Taking out the cloth from her knapsack, she wrapped it around the branch she picked up just meters away. Dousing it in oil, she then brought out the matches she took from the mantle and struck it against the sandpaper. A momentary glow turned all else to black until she lit her makeshift torch with flame. Her surroundings painted in a flickering warmth, she approached the gaping maw of a barely concealed hole in the earth, roughly four meters wide and two tall. 

Holding the torch to the cave entrance, she observed the flame’s dance, swaying and burning with fevor. 

It’s safe to breathe, then. 

She set the torch just barely inside the mouth of the cave, careful not to light any brush on fire, and took out a spray bottle. She crouched to spray the bottom of her shoes, effectively silencing them, then poured another liquid down the sides of them. Her arms and legs ached with each movement from the drills she had been subjected to every day since training with Chrystoph, but it was a familiar and welcome sensation. 

Dressed in a black cloak and trousers, she tore one of her nightgowns in half to make a loose shirt for her to move comfortably in. The guards hadn’t noticed her slip out of sight while they were changing shifts, oblivious to her sneaking figure. At her waist was her father’s sword with the eagle pommel, the heavy blade weighing down on the cord wrapped around her waist and hitting her in the legs with every step. 

She had to hurry. If she were to guess, Chrystoph’s unit would arrive in the early morning hours at Devil’s Fang, which was one of the suspected human trafficking zones. What they didn’t know, was that this hole she was traveling to was actually connected to the Devil’s Fang on the other side of the mountain, covered and unused though it was. 

Tenderly stepping inside, she warily sniffed the air, suspicious at the lack of filth and scent of smoke. She picked the torch back up, the heat of it warming her face in the early spring air that still clung to winter’s chill and began trecking into the place that she rescued Quinny from in her last life. 

At that time, she had been the apprentice to Walter Fringe, more mercenary than knight, but knew how to fight himself out of a disadvantageous situation. She was counting on those skills now, as she couldn’t rely on her past life to tell her how many men she may be facing tonight. 

Creeping along the walls, she slowly increased her distance from the entrance behind her, ready to bolt at the slightest movement. She sniffed the air again, the faint scent of rotting meat reached her nose. It wasn’t quite what she remembered, but it wasn’t quite wrong either, as slavers didn’t care about the stock when they could always get more and allowed the weak to die in their holdings. 

She touched her hand on the moist walls of the cave, immediately retracting her hand in disgust. 

Lichen?

Another detail she didn’t recall. A small knot began to form in her stomach as she reassured herself this was the cave where she and Walter’s entourage discovered Quinny, the only survivor of the children that were taken. 

Doubt began to cloud her thoughts, and she paused her steps just before the cave widened into a cavern. The ceiling, flickering with the shadows of stalactites. Small green patches seemed to grow near one wall, scattered at various heights. The whisper of a glow was scattered across the cieling, twlinking in the dim. 

She lowered the torch, trying to see if there was any indication of footsteps, waste or other human debris. Treading lightly, she came upon a bone, long and curved, in the shape of a rib. 

A bone?

The tension in her stomach bubbled up her esophagus, raising alarms. She didn’t remember coming upon slimy lichen, bones, or this smell of feral death. It made her uneasy. Her stomach clawing up her chest, she pointed her torch further in, discovering more bones. A deer’s antler, the skull of a boar, and the bones of what was left of them lay scattered about haphazardly, as if the consumer didn’t care where they lay to rest. The rump of the aforementioned deer lay off to the side, it’s legs stiff in rigor mortis and rotting. 

Asura gagged at the maggots she could see from where she stood, squirming in the shadows of the light. Gasping, she ran to the walls to look at the slimy lichen again, only to find the wall slick with a clear substance. No lichen to be seen. She quickly looked down to her pants where she had wiped her hand, and froze in fear. The pants were stiff and sticky, gluing the sides to each other. 

Dragguls.

The slime, the bones, the lack of life. Dragguls lived here. She definitely would have remembered running into a draggul in her previous life. Which meant that Quinny wouldn’t be here. 

They haven’t moved the slaves yet?

Asura didn’t want to spend more time in the cave than she already had, and began to make her way back, retracing her steps. Regret drew her spirit down, but she had no time to reflect on it. In her haste, she dropped her torch, sizzling in the puddles of slime on the craggy floor. These puddles she had stepped in were meant to capture prey, a draggul’s trap for anything that wandered in. 

Scaly and aggressive, dragguls were large lizards of varying colors. Some were brown, some were mottled green, others were aquatic and striped. All of them shared similar traits. They liked dark, damp places to lay their slime traps. While they went out to hunt, the slime would slowly harden, not unlike glue, and trap anything that dared wander into their home in their absence. The slime itself was valuable, as it hardened into a stone that could store magic. For this purpose, some countries would farm dragguls’ slime for masonry or artistic desires. 

Whatever the use, there were special devices that could scout caves and dwellings for that specific purpose, without placing their handlers in danger. The only thing to dissolve the slime of a draggul was a concoction of various substances, of which Asura did not have on hand. 

Steadying her breath as to not scream, she fumbled in the dark for the torch she dropped, picking it up out of the slime. She blindly dug for her matches, and attempted to strike one to light the torch, but her shaky hands didn’t connect.

Goddess, I will never take my sight for granted again. I will kiss my mother a thousand times, if it means I can light this match!

On the third pass, he numb fingers connected, and she tried to quiet her whimper of relief, only to be caught in the cold of embrace of fear once again when the slime covered torch would not light. The slime sizzled and bubbled, but because the cloth was not combustible, Asura was engulfed in darkness once again. 

It’s okay, it’s alright. 

She assured herself halfheartedly, wiping her face on her sleeve, trying to think of a way she could retrace her steps. She had a sword, but no light. She could conjure her little bubble, but could she keep it up long enough to get out? Was it even bright enough for her to see anything? 

She had to try. 

Mustering up her thoughts, she coalesced a bubble, the size of a basket, and the light it gave off was infinitely underwhelming. Asura had been practicing her magic, and was now able to summon small orbs, the biggest being what she had conjured now. She could also create sheets of it, or twist it as she desired. She tried different sizes, until she had an orb the size of a rock, its soft glow barely battling the darkness of the cave. 

It was better than being stuck next to the stiff legs of a rotting deer. It was better than nothing. 

She began to slowly trek her way out, careful not to make noise aside from her laborious breathing. The way wasn’t difficult, but she didn’t want to encounter a draggul and test her skills on one of the most tenacious animals of the continent. She didn’t want to be mauled to death on its small serrated teeth, sawed and mangled into an unrecognizable heap of meat. She shuddered at the thought of its claws digging into her flesh and wondered if she had the strength to block a hefty claw of that size with her sheet of magic. 

No. I wouldn’t be able to block a one hundred sixty pound limb.

She thought bitterly, cursing this small body and its limitations, resolving to increase her training as soon as she got up tomorrow. 

A man? Maybe. Two? Doubtful at this point in her training. The assasination attempt was ruled a fluke in her opinion. Her plan had been to distract with the torch and some firecrackers she had brought with her, then escape with Quinny amidst the ruckus. But she doubted some firecrackers would distract a half ton creature. Her sodden torch was soaked in the excretion of those damned lizards. 

She could feel the soles of her feet hardening unevenly on the floor, rendering her silencing efforts pointless. At last, she could see the muted light of the stars coming through the opening of the cave. 

In her pause, she heard it. The slow drag of something heavy, the breathing of a large beast, like the wind passing through trees, powerful and sure. Asura’s skin crawled at the sound, and she instinctively crouched, breaking the concentration on the ball and instead grasping her father’s sword at her waist. 

It seemed the owner of this dwelling had returned.