Svetlana had always been suspicious — a suspicion life had carved into her with heavy blows, shaping it equally into her curse and her survival instinct.
Konstantin, her husband, was the opposite: open, fearless, someone who believed that behind every glance there was a chance for friendship.
She loved him precisely for that.
When her own hands trembled with fear or uncertainty, it was he who held them firmly — who made the walls she had built around her heart crumble.
But that day, she remembered, the suspicion throbbed stronger than ever. Her husband wanted to descend to the lower levels with a team of questionable reputation. They were strong, true, but cheap — and cheap because they were unwanted. Their record was stained with failures, minor betrayals, and stories others preferred not to repeat. Svetlana silently begged him not to go, but in the end, she gave in. As she always did. She trusted that, in the end, he would make the right choice.
Unfortunately, that time, she was right.
His choice was the final mistake. Abandoned by his own team, likely devoured alive in the abysses of Svarog, Konstantin never returned. And with him, her world collapsed. All that remained were the walls of the forge and a small child to feed, surrounded by the enemies she feared most — not the monsters of the tower, but men. Men who betrayed, exploited, and smiled while lying.
For months she endured, struggling to raise her voice in negotiations, but with every contract, the uncertainty tightened in her chest: her voice would fail, her hands would tremble, and her husband's words — "You're better than me at the craft, you just have to believe it" — would come as a distant whisper, unable to drown out the fear of another betrayal.
There was one night when hopelessness won: she hammered the helm with contained rage, packed her clothes like someone arming themselves for a funeral, rehearsed the descent alone — a foretold suicide, a desire to fight mixed with despair. She needed to take a risk, even if everything was lost. And it was on that edge between nothingness and the final act that he appeared.
A boy. Simple, inexperienced, but who carried something she hadn't felt in a long time: purity. Not naive purity, but the kind found in someone who had not yet been corrupted by interests, intrigue, or coins. She remembered then something Konstantin used to say:
"The day you find someone you truly think you can trust… trust them."
Maybe it was fate. Maybe coincidence. But the boy appeared — and, shortly after, she discovered that his group was precisely the one Konstantin had spoken about.
Men and women most called "cowards," but who, among the more attentive blacksmiths, carried a different reputation: they never failed an escort; returned gold when honor outweighed profit; and always came back clean — unharmed.
The security she most longed for.
Even so, Svetlana needed proof. Fear gnawed at her from within. Fear of believing and being deceived again. Fear of risking and seeing her son go hungry because of her weakness.
Even now, after witnessing the impossible with her own eyes — the boy extracting rhodium from a stone that even masters didn't dare manipulate in such a short time — she still struggled to believe.
The most impressive thing was his naturalness: the boy seemed unaware of the magnitude of what he had just done, as if it were just another exercise learned from an old book.
But the others, all experienced, reacted oddly.
They didn't celebrate as expected, didn't express astonishment like anyone else would have, didn't comment as such a feat deserved to be commented on. They simply watched in silence, as if that miracle was something to be hidden.
As if they wanted the boy to remain unaware of his own deed.
That stirred something in her. Deep in her chest, a certainty began to pulse like the heart of a freshly-forged metal:
I need to ally myself with this group. No matter the cost.
The weight of that decision followed her as they moved along the path. Svetlana, lost in her thoughts, still found herself looking back at the boy walking with the new sword and the bear at his side. She didn't know if it was destiny or just a blind bet… but either way, she would see it through to the end.
And with that resolution etched in her mind, she didn't even notice when she finally reached her destination.
___________________________________________________________
"All right, everyone, we're here,"
Kuzma's voice echoed like a command.
"Ekaterina, can you raise the sound bubble?"
Ekaterina assessed the surroundings. Ahead, near an abyss, a massive natural pillar rose from floor to ceiling, thick at the base, narrowing in the middle, and expanding again at the top. It was no more than ten meters wide, but the task was treacherous: silencing something of that size was nearly impossible.
"I can't cover the whole pillar…"
she admitted, frowning.
"But I can keep the bubble around the work area. Unfortunately, that won't stop rocks on the far side from collapsing and making noise."
Worry showed on Kuzma's face. Ekaterina's magic wasn't strong enough to envelop the entire structure, but there was no other choice. The other formations looked even more unstable — and, among the options Svetlana had indicated, this one was by far the most promising.
"Right. Andrei and I will set up a sixty-meter perimeter. If anything happens, we pull back."
His leadership was unwavering.
"Nikolai, assist the contractor. Ekaterina, keep the bubble as wide as possible. Daria, reinforce the two. Take this ring."
Svetlana's eyes widened at the sight of the ring.
She had brought two rental models — functional, but limited. Kuzma, however, offered his own: an old model, robust, but clearly superior to hers in both capacity and durability.
It was an unexpected gesture. To Svetlana, more than generosity, it was a silent sign that this group had been together for a long time.
The ring had an unusual shape, and the markings on its surface made it clear it wasn't a rental piece. In fact, she believed that rings with that configuration could only be obtained through two or three groups that controlled their entire distribution — which made its possession even more impressive.
It meant two things: the ring had been extremely expensive and, more importantly, had required significant political effort to acquire.
Someone in that group was much more skilled — or influential — than they appeared to be.
And deep down, Svetlana was betting it was the brothers who led the group.
"No problem,"
she said, now more confident at the prospect of higher profit.
"If all goes well, we'll be done in an hour. Maybe less."
Her eyes sought Nikolai's. He looked focused — far too calm for someone so young.
Svetlana still didn't fully understand what that boy was capable of, but she was willing to find out.
Ekaterina, on the other hand, couldn't contain her curiosity:
"Nikolai… you said the extraction magic you used was weak. Is there another, stronger one? Something different in your notebook?"
He ran his hand along the pillar, sensing the metal hidden within. He remembered the book's notes: spells that seemed impractical, risky — even useless. He had never dared try them, certain he would faint if he did. But he had learned, with each challenge, that there was no such thing as a useless spell — only knowledge he had yet to acquire.
"Yes, there is,"
he admitted.
"But I don't feel safe casting that kind of magic."
Ekaterina sighed. She was shocked to consider that there really was a more powerful spell than the one he had used — but at the same time, relieved to know that the boy before her was not yet able to cast it.
After all, she felt increasingly uncertain about what she still had to teach Nikolai. And in a way, realizing that he was still flawed and unsure brought her a certain comfort: a reminder that what stood before her was, in the end, just a boy.
"I see. Thank you for being honest."
Nikolai was surprised by her gentleness. Ekaterina had always been more stern than grateful, but in that moment, she showed respect. Unfortunately, there was no time for further words; Svetlana was already setting up the instruments.
"Let's begin,"
she said.
"Stay as far as possible. If your magic crosses into my work, we could have a problem that compromises the pillar's structure. The goal is to extract without disturbing it. Prioritize consistency over speed."
Ekaterina defined the radius of the bubble. Svetlana and Nikolai positioned themselves three meters apart, each preparing for extraction.
At her signal, they both began their work.
Nikolai felt the structure alive beneath his hands: the metal flowing like sap within the rock. Unlike the test with the rhodium, this extraction felt easier, almost natural. He shaped the magic carefully, drop by drop, like someone drawing poison without killing the patient. Sweat dripped down, the tension made his arms tremble, but the pillar remained stable.
Fifteen minutes passed. The crystal pulsed, and the air vibrated with contained energy.
Svetlana was an experienced extractor. Even without magic, she mastered the craft to the limits of her body — the result of years of training alongside her husband.
Her pickaxe carved through the stone with precision, and her chisel harvested the ore with the finesse of someone tapping sap from a tree.
Her movements flowed so naturally that even Ekaterina — used to relying on magic for almost everything — watched in silence, fascinated.
To see someone perform a task that, for her, would be impossible without enchantments — and to do it with such ease — was like watching a river spring from stone.
The calloused hands, the broken nails, were reminders that there was no beauty in the process — only technique, pain, and mastery.
The way Svetlana could extract from solid structure impressed anyone.
Svetlana herself seemed impressed. After filling half the ring with ore, she cast a curious glance sideways, intrigued by the boy.
And to her amazement, Nikolai was not only keeping up with her pace — he was doing so as an equal, not a learner.
But contrary to what she believed, Nikolai was at his limit — his strength draining from him like water from a leaky bucket.
Just when he was about to give in and stop, a wave of energy surged through him: Daria had finally cast her recovery magic.
The relief was instant — and not just physical.
There was something in that silent support that impressed him more than the magic itself: the awareness she had, almost instinctively, of the exact moment to act.
There was no request, no exchange of glances. Just the synchronicity of someone who understands the field as an extension of their own body.
It was at that moment that Nikolai began to understand how lucky Kuzma was to have his sister by his side.
"Very good,"
said Svetlana, sweat running down her face.
"We've already filled two rings. Let's take advantage and fill the third."
It was more than she needed — but the gleam in her eyes was that of someone seeing a rare opportunity.
After so many losses, so many falls, luck finally seemed to smile.
Greed gripped her chest with the force of hope. And a feverish resolve kept her standing, even as her body screamed for rest.
"Daria, boost my stamina. We're continuing."
Nikolai still resisted fatigue better; his youth gave him the edge. Daria needed to support him less, but his inexperience in extraction made the process disorganized. Ekaterina, to compensate, had to focus her sound control magic on him, since porous stones often fell. Nothing escaped the sound dome that isolated them, but the mage's confidence was starting to waver.
And that's when everything aligned for disaster.
At the exact moment Ekaterina lost concentration and shifted her focus away from Svetlana, the woman's greed spoke louder. She pulled the metal with unnecessary force. The rock couldn't withstand it: porous fragments came loose, cracking like brittle bones, and tumbled to the ground.
The sound echoed. And a stench of rotten earth filled the air.
TOOOM.
A deep boom reverberated through the corridors, ricocheting like thunder across the plain and echoing into the abyss ahead.
Everyone froze. Nikolai's heart raced. The air seemed to halt, suspended in anticipation.
The silence that followed was suffocating. First, a restrained fear. Then, unbearable tension. Finally, the relief of believing no one had heard. Exchanged glances, heavy breaths, fragile hopes.
But then…
— UOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH!!!
The roar tore through the air like a burning blade, filling every stone, every shadow of the hall. It was not a human sound, nor an animal's. It was a singular note, guttural, laden with fury.
The walls trembled. Ekaterina's dome shattered like glass. The bears bristled, roaring in response.
"No…"
Daria whispered, pale as a corpse.
"A Leshiy."
The terror had a name.
And now, it was awake.
Kuzma and Andrei, who were farther away, instinctively ran to close formation. Andrei was already standing in front of them, fully transformed: muscles tense, armor adjusted, shield gleaming in the dim light. Kuzma, in turn, moved his eyes in every direction, his body crouched like an old wolf about to pounce.
The echo of the underground plain disoriented all senses — the roar reverberated without direction, as if the creature were everywhere at once.
But Kuzma knew.
The sound confused them. Not him.
"Hold formation!"
he roared.
"Daria, Svetlana, center!"
Nikolai felt his heart hammering in his chest, fingers clenched around the bow. He spun in all directions, unable to tell where the attack would come from.
The silence that followed the roar was more terrifying than the roar itself.
But then, he heard what no one else did — a muffled sound, like something ripping through the earth.
"It's coming from below…"
he murmured.
Before he could finish the sentence, the ground beside him split.
First, a crack. Then another, slicing through the stone as if it were clay.
The deep snapping of the earth echoed like bones breaking.
And then, from the black abyss, a hand emerged.
Long, blackened claws — larger than a man's arm — sank into the ground. Veins pulsed beneath grayish skin.
"Shit…"
Kuzma's voice was low, almost a funereal whisper.
"It's an adult. Run!"
But it was already too late.
The creature pulled itself out of the underground, revealing a body that defied sanity.
Over six meters tall. A hunched torso covered in thick, gray skin, like dried tree trunks. Disproportionate arms dragged along the floor, and from its gaping maw hung long fangs, gleaming with saliva.
The face — if it could be called that — looked like a grotesque fusion of skull and stone.
A Leshiy.
Ekaterina reacted quickly. With a sharp motion, she conjured beams of light that intertwined into glowing chains, binding the monster's arms and legs. For a brief second, it seemed to work.
But the Leshiy simply shuddered, breaking the bonds as if they were fragile webs. The snap of the chains was followed by a guttural roar.
"Damn it!"
Ekaterina yelled, voice cracking.
"It's a runner type!"
Daria's heart sank.
Among the Leshiy, there were two subtypes — and depending on the location and the group's formation, one could be worse than the other.
The so-called hard-hooves were brutal, covered in bony plates, hard to take down.
But they weren't the most feared in the plains of the second floor.
The true terror was the other kind.
Thinner, less protected, almost lanky — but terrifyingly fast.
This type traded resistance for supernatural agility and, in open terrain... wiped out any real chance of escape.
In two leaps, it closed the distance between them.
The ground shook beneath its feet.
Nikolai didn't even have time to raise his bow.
The monster's shadow was already over him — the massive hand raised to crush him.
The strike came down like a final verdict.
Like the herald of death.
But it didn't hit.
The impact exploded against Andrei's shield, as he threw himself in the way with the fury of a titan. The steel screamed, his arm trembled, and his legs were driven into the ground.
With each second, the Leshiy pressed harder, trying to crush him under the weight of its overwhelming strength.
"SHIT, SHIT, SHIIIIT!"
Kuzma's voice erupted in despair.
"We fight!"
Everyone's blood turned to ice.
Running was impossible. The runner type would never allow it.
Kuzma rushed to the flank, sword in hand, aiming for the creature's heels. It was the only chance — take it down. A quick, precise cut.
But when the blade struck the Leshiy's flesh, it was like hitting stone. The weapon bounced off with a dull clang.
The Leshiy didn't even flinch. It merely turned its head, and its eyes — two deep slits, full of hatred and hunger — locked onto Kuzma.
The old veteran felt his soul freeze.
"We're screwed…"
he muttered, too low for the others to hear.
But deep down, they already knew.