The camp stirred before dawn. Muffled yawns and the clink of travel gear filled the misty air. Students packed quickly and moved through breakfast with quiet efficiency. Cold bread, spiced tea, and dried fruit were handed out and consumed.

Team Black, Weylan, Faya, and Darken, assembled at the edge of the cliff as the sun broke through the clouds.

Silvea paced between the teams, voice sharp and clear. "Every hundred steps, you'll find a descent station. Look for the enchanted rope with glowing knotwork. They're anchored and warded. Climb carefully, but as long as you hold on to the rope, you should be safe."

She gestured to the stacks of gear beside the path. "Each student gets a lantern. These glow blue. That's deliberate. The giant canyon flowers emit the same color of light, so you won't draw attention."

Lanterns were distributed. Weylan's lit with a soft, cold hue. Almost calming. He clipped it to his belt. Behind him, the canyon yawed wide and strange. Giant flowers bloomed like stars along the stone walls, their petals glowing with ethereal light. A soft, natural fluorescence bathed the cliffs and made everything seem both dreamlike… and dangerous.

"Each of you has to take one of the blue marked potions from the crate and drink it before descending. It's an antidote against the negative effects of the nightbloom pollen the canyon's air is filled with. It will protect you for a whole day, so plenty long enough. Without it you would suffer from hallucinations, dizziness and slow degradation of health. If you should suffer those effects, it means your potion has stopped working. In that case, gather your team and leave immediately. Every team also gets a signal flair to activate if you need to be rescued. Using it means no points and immediate disqualification. Don't be stupid though, if your life is on the line, call for an extraction. One last point: Your descent stations are not so distant, so you will likely encounter other teams. Keep your distance from them unless you hear a distress call or see a signal flare," Silvea continued. "This is a real test. Treat it seriously. If you team up with another team, all points are shared. Unless it's not because of a real emergency, then both teams get disqualified."

Then she raised her hand. "First teams, go. From east to west: Team Grey, team Black, team Orange, team Yellow…"

With that, the descent began.

Weylan gripped the rope, tested the knots, and began the climb down into the blue-lit void.

The canyon walls were steep, but had enough protrusions and cracks so he had no problem finding a footing. The rope felt warm and soft in his hands, like someone holding his hands. He loosened his grip a bit to test the enchantment, but as long as he touched it, he didn't start to slide. He decided to get a rope like this as soon as possible. He just hoped he could afford one.

He looked to his left shoulder, where Selvara sat with her claws clamped securely in the leather patch there.

He looked upward and saw Faya climbing after him with surprising ease. He had heard Silvea telling the priestesses and other girls to wear trousers, not robes for the hunt. From this perspective, it made sense.

She seemed to have fun, according to her broad grin. Then she did something and started gliding down on the rope. He successfully resisted the urge to cry out, since she seemed to have everything under control. The enchantment prevented rope burn and the speed stayed constant. He tried to will himself to glide and it worked without problems. Darken followed after a moment.

The sun was visible at the upper parts of the canyon, but in moments they entered the shadowed depths, only lit by the fluorescent light of the giant flowers that grew out of cracks in the walls.

Down below the flowers grew higher, up to trice human height.

They landed, dropping down between the plentiful flowers. Weylan's eyes had scanned their surrounding during his descent and now immediately turned around to check for danger below the canopy of flowers.

They took a moment to breathe and orient themselves. Around them, the canyon floor stretched like an alien meadow. Giant blue flowers swayed gently in the still air, their bioluminescence forming an ever-shifting canopy above. The glow was soothing, but it dulled none of their caution.

Weylan scanned the perimeter, noting a few narrow paths weaving between rock outcroppings and clusters of flora. He gestured for Darken to cover the rear while he and Faya examined the nearby blooms.

"It looks peaceful," Weylan muttered.

Faya stepped toward a cluster of three tall flowers and paused. "This one…" She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "It's sick."

To Weylan, the flower looked almost identical to the others. Tall, blue, and… now he noticed it. The blossom's glow was dimmer than the ones surrounding it. And once in a while, one of the petals faded completely.

Faya was already crouched next to it, placing her hand gently against the stem.

Malvorik's voice echoed softly in her mind. <No external damage… no signs of nutrient deficiencies… But the sap flow is too low. There has been plenty of rain during the last days and the soil is still slightly damp. Could be damage to the root system.>

Faya repeated it aloud. "No external damage. But the sap flow is off. There's not enough upward pressure."

She dropped to her knees and began scraping at the dirt around the flower's base with her hands. "If it's the roots, I need to see them."

The surface layer crumbled easily under her fingers, but only for a moment. Barely half a finger's depth in, her nails struck something solid.

"Stone," she murmured, tracing a finger along the canyon floor. "Naturally. This ravine was cleft by ancient forces. Tremors of the earth and the weight of time itself. The bedrock lies fractured, like shattered glass beneath our feet. Narrow veins run deep, carved by water and weather. Rain scours the surface and draws most of the loose soil downward, into these chasms. Thus, the roots descend, drawn ever lower in pursuit of dampness and nutrition." She sat back, brushing dirt from her palms. "The main roots are likely meters below. If they're being drained, it's happening out of reach. The pressure loss is subtle but measurable. Classic symptom of subterranean parasites."

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Darken stared at her. "You… know all that?"

Faya blinked. "Yes?"

"Since when are you a botanist and geologist?"

"I read things," Faya said quickly, brushing her knees off. "Useful things," she added.

They rose again. The glow of the sick flower flickered again, like a candle guttering before a breeze.

They moved cautiously among the glowing flowers, scanning for signs of the parasite... but what they found was something else entirely.

Several stems bore deep, twin puncture wounds, as if something had sunk fangs into them. The tissue around the wounds had turned a sickly gray. Those flowers seemed ill too, but differently.

Weylan crouched beside one of the damaged plants. He unsheathed his shortsword and twisted the hilt, extending it to combat length with a soft click.

"I've got no clue how to deal with monsters that live underground," he muttered, "but that bite looks fresh. Whatever did it might still be close. Judging by the spacing and depth... it can't be that big."

Darken knelt beside him, brushing soil from the stem. "Some kind of snake maybe? Though I've never heard of snakes feeding on plants. This canyon's ecosystem is absolutely deranged."

Faya stood a few paces away, arms folded, scanning the rocky floor with disinterest. "At least they can't hide. No grass, no bushes, barely even moss..."

She reached into her side bag and stroked the verdant hare's leafy ears. She had barely touched them, when her eyes widened and her head snapped toward the bare ground beside the wounded stem.

"There!" she gasped. "They're hiding right there!"

The rocky soil seemed to ripple. What had looked like bare stone exploded in sudden motion. Long, sinuous forms with skin almost indistinguishable from the canyon floor. They had no visible eyes, only glistening maws and those unmistakable paired fangs. They struck without warning, too fast for the eye to follow, snapping through the air with brutal force.

Weylan's sword was already in his hand. It saved his life as he reflexively parried the first strike. His swing pushed the snake aside, but the blade did not cut into it.

Another of the things came for his throat. He twisted and parried, still controlled by pure instinct, steel scraping over the thick skin. The impact jarred his arm and staggered him sideways. Another lashed low, and he leapt just in time, the serpent smashing into the ground where his legs had been. There was much more power behind the jumping snakes than he'd expected.

One snakehead whipped at his stomach, but the dungeon-made chainmail hidden under his clothes stopped the fangs from finding purchase. The blunt force of the attack left a bruise, though.

"Fall back!" Weylan shouted, but his voice faltered after another hit to his chest. A fang stayed behind, torn out and lodged between the rings of the chainmail.

Behind him, Darken collapsed with a gasp. A serpent had raked his arm, leaving twin punctures that already frothed with sickly green venom. He tried to rise, teeth clenched in pain, but his arms buckled beneath him, useless.

Weylan darted forward, slashing at a rearing tentacle to buy them breathing room. The blade bounced off, but the creature recoiled. That gave him seconds.

"Faya, get him out of here! I'll cover you!"

Faya's voice rose in alarm. But Weylan had no time to look. The serpents were relentless. One curled mid-air, changed direction without slowing, and shot for his head. He pivoted, blade flashing, barely deflecting it. The next came from his left side. Then another from the right. He dodged both by bending backward just enough in a sheer impossible move.

It was chaos.

He risked a glance. Just a blur of movement and gaping maws. The snakes didn't move like any natural creature. Their strikes bent in impossible arcs, doubling back, curving through the air like whips. And yet... they didn't pursue. They struck and recoiled, again and again, always snapping back to the direction they came from.

Weylan slid under another strike and used some backward rolls and flick-flaks to get distance. Then he ducked behind a rock. For a heartbeat, nothing reached him. He breathed, fast and shallow, sword trembling in his grip.

He looked around. Darken was on the ground behind him, blood dripping from two puncture wounds and several long gashes in his arms. Faya held him under his arms, which was how she had pulled him away from danger. His legs seemed to move only weakly to help. A futile gesture. The lightning-quick snakes would easily catch up with them. He prepared for them to strike around the rock from all sides. But… they didn't.

Then it hit him.

"They're not chasing," he said aloud. "They're not moving forward at all."

He peered over the edge of the stone. One of the serpent-like attackers had stilled just enough for him to see its body. It didn't end, it continued. Back across the ground. Disappearing into a crack in the dirt. And another one, just behind it, had its thick, muscular tail sinking beneath the surface. No… into the surface itself.

The thought struck like lightning.

"They're not snakes," he whispered. "They're tentacles."

He turned, slowly now, toward the center of the ambush. And there it was, rising with terrible purpose: a bloated central mass, until now pressed flat against the ground and imitating structure and color perfectly. It twitched with each lash of its limbs, eyeless and waiting. The tentacles grew from it. All of them.

It had never been several creatures.

Just one.

And it was preparing to move after them.

But he still had a moment while it literally collected itself.

"Faya? Darken? How are you?"

Darken groaned. His voice sounded weak and slurred. "They got me good. I'm bleeding and poisoned. My arms are paralyzed and it's spreading to my legs. I can barely walk, much less fight."

Faya carefully lowered him to the ground, put her hand on his chest and started chanting healing spells. A short look at Weyland told him she was fine, but Darken's condition seemed to be more critical than he himself thought, because Weylan could already see sweat forming on her forehead.

"Our enemy is some kind of land-kraken, it's going to come after us in mere moments. My parries couldn't even scratch it. We have to move!"

Faya finished her spell. The magic poured from her palms into Darken's wounds, threads of golden energy knitting skin and flesh... but something writhed beneath the surface, twisting and hissing as the light touched it. The healing light dimmed. Sparks sputtered.

"What… what is this?" Faya hissed. Her voice trembled, not with fear, but fury. "It's hindering the healing. The venom's fighting back!"

She pushed more mana into the spell. Her eyes flared with effort. Her lip curled.

"This shouldn't be possible! It's malicious! What creature poisons people in a way that prevents healing?! That's vile!"

Weylan looked between her, the rising tentacles, and the monstrous bulk in the center. This was going to end with all of them dead if they stayed.

He reached out a hand for her pouch and touched the verdant hare. "I need information! What is that thing? Are there more?"

The hare twitched. A voice stirred in his mind; it sounded distracted and concerned. Malvorik also didn't seem to listen to his question.

<Weylan, where is Selvara? I can't see her anywhere!>

Weylan blinked. He looked to his shoulder.

Empty.

His head whipped left, then right.

Nothing. He'd seen no beating of wings. No flashes of Shocking Touch or Frost Breath.

"She was… she was right here," he said aloud.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut.

She was gone.

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