“That should be everything. It’ll last us plenty of time before the next bag of bits comes rolling around,” Dahlia says, putting the last of the produce inside of the self-made preserving bin in her kitchen. She doesn't have any electrical appliances, but her ability to make due with out them is astonishing.

"Next bag of bits? Thought you said my clothes fetched a solid price," Crimson says, scanning his eyes across the brown bags that litter the kitchen counter. He finishes getting the collar off from around his neck, letting it drop to the floor. "This's gotta be less than a week's worth of food."

"Which is plenty. Don't worry about the details, I'm good at making money."

"Who'd you even sell my clothes too?"

"Somepony who's far gone."

Crimson sighs and shakes his head, but he doesn't mull over it for long. “Overlookin' how emasculatin' it was, our trip to town wun't half bad."

"Yeah, except the part where you fucking attacked me."

"You had it comin', lettin' that stranger kiss me like that. You're lucky I didn't just... bite her face off."

Dahlia looks at him critically, acknowledging what he said was facetious but finding it very tasteless.

"Don't gimme that look, it all worked out."

“Course it did, my plans are full-proof when the human stuck to my side isn't going into a frenzy."

"You'll live it down 'ventually, Wisp." She gives him a death glare, one he presumes is for the name. "That Winty type able to call you Wisp."

"Yeah. But not you. Don't call me that."

"So I can call you by your real name but no one else can? What's up with that?"

"Don't ask. If you keep prying, I'll just lie."

"Hm, least you're honest about yer dishonesty. Speakin' of that, yer mighty good at lyin', y'know that?"

"It's one of my specialties," she buffs her chest with her hoof.

"I ain't sure that's somethin' to be proud of."

"Oh, shut it. Easy days are few and far between, and today’s not even over, it’s actually just getting started. Just don't get in the way or go out of your way to be annoying.”

“I'll do my part. What's gettin' to me is that, even with me playin' dumb, it was unnervin' how I was gettin’ looked at by you pony-folk. Guessin' humans really are dangerous.”

“Yeah, they can get pretty bad. Just like you." Crimson glances away disapprovingly at her comment. "Wild humans aren't, like, evil. They're ‘troublesome’, per se. Super territorial. They don’t go out looking for fights or anything, they live out on their own, usually in caves or whatever they can find. It's really rare to find some, though. They keep to themselves, hunt and gather, have sex, sleep, die.”

“That cycle goes for lots of things in nature."

“Humans are technically apart of nature, so yeah,” Dahlia says as she trots over to her saddlebags, picking them up off the single-cushion couch and taking them to the kitchen.

“If humans are so territorial and violent, why do y’all keep them as pets? Sounds pretty brainless to me.”

“We don’t go trapping WILD humans, dude. That would be extremely stupid. Ponies just steal or breed baby humans and raise them from birth. That’s pretty much the only way their wild side gets tamed, imprint them and acclimate them from birth. Wild humans are too unpredictable to keep as pets, even with all of the best training in Equestria,” Dahlia speaks as she places some things in her saddlebags.

“Sounds like a pain in the ass for somethin’ you don’t exactly need."

“Well, when you’re a snobby elitist with all the bits you could possibly want, you get bored. Bored ponies with lots of money do dumb things. Besides, humans are becoming more and more accessible since their breeding market has taken off. You can buy a domesticated one for nearly a fifth of what they costed a few years back.”

Crimson lets the information sink in, staring at nothing in particular.

“Alright. Time to head out for the big money,” Dahlia gets her saddlebags on, moving some of her mane out of her face. “You ready to head out?’” she speaks in a slightly mocking tone.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“The temple's two miles east, we’ll be there in under an hour.”

"Got it."

The duo make way for the door and head out, walking down from the porch and commencing the trek East, opposite from Dodge. They cross a stone pathway that spans over the river in front of Dahlia’s lodge, then they make way to the forest. It appears to Crimson that Dahlia has already cut a narrow path this way as well, recently cut branches and toppled grass give all the clues he needs.

‎

---

‎

They've walked in silence for the most of the tour. The sounds of creatures, rustling leaves, and each others’ dirt-muffled steps fill the ecosystem. Crimson admires the scenery, having come from an arid desert landscape, he finds deep appreciation for the beauty of nature.

After a thought strikes him, he glances down at Dahlia with an inquiry. "Question."

"Mm?"

“Did you really drag me two miles all the way back to yer lodge?”

“No, you just magically appeared at my doorstep. Yes, I dragged you all the way back. It was kind of annoying, you weigh like a billion tons.”

“Better than two billion."

Dahlia rolls her eyes, looking away to try to hide her amusement from him.

‎

‎

After walking for a while, Crimson halts at the sound of Dahlia's voice, snapping out of his daydreaming.

“Stop... look,” Dahlia whispers as she leans over a bush nearly her size. Crimson leans in also, looming above her. They spot something resting just outside of the entrance to the temple. “Dead griffon," she inquires. "Guess they tried to get their grubby claws on whatever it is inside that temple. Funny, that griffon would have been you if you weren’t… well… YOU.”

“Think that ‘grif-fun’ had friends?” Crimson questions as he stares at the motionless mass ahead. "Couldn't have been just one."

“Nah. Knowing them, they just hightailed it after they couldn’t figure out the door mechanism.” Dahlia drops her saddlebags behind a shady shrub and enters the faded path where Crimson had passed out before. She walks cautiously towards the heavy, golden-encrusted metal door, and Crimson follows close behind her. She stops just before it, standing next to the dead body. “That thing’s starting to stink. Could you dump it somewhere else, Crim?”

Crimson turns his face and looks at the dead creature, scanning it and taking in its very existence.

He crouches down and picks up the griffon with both arms, unbothered by the sight of death or the handling of the dead. As he holds it, he examines each little feather on its head. It's definitely still a fresh body and it doesn't smell yet, Dahlia was probably just being tactless. There might even be a small twinkle of life possibly lingering in this griffon's half-lidded eyes. ... Nah, probably not. Crimson can see the little tiny wound the dart left in the griffon's neck. He supposes it was yanked out in an attempt to save themselves... obviously, it didn't end well.

He notes that this griffon is a female, judging by its strangely prominent eyelashes. He then looks down at its hindlegs, how fur and hide protects its lower half, in contrast to feathers being plumed all over its head and neck.

He turns around with it in his arms, walking out a distance from the temple door. He comes to a halt in front of a patch of flora off the side of the path, staring at the griffon for a little longer.

He crouches down and sets the griffon down into a patch of short bushes that now act as its funeral bed. He then looks down at his left hand, where three feathers have gotten stuck to it, navy blue and white in coloration. They're kind of beautiful in their own right despite being clipped and ruined. He uses his right hand to pluck them off one by one, letting them fall slowly to the forest ground.

He stands back up and returns to Dahlia.

“Hah, this door is cake,” she says with a grin.

“That wasn’t the case for at least two of us,” Crimson muses.

“Then again, both of you aren’t as great as I am, so yeah, this super simple door was bound to turn you around.” Dahlia steps back a few paces and spreads her wings, “Get clear of the door, and I mean very clear. I'm gonna trigger it real quick."

Crimson takes some steps back, getting a fair bit of distance from himself to the door. Dahlia bolts like a bat out of hell, kicking the door handle and backing away just as fast as she approached it.

Click.

The mechanism behind the door sounds off. In the blink of an eye, a dart hits a tree to the right of Dahlia, just barely missing her. With a cocky smile, the pegasus lands promptly and walks over to the dart, gripping it with her mouth carefully and yanking it out of the tree. Once freed, she walks to the door and takes the dart into her right wing. Crimson sees her wing act as a set of phalanges, and although very uncanny, he admires the utility it serves.

Dahlia aims the dart into a small, easily missable hole that’s located just above the handle. She enters the dart into the hole and it fits perfectly inside. The liquid inside the dart injects itself into a small hole in the lock, and the door clicks. “Ta-dah! One super easy temple door opened,” she pockets the dart in her shirt, smiling proudly.

“Huh. How’d you figure that out?"

“A little thing called intuition.”

Crimson doesn’t seem very satisfied with this answer, but takes it anyway. Dahlia opens the door and swings it wide. She peers inside, with Crimson directly behind her peeking inside as well. After Dahlia's signal that it's safe, the two enter the temple. Crimson leans out and closes the door behind them, but not all the way, leaving but an inch before the door shuts.

They are met with a long, wide hallway. Sandstone arches are evenly spaced out through the length of the hall, and engravings on the walls and arches span symmetrically across the entirety. Crimson takes it all in, never before exposed to this style of architecture. The halls are lit with sky vents, letting in small rays of sunlight in evenly spaced patterns.

“Stay close and stay focused," Dahlia says. "If you die, I'm giving you your goodbyes right now."

Crimson squints at her, finding little amusement in her very cold and brute comment, but she doesn't bother to acknowledge his stare, she keeps moving forward as if she just stated the weather. Crimson returns to looking at the wall etchings and symbols, studying them and trying to decipher them with little luck.

Nearing the end of this long hall, they are met with a spacious room, perfectly square in shape. The far end of the room holds three doors with engravings etched onto them, but nothing else other than that, giving the essence of being inside a huge sandy cube.

“The classic ‘pick-a-door,’” Dahlia utters boredly. “Strange. These rooms usually have something around that gives clues. There’s nothing in here. No engravings or little doodles on the walls, just those doors right there. Mn, give me a moment to crack this,” she says, walking to the middle door first.

Crimson stays back, examining from afar. He crosses his arms and looks at the three doors before him, scrutinizing each one. The only things in this room that give any sort of clue are the doors, but they don’t serve much in the realm of answers. The rest of this room is barren clay and sandstone wall, so there can't be any hints in here.

Dahlia touches the doors, gently running her hoof along the engravings. Crimson steps back, looking out into the hallway they came through. Then, coming back into the room again, he calls out, “I’m thinkin’ it’s the middle door."

“The middle door?" Dahlia repeats incredulously. "Taking the middle path is what ponies who die do."

“Well look at the other two. Look at them symbols on the doors." Dahlia's unpersuaded front looks at the left and right doors at his request, hardly analyzing them as he wanted her to. Crimson then points to the door in the center, “Then look at the middle door. That middle door’s the only one with them symbols in a uniform pattern. Recall them arches and scribbles in the hall we just came through?”

Eureka strikes the tan pegasus as the words coming from his mouth click suddenly. “They… were all perfectly symmetrical. You’re a genius, Crim!” Dahlia’s eyes widen and she gives the man a large, probably unintentional smile.

“Yeah, I’m pretty amazing."

Like a balloon suddenly popping, Dahlia's demeanor shifts instantly. She rolls her eyes, flicking her tail dismissively as she turns and walks towards the middle door. “Yeah, yeah, beginner’s luck.”

“I’d rather use the term, ‘intuition."

“I'd rather use the term, 'annoying',” Dahlia says as she takes the middle door, pushing it open and walking in. Just as they had hoped, it isn't trapped. This middle door leads to another hall with the same structure and composition as the previous one. They walk for a few meters when they notice that the hall is now coming to a decline, down, deeper into the temple.

“You do this kinda stuff for a livin’?” Crimson asks as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Yup. Been doing it for years now.”

“Not a very safe way to make money, y’know.”

“Psh, 'not safe.' Not only are these temples foal-walks, the payout beats out what any other lame job could ever get you. Besides, you're one to talk. Didn't you say something about 'shooting shit?' Like with a gun? Killing is dangerous too."

"You're talkin' as if you haven't had to."

"I don't kill in my line of work, and I don't like to. I'm an escape artist, I make sure confrontation is few and far between... unlike you."

"You talk as if you know me. My situation was different. I wasn't puttin' myself in danger on purpose to make some quick bucks, I used my gun to defend myself from the aforementioned assholes I used to drink with, after they done back-stabbed me and tried to kill me 'n my sister. I didn't go out 'n cap people for the hell of it."

"I don't know, sounds like excuses to me."

"Believe what you want... but this implies you know what a gun is. There a place I can get one here in Equestria?"

"No, they've been outlawed because they're insanely dangerous. They're inconsistent and caused nothing but trouble. Earth ponies have to wear battle-saddles to use guns, and a lot of the time, it's less efficient than a unicorn's magic. Pegasus are completely out of the picture since the saddle restricts our wing movement, and most of us aren't strong enough to actually carry the saddle around. So, after a long and tireless debate from Canterlot officials, guns have been outlawed and no longer produced. Had you been here fifteen years ago, they were everywhere. Took nearly a decade for black markets to finally let them go, and even then, you can probably scower Equestria for a pea-shooter somewhere. Nothing like they used to have though."

“What a shame. Would like me my gun back."

"You'll manage."

Crimson finds himself backed into another wall with her in terms of conversation. Whether it's him she's trying to shut down or the conversation topic, he doesn't let it bother him, but he internally hopes this isn't how she's gonna be, especially if they're destined to work together for some amount of time. He gets jumping on her put them both on ice, but he won't step down from his ground. He ponders something else to bring up, away from the current topic. "... Well, those puzzles are pretty fun, I’ll give ya’ that. These temples have little games to play."

“Puzzles are the easiest part. The hard parts come from the--” Dahlia interrupts herself as she comes to a halt. Crimson stops as well, looking at what lies ahead. “-- trap rooms."

The hallway ends as another room lies ahead. This room is a bit larger, easily over fifty by fifty feet. There is a thin, one inch wide stone catwalk that leads from one end to the other. Crimson notices thin glistening lines all around the room, some sort of wire or webbing. He then looks down at the seemingly endless pit that surrounds the thin strip of ground.

“I don’t even want to know how far down that goes,” Dahlia mutters, “falling off that paper-thin walkway will wrap you all up in those webs there. Can’t move. Can’t fly. Only fall and die.”

“Who ever made this is mentally unsound,” Crimson says with furrowed brows, taking a step back from the edge.

“Huh, you think this is bad? Trust me, there’s much, much worse out there.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. ... I'm thinkin' I can't cross this."

“You're thinkin' is correct. Look,” Dahlia points to the webbing above the catwalk, “that’s gonna catch your head, even if you duck down. These webs were placed down to match a pony’s height. You can’t crawl either, there’s webs evenly spaced out on that walkway. Plus, you’re too wide. You gotta stay back.”

“You’re just gonna leave me here."

"Even though I really should, I won't."

"I'm havin' a bit of trouble believing you."

“Ugh, I won't! Quit your crying.” Dahlia responds in a terribly aggravated demeanor. Her snappy nature doesn't shine a bright light on the situation, and unwilling to press her further, Crimson puts his hands into his pockets in silent defeat.

Dahlia breaths deeply to compose herself, turning and standing before the catwalk. She puts one hoof down on it. Then the next one. She moves her hindlegs in sync with her forelegs, leaving one hindleg and one foreleg floating off a bit in an adjacent fashion. She manages to balance herself perfectly on two legs, trading spots with her other two legs every time she takes a step. Another set of steps. Another. Crimson feels his heart racing just watching her. The glistening webs surround her like a shadow swallowing light.

Step. Step. Step. Dahlia ever so slowly continues along the path. She is already halfway there. Crimson is baffled by her sense of balance.

“Crimson?”

“Huh?” his eyes widen. He turns around, swearing he heard his sister call for him from behind.

The shattered silence gets a small tense-up from Dahlia, making her clench her teeth. “… Would. You. Kindly. Shut up?”

“…” Crimson looks back at Dahlia, then around himself again... Viola's voice, it sounded so close and warm.

“… Nch, nnh. Shit. Nnrh."

Crimson snaps his gaze towards the tan mare. “You alright? What’s goin’ on?”

“My tail. I think it’s stuck,” Dahlia utters without moving a muscle.

Crimson leans in a bit closer and squints. He sees it there, a web has stuck itself to Dahlia’s tail. The webs are much stronger and stickier than they appear to be. “Yeah, you got a thing on your tail. Can you still move with that?”

“I could... if I wanted to bring the mass of webs down and get myself killed,” Dahlia murmurs impatiently. Crimson desperately looks around for something, anything, that could help. “Just… try to be quiet.”

Crimson raises his left brow, surprised at her tackiness even in such a bad situation. Dahlia slowly, very slowly, uses the foreleg that she has dangling off the edge to reach over to her shirt pocket. She takes out the dart that she stowed away, and with the motions of a patient snail, she moves her foreleg back, extending the dart out so the tip aims at her tail. She guesses which part of her tail is caught… and methodically swipes the dart’s fine end to slice off a small piece of her tail.

She slowly moves forward.

"Mrh. Still stuck," Dahlia whispers in her own head.

She guesses again, to no avail.

"Damn it... c'mooon..."

Again.

"Rrgh…"

Crimson watches, resisting the urge to speak up and help, but he stops himself and thinks about it critically. He realizes that Dahlia does this for a living… she is probably more than capable of getting out of that mess… he hopes.

She guesses one more time, attempting to move forward a little. Got it, she says in her mind as a small smile places itself on her mouth. She slowly brings the dart back and pockets it once again. She continues forward, until she successfully makes it to the other side and freely wiggles her body. “Phew, that was pretty sketchy.” She sees the man giving her a thumbs up from across the room, unsure what he even means by that. She shrugs to herself and looks around, simply walking away, disappearing from sight.

After a moment of nothing occurring, Crimson squints. He remains standing near the edge of the webbed room, hoping that something happens... and to his dismay, nothing but a shivering howl of the cold temple air resonates. He stands there by himself with nothing but time passing him by.

Suddenly, his body shifts into defensive mode when a loud mechanism goes off to his right. He raises his fists with dilated eyes, witnessing a section of the wall near him rising into the ceiling, revealing a hidden path. He lowers his guard, glancing down this path, then over to where Dahlia was. She reappears into view. “Come on over!”

With several tons lifted off his conscious, he sighs in relief. He walks with determination, taking the hidden path to his partner. The way it curves left, this path stretches around the perimeter of the web room. He comes out the other end, finding a cocky Dahlia waiting for him.

“Heh, see? You're crying over nothing.” She looks to her left in a snide manner.

“Wasn't 'crying.'"

“Yeah right, you were all, 'oooh, you’re gonna just leave me here!'”

Crimson doesn't put in the effort to retort. The two continue down another hallway of the same architecture to the previous halls. Walking through this hallway leads to another room, and this one looks to be the same size as the first one with the three doors. The two examine this room, finding that it has a canal cut into the middle, maybe two feet wide and two feet deep. Water flows through it, coming out of the ground from the left side of the wall and flowing into the right.

Dahlia notices that there are grooves all over the floor, like if someone took a bowl and set it inside still-drying cement. Dahlia counts twenty grooves, which are evenly spaced, placed all throughout the edges of the room. Crimson spots a piece of ancient pottery on a pedestal next to the exit of this room.

“A flask, water, and some holes,” Dahlia mutters. “They couldn’t think of something more original?”

“I suppose not everyone is as bright and cunning as you, miss Do.”

“Ew, don’t call me that. The other name you use is just fine.”

Crimson walks over the flowing water to reach the flask that is propped up on the pedestal. He takes it, walking back to Da—

“Hnh?” Both of them question at the same time. The wall behind them rumbles violently, the entrance they came through is closing fast.

“Shoot, gimme gimme!” Dahlia says, motioning with her hooves to the flask. “If that door closes on us, we’re locked in and we’re screwed!”

Crimson makes haste to her, handing her the flask, which she practically steals from him. She zips down quickly to fill the flask with water, then proceeding to dash over to the closest groove, pouring the water from the flask into it. With enough water to fill another, she does so. It seems that one full flask is enough for two grooves.

The door is almost halfway shut.

Crimson looks around, his eyes are darting all over the place. He looks at the flowing water, coming up with a terrible plan. He gets down on his knees, leaning down and filling his mouth with water and taking some into his cupped hands. The water in his mouth tastes grossly salted, his left eye closes in disgust, but he carries it anyway. He runs over to the closest groove on the opposite side of Dahlia’s work. He dumps the water from his hands and mouth into the groove, filling it a small amount.

The two continue this pace. The door is three quarters down. Dahlia occasionally glances at the door, eyes dilating further and further as it makes its descent. They continue to move with the conviction of a doe fleeing from a lion.

Five left. Four left. Three, two. One groove left.

Crimson spits into the last groove, finally filling it up.

The door, centimeters from shutting, clicks loudly. With the sound of mechanisms working, the door begins to open back up. The door that exits this room and leads into the next room appears to be opening as well.

The duo sweating from anxiety sigh in relief. Dahlia smiles over at the man, “That was stupid close… good thinking there, Crim. You only filled one hole the entire time, but that one hole saved our sorry hides."

“You sayin’ you would’a gotten trapped if you came here alone?” Crimson suggests playfully.

“Let’s not get carried away. I don’t exactly ‘need’ you here. I would’a got it done on my own, just like I always have,” she huffs, losing the tenderness and trading it for defensiveness.

There it is again, that complete reversal in attitude. It's apparent that this little pony isn't a 'people person,' much less amicable to him specifically. Her distant disposition advises Crimson to give her some mental space. She was probably serious back at her lodge when she said, 'I'm the only one who makes jokes.' It may still not stop him, but he's reflective on the fact.

The two walk through the newly opened door, into another hallway of the same structure as before.

“Guessin’ whoever worked this place really enjoyed this style,” Crimson comments, looking at the hallway. “They somehow were able to replicate each little scribble or whatever. Not sure how they managed to do that. Takes some skill in the finer crafts, I reckon.”

“Nah, probably magic."

“… Magic?”

“Yeah. You know? Unicorns? The horns on their head? Capable of moving stuff with it? Magic.”

“… Huh,” Crimson sounds, thinking of all of the bone-appendages he saw glowing on some pony's heads back at Dodge.

They finally arrive to the end of the hall. Now they stand before a very, very large room. The end of this hallway leads to a wide bridge that directs a path to the center of the large room. There, in the center, lies a great stone pedestal that holds...

“Look. Right there. That’s our payday,” Dahlia says as she walks forward.

Crimson is busy examining the room itself. Large, perfectly spaced pillars from the ground to the ceiling all around the room. The engravings on the walls and pillars themselves are perfectly aligned and symmetrical. The ceiling of this room has mirrors layered all throughout, reflecting everything off the ground in a terribly disorienting fashion. “This is… impressive." He walks forward to catch up with Dahlia, who is already standing before the pedestal. He looks at what it holds, it appears to be a perfectly spherical, smooth, reflective orange ball, small enough to be put into a medallion or pendant. It emits a soft, orange shimmering aura.

“… No. This couldn’t be. I thought this was only an old mare’s tale,” Dahlia mumbles to herself.

“What is?”

“This… this relic. It-- … watch, here,” Dahlia takes the relic, shoving it onto Crimson’s chest, “hold this.”

Confused, but doing what she asks, he holds it in the palm of his hand, cupping his fist around it. Dahlia, without warning, shoves him with both forelegs as hard as she can. He grunts and stumbles back, but his left leg rises and stomps back, fixing his equilibrium instantly. “What the?” he squints at the mare in vexation.

“Haha! You see? That relic, it’s the Orb of Tramana. The relic of balance! That ball is capable of perfecting your sense of balance! You could stand on a pine seed without falling over with this thing!” Dahlia takes it back from Crimson, holding it close to her face.

“That’s, uh… swell?" His excitement is prominently plastic. “Sounds to me like you didn’t actually know what was in this death trap temple. Or if there was anything at all.”

“Well, no. Obviously. No one really knows anything for sure. Just gotta take a leap of faith!”

Crimson eyes daggers at the reckless pony who's too busy with the relic to acknowledge him.

“You see, this relic… it comes from a family of relics. Ancient, powerful pony enchanters made a set hundreds of moons ago. Relics that would mess with the properties of the world itself! One would give you super strength and reflexes! Another would perfect your depth perception! One is even able to travel through TIME! We're not entirely sure what happened to the ponies who made these things, and information about them is practically non-existent... but one thing's for sure, they REAAALLY didn't want anyone to find these.”

“For good reason, the damn things sound extremely dangerous.”

“No crap they're dangerous. That's why they'll probably sell for so much! Legend has it… if all of the relics are united together, their abilities are enhanced a million-fold! Pretty crazy stuff!”

"Why would anyone make somethin' like this?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"That ain't a good answer. For something this dangerous, this temple obviously didn’t work,” he stares at Dahlia holding the orange sphere.

“Well you can’t keep ME out, I’m too amazing. Plus, keep in mind that pretty much no one even knows these exist, so don't worry too much about the end of the world or whatever. C’mon, me and my newly trimmed tail are already sick of this place,” she says as she walks past the pedestal.

Crimson slowly shakes his head and walks with her, feeling his patience running thinner and thinner.

They approach a small archway that leads to a spiraling staircase. They take this staircase up a few hundred steps before they reach the top. They enter a small square room that only has a lever in it, and Dahlia pulls it, causing a fake wall to give way. “Now we can get some fresh air,” she beams with a bit of swagger in her trot.

The exit leads into a cavern system, where the exit to this cavern is seen out in the distance a good-some meters ahead. The cave is pitch black, but the light at the end of the tunnel guides them. They step carefully, unable to see exactly where their legs are going to land. This cave is quiet and oddly warm, musky even.

It almost feels as if--

“Gy-woh!” Crimson suddenly sounds, tripping over and falling onto his side, grunting in annoyance.

“Nice one, dumbo,” Dahlia mumbles.

“RGH? ARAUGH!”

“Sheesh, calm down, Crim, I was joking.”

“… That wasn’t me,” he says as he rises.

“… What do you mean?”

“RRRAH!” “URAUR!”

A flood of unrelenting screams and wild growls fill the cave. Dahlia's ears fall flat on her head and her wings spread wide, “HUMANS! RUN!”

“Humans?” Crimson repeats in confusion.

Next Chapter: A Shimmering Light Estimated time remaining: 28 Hours, 60 Minutes