied.

"They've done this many times before."

"You weren't worried?" He looked at her with a faint smile.

"If it had come to a full pack charge, I would've maybe startet to worry. But two hounds on a scouting pass? That's routine."

"Routine," she echoed, mostly to herself. And this wasn't even the real threat. She looked toward the crevice, now barely more than a shadow among shadows. It hadn't stirred. No sound, no movement. But that didn't make her feel better. Rellen followed her gaze.

"It's still watching," he said softly. Tessa didn't ask how he knew. She believed him.

"Velk-hounds are simple," he continued.

"Hungry, territorial, violent. But what's in there?" He gestured toward the crevice with a tilt of his chin.

"That's something else." She didn't respond. The camp had settled again—quiet conversation among the patrols, the low crackle of the fire, the metallic ring of weapons being checked and re-sheathed. And yet everything still felt... brittle. Like one wrong movement would shatter the stillness and wake something better left asleep. Rellen sat beside her again, close but not crowding. She was grateful for it.

"You handled yourself well," he said after a moment. Tessa blinked.

"I didn't do anything."

"You didn't panic and run away," he replied.

"That counts." She gave a short, tired laugh.

"I was too frozen to panic."

"That counts too." A silence settled between them again, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time. Just tired. Heavy in a quieter way. Tessa finally exhaled.

"Do things like this always happen when you travel?" Rellen tilted his head, considering.

"Not always. But often enough that I pack light and sleep lightly." That earned a faint smile from her. Then, as if summoned by the thought of rest, a yawn crept up and caught her off guard. She blinked it back, rubbing one eye with the heel of her hand.

"You should sleep," Rellen said.

"Even a few hours. The hounds won't come back. And the thing in the crevice… it's not ready. Not yet."

"Sounds comforting," she muttered. But the truth was… she was tired. Bone-tired. Larry had already curled back up at her side, a mound of feathers and muscle, his breath slow and steady. His eyes were closed, but twitched at every subtle noise—boots scuffing, the snap of a coal, the distant wind threading between the ravine walls. Tessa hesitated before lying down, crossbow still gripped loosely in one hand. She placed it within reach, the cold wood and steel a strange kind of comfort.

She leaned against Larry's warm side and let her fingers drift into his feathers, scratching the spot where he always leaned into the pressure. He did now, briefly, with a soft rumble of acknowledgment.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this," she murmured. Larry didn't answer, but the way he pressed a little closer said enough. The camp was quieter now, though not silent. The kind of quiet that came when everyone knew the next sound might be the wrong one. Soldiers murmured in low voices near the edge of the firelight. Armor shifted. A whetstone passed over a blade in slow, methodical strokes. Tessa's eyes drifted toward the crevice one last time. It sat there, unmoving, undisturbed—but it felt like a lie.

Like the calm above a frozen lake, too smooth to trust. She closed her eyes.