RAVEN'S GAMBIT | Part 4: Stillness, Then Strike
An hour had passed.
In the impromptu campsite that served as the coalition’s base camp, tension simmered just beneath the surface. Eyes watched the tree line; ears strained for any whisper from the mouth of White Plume Mountain. But the mist remained unbroken, the horizon silent. No sign of Kale Stonemarch’s team. No screams. No signal. No hope—or so the younger recruits feared.
Thalia Emberbranch didn’t wait for dread to take root. She simply said, “Time’s up,” and stood. She whispered to her longbow, fingers tracing its carved grip like a familiar prayer.
One by one, her group rose beside her.
Thog Skullsplitter, hulking and grinning, slung his greataxe over his shoulder. “I was getting bored anyway.”
Tharn Ironfist checked the edge of Old Reliable, then patted the small anvil hanging from his pack. “If things go wrong,” he muttered, “I’m forging our way out.”
Li Shen, calm and precise, gently nudged the small cricket resting on his shoulder. “Boom,” he whispered, “it’s time.”
Tessa Vell flipped a coin, caught it, and winked. “Let’s hope she lands on heads this time.”
Trix Vorn, strapping a data spike to her wrist, muttered, “No blasters, no doors, no syndicates—just a cursed volcano. Real subtle work today.”
Torches were lit. Shadows danced. The second group of six descended into the mouth of White Plume Mountain.
The entrance narrowed into a rusted, spiraling staircase. The metal steps groaned under Thog’s weight, but he just chuckled, stomping harder out of spite. The air was warm, humid—an unnatural heat rising from the bowels of the earth. Somewhere deep within, a low, rhythmic vibration pulsed like a heartbeat. Or breathing.
“Can anyone else hear that?” asked Trix.
“Stillness,” Li Shen replied, “then strike.”
Down they went, boots splashing into ankle-high water that smelled of rot and rust. Mold clung to the stone like skin. The torchlight flickered along slick, narrow walls. At the first bend, Thalia halted the group with a raised fist. Her keen eyes flicked ahead—and widened.
Bodies.
Six of them, strewn across the floor, unconscious but breathing.
Kale. Kaito. Varek. Jahari. Kael. Elaren.
All alive—but drained, battered. Their faces bore no visible wounds, only exhaustion and arcane fatigue.
Before anyone could react, the water rippled.
A deep, thunderous roar split the silence like a jagged blade.
From behind a mound of old bones, flanked by cracked skulls and shattered armor, rose a majestic, terrifying form: leonine body, wings like dark velvet sails, and a woman's face of ancient, imperious beauty.
Etrusca, the Gynosphinx, fixed her amber eyes upon the intruders. Her voice was both chime and growl. “You tread the bones of those who dared without wisdom. You seek passage? Then hear me.”
Tharn raised his sword reflexively. Thog snarled and stepped forward, but Thalia’s bow was already lowered.
She saw the three corridors stretching behind the Gynosphinx—each a tunnel of mystery and doom.
“We only seek to recover our allies,” Thalia said calmly, voice low but steady. “Let us carry them out. When we return, we’ll face your riddle.”
Etrusca’s lips curled into something almost amused. “Very well. Take them. But when you return, speak your chosen path, and I shall ask what must be answered. One riddle. One chance.”
Tessa crouched by Varek and shook her head. “Whatever did this... didn’t use a blade.”
“Magic. Maybe time. Maybe worse,” murmured Trix, scanning for clues.
Li Shen gently lifted the unconscious Elaren, eyes narrowed in contemplation. “There was no violence. Only judgment.”
One by one, the fallen were lifted, carried back up the wet, echoing steps. Torchlight glinted on Tharn’s anvil, on Thog’s axe, on the silent bow of Thalia Emberbranch.
As they climbed back toward the surface, Thalia looked over her shoulder—one last glance at the Gynosphinx, still poised atop her throne of bones.
“We’ll be back,” Thalia promised softly.
“And when you are,” Etrusca said, voice heavy with prophecy, “you will choose the path of fate, of fury, or of folly.”
The second group vanished into the mist, bearing the first toward safety.
But White Plume Mountain was far from finished.