We continued descending. The steps grew steeper, slightly slick underfoot, as though deliberately testing how attentive we were. The air turned noticeably colder, and from below drifted dampness and that heavy, stale smell found only in pces long cut off from light.

  “Where are they?” I said quietly, listening to the hollow echo of our steps. “They couldn’t have gone far.”

  “They could,” Drake replied calmly. “Necromancers don’t like waiting.”

  “You really dislike them that much?”

  “Those two?” he said dryly. “I don’t dislike them. I fail to comprehend them… like all necromancers. They have a peculiar retionship with fear. Dungeons, darkness, confined spaces — to them it’s not a threat, it’s a workspace. Corpses, dissections, bones — tools, not causes for panic.”

  I shuddered involuntarily.

  “Excellent. So I’m definitely not a necromancer. I’m afraid of the dark. And of corpses. And whatever this is.”

  He gave me a brief gnce.

  “That’s normal.”

  We descended several steps in silence. The stone walls seemed to press closer, crowding in from both sides. I could almost feel the weight of the earth above my head. The pause stretched, and I suddenly asked:

  “You’re not from here either, are you?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, only slowed his pace.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Finn. And Elvira.”

  A faint smirk.

  “That tracks.”

  I hesitated, then went on.

  “In my world we don’t have magic. We have light switches. Vehicles without horses. Cities that don’t sleep at night.”

  He gnced sideways at me.

  “Sounds exhausting.”

  “Sometimes it is,” I said quietly. “But we got used to it.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  I searched for the right words.

  “Some parts. The noise. The constant movement. The chaos is… familiar. Predictable”

  He nodded slightly.

  “Chaos is the same everywhere. Only the form changes.”

  At that moment, a dull thud sounded ahead, followed by a short cry. We quickened our pace. Further down, a gap gaped in the staircase. A stone sb had dropped, revealing a shallow pit where Finn and Elvira were already climbing to their feet. The nding clearly hadn’t been comfortable.

  “You alright?” I called.

  “Alive,” Finn answered, rubbing his shoulder. “Pride slightly injured.”

  Drake studied the pit.

  “Non-lethal trap. Standard construction. No serious damage.” He turned away. “Let’s go.”

  I didn’t move.

  “What?”

  “We retrieve them on the way back. Wasting reserve now is inefficient. We don’t know what’s ahead.”

  “They’re stuck down there.”

  “They’re breathing.”

  “You’re seriously suggesting we leave them?”

  He looked at me coldly.

  “If our reserves drop too low, we may all remain here permanently. It’s basic calcution.”

  I stepped closer to the edge.

  “If we leave them, I’m not moving. They’re my friends.”

  He exhaled sharply.

  “You understand this is a risk?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you still insist?”

  “Yes.”

  Another second. He studied me carefully, as if checking whether I would back down.

  I wouldn’t.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. “Once.”

  He stepped to the edge. The air trembled. Subtle. No fshes, no spectacle. The current thickened, twisted, descending in a soft vortex. Dust lifted from the stone. Finn and Elvira’s cloaks fluttered.

  “Don’t resist,” Drake said curtly.

  The airflow lifted them steadily upward — no jolts, no drama. Within seconds, they stood beside us.

  Finn exhaled.

  “Remind me not to step on suspicious sbs again.”

  Elvira brushed dust from her robe and looked at Drake.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave the slightest nod.

  “Look down occasionally.”

  I gnced at him discreetly. He didn’t look smug, didn’t look irritated, just composed.

  “Careful from now on,” he said.

  And we continued down.