They arrived at the edge of the Marrowdeep just as the sky began to churn a darker shade of regret.
Mira blinked against the wind—thick with dust and the scent of iron—and surveyed the landscape before her. It was less a forest and more a graveyard of trees, twisted into agonized shapes as though something had screamed them into madness. Blackened roots curled like claws around jagged stones, and a sickly green mist crept along the ground like a gossip no one invited.
"This place," Reeko said, strumming a minor chord of doom on his flute, "is deeply, profoundly un-festive."
Pipla grunted, sniffed the air, and promptly pulled a scarf over her face. "Smells like cursed laundry."
Even Jory was subdued, which worried Mira more than anything else. He hadn't tried to juggle knives in two days. That meant things were dire.
They stood at the edge of a great descent, a steep spiral of shale and bone that twisted into darkness. At the bottom, according to Therian's scroll, lay the Heartgate—a sealed entrance to the dungeon where Velcrath's cult had begun its rise. If there was any clue to the villain's ultimate plan, it was buried there.
Mira took a breath and felt the silver Die shift in her satchel. Not urgently. Just a soft thrum—like a reminder that choice was still hers.
"We go in quiet," she said. "No songs, no warcries. Jory, no—whatever it is you're about to do."
Jory slowly lowered a jar of bees. "Fine."
They descended in silence. The spiral path was narrow and slick, edged by rock that whispered things no rock should know.
At the bottom of the descent, a jagged archway waited—a gaping wound in the stone wall, etched with old magic and half-erased sigils. Mira stepped forward, brushing her fingers along the ancient writing.
"Stand back," she said. "I'm gonna roll."
She withdrew the silver Die, cupping them in both hands like a prayer, and whispered, "Let's see what luck looks like today."
Mira rolls.....15
The sigils flared with recognition—light dancing like fire through invisible veins. The archway shuddered, then yawned open with a sound like a tomb sighing.
"Well, that's never not creepy," Reeko said, They entered.
The Heartgate led to a long corridor hewn from black stone. The walls pulsed with faint warmth, and veins of silver light traced their way like veins under skin. There were doors—sealed, bolted, enchanted—and along the hall, the skeletons of creatures that didn't get their rolls right.
Mira 's footsteps echoed. "Stay close," she said. "Something feels...watched."
Jory nodded. "That's because we're being watched."
He pointed upward. From the ceiling above, dozens of red eyes blinked open—belonging to creatures that looked like spiders, if spiders had been invented by nightmares, each one carrying a tiny blade in its mouth.
"Ah," said Pipla, drawing her axe. "Mood improved. Let's smash something."
"No," Mira said. "They're not attacking."
The spiders began to scatter as something larger approached. The floor shook. A moan rolled through the stone like thunder trapped in a throat.
From the shadows came a figure—cloaked in bone-white armor, wearing a crown of ash. Not Velcrath. Not yet. But one of his generals?
"Die-bearer," the figure hissed. "You come too late. The ritual is begun. The marrow of this world already bends to our will."
Mira took a step forward. "Not if I have anything to say about it."
The general lifted a hand. The corridor twisted. The floor dropped.
And the Halflings screamed, Darkness swallowed them whole.
Into the Depths
Mira landed hard on something wet and soft, then promptly rolled off it as it groaned.
"Was that... me?" Reeko wheezed.
"Yes," she said, brushing muck off her shirt. "Be grateful it wasn't Jory."
"I heard that," came Jory's voice, somewhere disturbingly close and upside-down.
They were in a cavern now The air smelled of rot and faint, flickering green light shone from fungus growing in thorny clusters along the walls. Above them, the stone ceiling stretched into shadow. Whatever had dropped them here wasn't a natural passage.
Pipla pulled herself up, eyes flashing. "Where's the bone-king idiot? I want a word. With my hammer!"
Mira took stock. Her satchel was intact. The Die pulsed once, steady. Her companions—though covered in filth—were breathing and conscious. That was already a victory.
But they weren't alone.
From the corners of the cave came slithering sounds. Chitin scraping on stone. Breaths that didn't come from lungs.
The first creature emerged—a humanoid wrapped in bone tendrils, its eyes hollow but burning with blue flame. It hissed and raised a rusted cleaver.
"Zombie knight?" Reeko asked hopefully.
"No," Mira said, narrowing her eyes.
Dozens more began to pour in through narrow cracks in the wall—once-men, now twisted by Velcrath's influence. Guardians of the forgotten, protectors of his ritual. And unfortunately for Mira and company, currently forming a semi-circle with murder on their mind.
"Die?" Pipla asked, twirling her axe.
Mira was already reaching into the satchel.
Mira rolls: 19
The Die shimmered in her palm, casting flickering shadows. The revenants hesitated, as if sensing something off in the threads of fate. Mira seized the moment.
"Jory—left flank! Pipla, with me! Reeko—play literally anything that sounds terrifying!"
Reeko unleashed a shriek on his fiddle that could summon banshees.
The fight erupted.
Mira darted forward, a glowing sigil forming beneath her feet. With a sharp word she hadn't known she knew, she activated her "Fate Spike"—a spectral javelin that erupted from her palm and skewered two revenants before fading to mist.
Pipla was already a hurricane of violence. Her warhammer sang through the air, shattering bones and sending sparks into the air as it clashed against enchanted shields. Every swing was a stomp of defiance.
Jory, meanwhile, had disappeared into the shadows. Occasionally, a revenant would drop, gurgling, with one of his knives stuck in its neck.
One of the revenants—the largest, draped in bone chainmail—charged Mira , howling a curse in some ancient tongue.
She ducked, spun, and reached for the Die again.
Mira rolls: 12
Too slow.
The cleaver clipped her shoulder, searing through fabric and burning like dry ice. She cried out and stumbled, stars blurring her vision. The revenant raised its blade again.
Then it froze.
Behind it, Pipla's warhammer embedded itself in its back with a crunch. The creature spasmed and dropped.
Mira panted, leaning on her knee.
"You good?" Pipla asked, tugging her axe free with a wet sound.
"Been better. Been worse. Let's call it a draw."
Within minutes, the cave fell silent, save for the drip of distant water and Reeko's mournful fiddle.
Mira slumped against the wall, her shoulder still smoking. Jory tossed her a salve bottle. She caught it without looking.
"Thanks."
Jory gave a rare nod. "Still breathing. Good sign."
The group took a moment to regroup. Mira unrolled Therian's scroll again, watching the ink shift and update itself like a living roadmap.
"The altar chamber is close," she said. "Past the ribcage arch and through the Spine Hall."
"Why is everything named like a metal album?" Reeko muttered.
They moved forward through the cave's winding passages, stepping over ancient bones and strange etchings that pulsed with magic. Eventually, they reached a towering archway—shaped exactly like a ribcage, of course—beyond which lay the Spine Hall.
It wasn't a hall. It was a bridge.
A single narrow walkway stretched over an abyss, supported by columns carved into the shape of vertebrae. Far below, something massive breathed in the dark. The sound was slow, patient, and deeply wrong.
"Let me guess," Mira said, narrowing her eyes. "Something's going to try to kill us halfway across."
"Almost definitely," Reeko said, cheerful again. "Fifty-fifty it's tentacles."
They began to cross.
Halfway across the bridge, as if summoned by fate itself, the floor shuddered—and from the darkness below rose a monstrous form. Serpentine. Eyeless. Covered in mouths.
It shrieked with hunger.
Pipla raised her axe. "Well, there go the odds."
Mira reached for her Die.
17
The Die lit up like stars collapsing. The air around them shimmered—and then the bridge twisted.
Instead of collapsing or shattering, the Spine Hall reformed itself—widening, coiling upward, forming a spiraling platform with defensive walls.
The monster hissed in confusion.
Mira stood in the center of the transformed platform, silver light dancing from her hands.
"No more falling into pits today," she said, voice shaking but strong. "We fight on my terms."
What followed was chaos.
The beast struck with mouth-covered limbs. Reeko provided musical distractions that somehow stunned the creature. Jory vanished and reappeared, knives slicing at ligaments. Pipla went straight for the center mass, ignoring logic entirely.
And Mira —Mira danced with fate. She rolled the Die twice more, each time gambling with the world.
8
One burst misfired—hitting a wall instead of the beast. It screamed and doubled down, enraged.
Natural 20!
The final strike landed true.
A bolt of silvery-blue light erupted from her palm, speared the creature through its main neck, and pinned it to the bridge. It shrieked once more, then crumbled into a pile of ash and slime.
Silence.
Reeko dropped his fiddle. "Right. Next time, we take a ferry."
They reached the far side, bloodied but whole.
Beyond lay a great obsidian door. The runes upon it glowed, whispering warnings in dead languages. Mira felt the Die pulse again—not a roll this time, but a reminder. A warning.
This door led deeper than just stone and shadow.
This was the gate to Velcrath's stronghold.
Behind it, the ritual waited. The final pieces of the villain's plan were moving into place—and the time for daydreams was ending.
Mira tightened her grip on her satchel.
She wasn't a banker anymore, She was the Siren of Silver Die And the world needed her now.