The mouth of the cave swallowed the daylight greedily, leaving the trio in a humid, oppressive gloom that smelled of wet stone and old decay. As they stepped deeper, the jagged walls narrowed, and the floor became slick with a substance Aiven hoped was just mud.

  "Can’t see a damn thing," Rysa muttered. She didn't reach for a torch. Instead, she raised her right hand, snapping her fingers with a sharp clack.

  Instantly, a small, vibrant flame erupted from the tip of her index finger. It wasn't a large fire, but it burned with a steady, concentrated brilliance that illuminated the immediate path with surprising clarity.

  "Nice trick," Aiven said, genuinely impressed. "I didn't realize you could use fire magic that precisely."

  Rysa shrugged, her shadow dancing against the cave wall. "Brawlers' trick. Hard to hit what you can't see, and it’s easier than carrying a piece of burning wood in your teeth. Low mana cost, high utility."

  Virelle, who had been floating silently behind Aiven, let out a sharp, aristocratic sniff. She stared at the tiny flame. To her, a "low mana cost" was an insult to the very concept of magic.

  "A flickering spark? A pathetic, orange ember that barely manages to drive away the dust?" Virelle drifted forward, her prismatic orb beginning to spin with such velocity that it let out a low, predatory whistle. "Master, please. Allow me to show you how a true scion of the arcane illuminates the darkness."

  Before Aiven could warn her to keep it low-profile, the prismatic orb ignited.

  It wasn't just a light; it was a localized supernova. A blinding, crystalline radiance erupted from the orb, filling the entire tunnel with a glare so intense it felt like the midday sun had been stuffed into a hallway. Aiven had to shield his eyes, his mechanical arm whirring in confusion as the sensors tried to adjust to the sudden solar-level input.

  "There!" Virelle declared, her voice echoing with theatrical triumph. "Behold the radiance of a thousand stars! Surely, a tiny 'finger flame' cannot hold a candle to such prowess, can it, vixen?"

  Rysa blinked, squinting through the glare, but her expression didn't change. She simply extinguished her own flame and nodded. "Actually, yeah. That’s way better. Thanks for the light, Virelle. My eyes were starting to strain anyway."

  Virelle froze. The blinding light of her orb flickered for a second, mirroring her confusion. She had expected a retort, a challenge, or at least a look of jealousy. Instead, she had been met with... sincerity.

  "I... well... yes," Virelle stammered. She adjusted her translucent sleeves with exaggerated care. "It is only natural that you would be grateful. It is a burden I carry, being so remarkably helpful."

  "It really is amazing, Virelle," Aiven added, stepping closer to her. "I don't think I've ever seen a cave look this... bright. You’re definitely making this easier."

  Virelle’s ego inflated instantly, her pout transforming into a radiant, smug smile. She practically glowed along with her orb. "Since you are so clearly lost without me, I shall lead the way. Stay close, Master. I would hate for you to trip over a rock in the presence of greatness."

  As they moved deeper, however, the light revealed things that made the initial levity vanish.

  The floor was littered with animal remains—shattered deer skulls and picked-clean wolf ribs. But as the tunnel widened into a larger chamber, the white light of the orb caught the glint of rusted buckles and tattered scraps of human clothing. The foul stench Virelle had detected earlier grew into an oily, suffocating miasma.

  From the darkness beyond the light's reach, a series of high-pitched, wet giggles echoed.

  "I have seen enough," Virelle said, her playful tone gone, replaced by a cold, sharp edge. She raised her hands, the orb pulsing with a dangerous crimson light. "Master, stand back. I can blast this entire cave into smithereens without taking another step. We can be back by moonrise."

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  "No! Wait!" Aiven grabbed her arm. "There are..human remains around. If there are kidnapped humans in here, you'll kill them too."

  Virelle’s jaw tightened, but she lowered her hands. "A tedious restriction, but I shall honor it for your sake."

  "Shh, quiet," Rysa whispered, dropping into a low crouch.

  Three shadows detached themselves from the darkness ahead. They were goblins, but their skin was a mottled, bruised purple, and their limbs were elongated and twitchy. Before the creatures could even draw breath to scream a warning, Rysa moved.

  She was a blur of red hair and bandaged fists. She didn't use a large spell; she simply wreathed her knuckles in a skin-tight layer of flame.

  Thud. Crack. Thud.

  In three precise strikes, the patrolling goblins were horizontal on the ground, their skulls meeting the stone floor before they knew a fight had started.

  "Showing off again, are we?" Virelle muttered, her arms crossed as she drifted past the unconscious bodies.

  Rysa stood up, shaking the flames from her hands and looking back with a dry, unbothered grin.

  "Thank you," Rysa said simply.

  Virelle opened her mouth to argue, but finding no insult to fire back at, she simply huffed and floated deeper into the cave, her orb shining like a spiteful sun.

  "Virelle," Aiven whispered, his eyes darting toward the shadows dancing ahead of them. "The light... you need to dim it. If we keep moving like a walking lighthouse, we'll have the entire cave descending on us before we even find the main nest."

  Virelle looked like she was about to argue for the sake of her "aesthetic," but seeing Aiven’s genuine worry, she gave a short, elegant flick of her wrist. The blinding supernova recessed into a soft, focused amber glow that barely reached ten feet ahead of them.

  "Better, Master?" she asked with a subtle pout.

  "Much," Aiven breathed.

  They crept deeper into the winding tunnels until the low, wet giggling grew into a chorus of screeching laughter. Rounding a jagged stone pillar, they arrived at a larger cavern. In the center, five goblins—their purple-mottled skin glistening in the dim light—were dancing around two terrified women huddled against the cave wall.

  Aiven felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. “The village chief, Bran, had mentioned goblins pranking the village, but he hadn’t said a word about missing women.”

  Rysa recalled Bran’s words before adding, “Perhaps they are from neighboring villages.”

  "Wait a moment," Virelle whispered, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the women. "The village chief’s name was Bran… And that fellow in Greenhollow... his name was Bram. Are all humans of this rank part of some unoriginal naming convention, or are they perhaps lost twins?"

  Aiven let out a long, weary sigh. "Virelle, please. Save the genealogy jokes for when people aren't being tormented by monsters."

  "I was merely pointing out a lack of linguistic variety," she huffed.

  Rysa dropped into a combat stance, her green eyes calculating the distance. "Five of 'em," she whispered. "I can jump in and have them on the ground before they can blink. Want me to go?"

  "I'm coming too," Aiven said, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I can't just sit back and watch."

  Virelle drifted forward, her orb pulsing with a violent crimson light. "Why bother with the exercise? I can eliminate them in one fell swoop. A localized gravity well would fold them into something the size of a marble."

  "Collateral damage, Virelle," Aiven warned, looking at the women who were barely five feet away from the goblins. "The cave is too narrow. If your spell misses even slightly, or if the ceiling collapses..."

  Virelle rolled her eyes but lowered her hands. "Fine. A duller solution it is."

  Aiven reached toward his hip for the comfort of a hilt, but his hand closed on empty air. He froze, the memory of his sword shattering against the Four-Armed Kobold flashing through his mind. He didn't have a weapon. He didn't even have a dagger.

  Then, he felt the steady, warm hum against his left shoulder. He looked down at the Armvil Mark 3. The brass plating gleamed softly in the amber light, and the mana stone at its center pulsed with a rhythmic, white glow. Miracles, Marnie had said. Testing, Marnie had demanded.

  "On the count of three," Rysa whispered, her fists beginning to glow with a skin-tight layer of orange heat. "I'll draw the attention of the three on the left. Aiven, you take the two on the right. Stick to my back."

  Aiven nodded, his mechanical fingers making a sharp whir-click as he clenched his fist. "Virelle, stay alert. Cover us if anything goes wrong, but absolutely no explosive spells. Keep those women safe at all costs."

  Virelle dipped her head in a rare, serious bow. "Your will, Master. I shall be the shield that ensures your success."

  "One," Rysa counted.

  Aiven willed his mana into his left arm. He felt the silver-etched crystal pathways beneath the brass skin begin to vibrate.

  "Two."

  The white light of the mana stone brightened, illuminating the cavern floor.

  "Three!"