The dark shard pulsed, a malevolent heart in her vest lining. The trench-horror’s snout twitched, its whiskers flaring, the blind gaze a pinpoint of abyssal hunger. Around her, men screamed, scattering like flung dice. But the monster didn't pursue them. Its attention locked directly onto her chest. Envar’s lie about protection withered under the beast’s undeniable draw. This wasn't protection. This was a beacon. Kethra’s mind screamed, but her body moved with the coiled precision of a village hunter. Her fingers tore at the rough linen of her inner vest, ripping the seam where she’d sewn the jagged obsidian. The violet glow intensified, burning her skin, promising a violent end. The horror lunged, its barbed tendrils unfurling like grotesque flowers, scraping against the flagstones with the sound of a thousand rusty knives. She didn’t aim for a nerve, didn’t think of a weakness. She simply threw it, a desperate, raw act of survival. The obsidian shard spun end over end, a dark comet against the perpetual twilight, landing with a sickening *shlick* directly into the beast’s gaping, tendril-ringed maw. The creature froze. A low, guttural shriek, a sound of agony and pure, unadulterated violation, ripped from its throat. Its plated hide began to ripple, to buckle inward. Violet light pulsed from every crevice, every joint, growing blindingly bright. The air filled with the stench of ozone and burned flesh, a metallic tang that stung Kethra’s eyes. Then, with a deafening *CRACK* that vibrated through the very bedrock of Blackcrag, the beast imploded. Not exploded, but folded in on itself, collapsing into a violent, inward-spiraling vortex of light and sound. The ground shuddered. Where the monster had stood, a churning crater of scorched earth and pulverized stone remained, smoking faintly. A stunned silence descended, broken only by the ragged breathing of the surviving recruits and the distant alarms wailing through the fortress. Darev stood ten paces away, his face a mask of disbelief and something akin to a primal awe. His eyes, usually ice, burned with a furious, unreadable fire as they fixed on Kethra. The senior officers, grim-faced veterans of a hundred abyssal incursions, gathered around the smoking pit, their expressions a mixture of shock and wary respect. No one had ever seen a trench-horror die like that. “Keth! Fall in!” A gruff sergeant, his face still pale, barked at her. “You were too close to the breach point. Head to the Geothermal Springs. Recruit’s orders. Get those burns looked at, and clear your head. We’ll have questions for you later.” The Geothermal Springs were a series of subterranean grottoes carved deep into the cliffside, warmed by the fort’s proximity to a deep-earth fissure. Healers claimed the mineral-rich steam accelerated healing, soothed strained muscles. Kethra knew it as the one place she could almost forget the gnawing ache of hunger and the constant fear of exposure. Hours later, under the cloak of deep fortress-night, Kethra slipped past the drowsing guards near the spring’s entrance. The air inside was thick with mist, smelling of sulfur and damp rock. Water dripped from unseen stalactites, echoing in the cavern’s vastness. She found a secluded pool, ringed by slick, dark rocks, and stripped away her uniform, the heavy boots, the rough tunic. Finally, she unlaced the constricting bindings that flattened her chest, gasping as the blood rushed back to her skin, leaving it tingling and sore. She eased herself into the steaming water, a sigh escaping her lips. The warmth enveloped her, softening taut sinew, coaxing the aches from her tired limbs. Skritch, having clung to her collar through the stealthy approach, scampered to a dry ledge, its six legs skittering over the smooth stone. It settled there, a small, blind sentinel, its antennae twitching in the steamy air. Kethra closed her eyes, letting the water lap at her chin, a fleeting moment of peace in a world designed to deny it. A sudden, deep groan echoed from the cavern’s entrance, followed by the heavy tread of boots. Kethra’s eyes snapped open. Panic clawed at her throat. Someone else. Now. Before she could react, before she could even think to rebind, the silhouette of a tall, powerfully built man appeared in the mist, moving toward the larger central pool. It was Darev. Her heart began a frantic drum against her ribs. She sank lower, pressing herself against the algae-slick rock face, praying the rising steam would obscure her. Darev was a ghost in the swirling mist, his back hunched. He stopped at the edge of the central pool, then, with a strangled cry, he slammed his fist into the unyielding stone wall beside him. The sound of bone meeting rock was sickening, a dull *thwack* that vibrated through the water. He didn’t flinch, didn't even gasp. He just stood there, his hand dripping blood, his breath coming in ragged, violent gasps. “Maker take me,” he rasped, his voice raw, thick with anguish. “Damn this sickness. Damn this… *filth*.” He punched the wall again, a wet, grinding sound, and this time a guttural sob tore from his chest. “To crave a boy. A recruit. Maker, burn it from me. Burn it from me before I lose what’s left.” Air locked inside Kethra's lungs. The sheer, agonizing depth of his self-loathing hit her with the force of a physical blow. He hated it. Hated *her*. The realization was a cold, bitter taste in her mouth. She shifted, trying to press herself impossibly flatter against the rock, but her foot slipped on a loose pebble. A small *splash* broke the cavern’s silence, impossibly loud in the echoing space. Darev’s head snapped up. His eyes, feral and unseeing through the steam, darted toward her hidden alcove. He waded into the water, each step deliberate, the surface rippling around his muscled legs. The steam swirled, clinging to him, making him appear both ethereal and terrifyingly solid. He moved with the predatory grace of a beast, tracking her through the mist. Kethra pressed back, the scalding rock biting into her skin, but there was nowhere to go. He stopped directly in front of her, the water between them barely reaching his waist. His gaze, no longer blind, burned into her, luminous and dangerous. His hands rose, seizing her bare arms beneath the water, his fingers digging in, surprisingly gentle despite their force. His thumb brushed across the bare swell of her ribs where the linen strips lay discarded onshore, a feather-light touch that sent a tremor through her. His voice was a low growl, vibrating through her bones. “Tell me to leave, Keth, or I swear to the Maker I’ll drag us both to hell.”