Riveria, Ais, Tione, and Tiona climbed through the final passage to Floor Fifty-Eight, their bodies heavy with exhaustion. Almost a day has passed since the Ice Garden had vanished behind them, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving them to navigate the remaining darkness of Floor Sixty and Fifty-Nine on their own.
The journey up had been difficult. Without the Garden's frozen domain, the natural terrain of the lower floors had reasserted itself....dark corridors, jagged rock formations, the ever-present sense of being watched. Monsters lurked in the shadows, though far fewer than usual. The Corrupted Spirit's rampage had driven many of them away, and the battles that had raged through these floors had scattered the rest. Still, they had fought. A pack of Silver Worms here. A cluster of Venom Scorpions there. Nothing they could not handle, but everything added to their fatigue.
They reached the camp.
The expedition's base on Floor Fifty-Eight was a scene of controlled chaos. Adventurers moved between tents, tending to wounds, counting supplies, speaking in low voices. The remnants of Finn's defensive line had returned hours ago, battered but alive. Shadows still patrolled the perimeter Damien's shadows, the ones he had left behind...their dark forms a silent reminder of who had made this survival possible.
Finn saw them first.
He stood near the center of the camp, his armor cracked, his spear resting against his shoulder. Gareth was beside him, his massive frame slumped against a crate, an empty healing potion dangling from his fingers. Both of them turned as the four women approached.
"Ais." Finn's voice was quiet, but relief flooded his features. "You are safe."
Ais nodded, but her eyes were scanning the camp. Searching.
"Where is Damien?" Riveria asked.
Finn's expression shifted. Something passed behind his blue eyes...concern, exhaustion, a weight he had been carrying since the teleportation had deposited a bleeding man in the middle of their retreat.
"He is in that tent." Finn pointed toward a small canvas shelter at the edge of the camp, guarded by two shadows who stood motionless at its entrance. "He teleported here like this. We have done what we could, but..."
He did not finish. He did not need to.
Tiona was already moving.
She crossed the camp in a few strides, her sister close behind. Riveria followed, her staff clicking against the stone floor. Ais walked last, her steps measured, her golden eyes fixed on the tent ahead.
Tiona pushed through the canvas flap.
And stopped.
Damien lay on a bedroll in the center of the tent, his shirt removed, his chest exposed. A healing poultice had been applied to the wound, but it did little to hide the truth. There was a hole in his chest...a deep, gaping puncture just below his ribs, surrounded by blackened flesh that pulsed with something dark. The edges of the wound did not bleed. They festered. The corruption from the Spirit's tentacle had left its mark.
His face was pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.
Tiona's hands flew to her mouth. "Damien..."
Tione stood frozen behind her, her face drained of color. "Oh gods."
Riveria pushed past them both, her staff already glowing with healing magic. She knelt beside Damien, her fingers hovering over the wound, her jade eyes studying the blackened flesh.
"This is not normal damage," she said, her voice tight. "The Spirit's corruption is still inside him. It is preventing the wound from closing."
Ais stood at the entrance of the tent, her golden eyes fixed on Damien's face. She did not speak. She did not move. But her hands trembled at her sides....the thought....That his is all her fault lingered in her mind
Tiona dropped to her knees beside Riveria, reaching for Damien's hand. His fingers were cold. "He saved us. He went out there alone to save us, and this..." Her voice cracked. "This is what happened."
Tione moved to her sister's side, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He knew the risk. He chose it....for us"
"That does not make it easier to see.." Tiona whispered.
Riveria began to chant, her magic flowing from her staff into Damien's wound. The blackened flesh resisted, the corruption pushing back against her healing, but she did not stop. Sweat formed on her brow. Her hands shook.
"I can slow it," she said between breaths. "But I cannot cure it. Not here. Not with what I have."
Finn appeared at the tent's entrance, his expression grim. Gareth stood behind him, his massive frame blocking the light.
"We need to get him back to the surface," Finn said quietly. "The Guild's healers. Dian Cecht's Familia. They can help him."
Ais finally spoke. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Will he survive until then?"
Finn looked at Damien's pale face. At the blackened wound in his chest. At the slow rise and fall of his breathing.
"He has survived worse," Finn said. "Or so I am told."
Tiona squeezed Damien's hand tighter. "You better survive this," she said, her voice fierce despite the tears in her eyes. "You promised you would see us on Floor Fifty-Eight. You kept that promise. Now keep the next one."
...
While Riveria tended to Damien's wounds inside the tent, the others waited outside. Faces were grim with sadness. This entire chaos with the Corrupted Spirit had been sudden, and they all knew the truth deep in their bones—without Damien, they might never have survived this.
Tiona sat on a crate, her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together. Tione stood beside her, one hand resting on her sister's shoulder. Ais leaned against a nearby tent pole, her golden eyes fixed on the canvas flap that hid Damien from view. Finn paced slowly, his spear resting against his shoulder, his mind already racing through the implications of their situation. Gareth sat on the ground, his axe across his lap, his face unreadable.
Just as their thoughts wandered to darker places, a shout came from the camp guards.
"THEY'RE HERE! THEY'RE HERE! The elite team sent by the Guild has arrived!"
Finn stood up first. The others followed. He strode toward the camp's entrance, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, and found himself staring at a procession of adventurers filing into the makeshift base. He recognized faces immediately...some he had expected, others he had not. Leon Vardenburg. Hedin Selland. Hogni. Ottar. Mia Grande. The girls from the Hostess of Fertility. Healers from Dian Cecht. Fels, his dark robes whispering against the stone.
The quality of the team surprised him. The Guild had not sent reserves or second-raters. They had sent the best Orario had to offer.
But Finn did not have time for pleasantries. He pushed through the crowd, his eyes locked on one figure...Airmid Teasanare, the captain of Dian Cecht Familia, her white robes already stained from the descent, her healing staff clutched in her hand.
"Airmid!" Finn grabbed her arm. "We need you now!"
Airmid did not ask questions. She did not hesitate. Her eyes met his, and she understood immediately. "Lead the way."
Finn pulled her toward the tent where Damien lay.
Behind them, the rest of the elite team dispersed into the camp. Some sought food and water. Others found places to rest after the long and tiring descent. But Hedin Selland, the leader of the elite team, did not rest. He moved through the camp with purpose, his pale elven features scanning the faces of the Loki Familia expedition members, assessing their condition, their numbers, their morale.
He found Finn near the tent, just as Airmid disappeared inside.
"Hedin." Finn turned to face him. "You made it just in time..."
"The Guild was motivated." Hedin's voice was calm, measured. "And the path was clearer than expected. Your expedition did significant damage to the upper floors." He paused. "But we need to talk. I need to know everything that has happened since you sent that letter."
Finn nodded. He looked back at the tent where Damien lay, then at Hedin.
"Then let us talk."
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