A burning torch dropped brightly down a dark stone shaft and clattered on the cracked tile floor at the bottom. A rope unfurled after it, followed closely by a barefoot person with jagged clenched teeth and dirty white hair.

Sorn let go of the rope, dropped to the floor and picked up the torch. This was probably the first light that had touched this place in hundreds of years at least: there was a stagnant smell of old air that felt sticky in his lungs. His eyes watered with the dry cold. Silence pressed close, broken only by his haggard breathing and the flutter and pop of torchfire. Surely an ancient spirit resided here.

The clues were all over the surface: a strange color veined through the bark of the trees, shining motes of dust at night, and the mushrooms that moved when he wasn't looking. There was a spirit underground, maybe trapped, maybe hostile, that poisoned the surface. A spirit like this would be a formidable ally if only he could establish contact. He had to find it, first.

The walls fogged with dust illuminated by torchlight. There were rusted machines he didn't recognize, something shaped like a bed, and a broken window that looked out to a stone wall. He pushed the torch through a shattered doorway and into a hall half crushed by rock, the floor warped and ceiling partially caved in.

"I come with offerings," he hissed into the silence, careful with each quiet step, the torch held far in front, his heart stammering, "for the god of this place." He stifled a cough, wiped his eyes, and listened close for any sign of the spirit.

It wasn’t unusual for explorers to cross paths within ruins that hadn’t been fully explored. That drive for knowledge, adventure, and the thrill of risking your life to achieve something that someone else may not be able to in their lifetime only fueled that drive all the more. Melodia came to cross people like this time and time again; sometimes she’d spend an extended period with them only to disappear one night when her objective drew near but others—

This eve, she waded through the knee deep waters of a cave system nestled beside an aquifer. She was not able to speak with spirits, the elements themselves tended to be chaotic and temperamental which made Melodia nervous. Still though, it was here where small crystalline blue motes that faintly illuminated the cave darkness allowed her the faintest bit of light as her nocturnal eyes peered through that heavy veil of umbra.

“Smoke?..” The smell tickled her nose, almost giving a stinging sensation that made the vampire’s eyes water if only a little.

What was even more curious was the lack of light source that turned the walls that deep umber orange. Maybe it was deeper, or higher, the flow of air when going deeper into earth made detecting where it would be all the more difficult. To make that task a little easier on herself, she gripped the sides of her black cloak and tugged them inwards almost to wrap herself up. Shadows whipped around her, ensorcelling her figure in darkness before she rapidly shrunk down and turned into the small furry form of a bat.

That bat took flight, screeching a few times for the vibrations to bounce off the walls and get a good measure of the area— then she took flight, to search for that source.

Bats! Sorn held away the burning torch and squinted into the darkness where he had heard the telltale chitter. Tiny blue motes of dust glowed faintly at the end of the bleak hallway. The low ceiling glinted with glass shards and stripped wiring like tiny snakes. A panel on the wall hung rusted and collapsing, its sockets gaping like the dead. Whatever ruled this place must lie stagnant in the cold stone columns. It couldn't be entirely hostile if bats came here to roost.

Silence pressed close to his ears, broken only by the flutter of fire and the occasional flap of bat's wings somewhere down another hall.

Sorn pushed open a door that groaned on broken hinges, letting out a wafting smell of fresh dirt. He pushed the torch into the black room and the light illuminated clusters of bright violet mushrooms that infected the floor, the walls, the low ceiling, the cabinets and steel tables. They shimmered in the firelight, pointed and tasseled, like something alien. A shattered glass box in the back of the room held a small machine that sat sticky with shining residue, covered in tinier mushrooms. But there was no way to safely get across the room without disturbing the fragile fungus that carpeted the floor.

A low hum lilted musically in Sorn's throat. Something was here. He listened and breathed the musty air, a little lightheaded from the smell of the mushrooms and decaying metal.

The mushrooms are sacred, he decided. If he wanted this spirit's favor, he would need to give an offering to the mushrooms: something fresh and dead. He peered down the hall again, waiting for the noise of beating wings.

Now. Where was that bat?

The bat was less than gracefully making its way through the many cavern tunnels, barely navigating as the serpentine patterns weaved together, interlinking and separating until finally some sort of fire source’s smell caught her nose. It approached quickly, so Melodia just before reaching her destination would return to her humanoid form, sprouting outward with arms and legs in a splatter of blood.

As her eyes adjusted back to the darkness, she would set her crimson eyes upon the individual she found holding the torch. The orange glow of accelerant burning atop a wooden stick flickered in her eyes, making it seem as if the woman’s naturally red irises reflected the same fire within them. Melodia’s stare would then slowly turn to the individual holding the torch in question, before finally breaking the silence with a very hushed tone almost a whisper that strangely reverberated against the strangers ears.

”May I borrow your torch?”

She then smiled at this person she had never met before, tilting her head to the right fluttering her lashes to add some flare to the request. It lingered there for an answer, but even before then, she would notice the jungle of mushroom sprawled across the cave floor. The smell wasn’t good, it made her head feel weird, maybe she’d convince this person to ignite them here and now. A frown would then sneak its away onto her red painted lips, and it was followed by a concerned hum that rattled the dust off these close cavern walls.

”Also, like it’s a trap.” she stated, pointing to the mushrooms with squinted eyes and a worried look.

He heard the flap of leather wings in the stagnant air, then the spatter of blood on the walls just before the edge of the torch's light reflected in a pair of red eyes at the end of the hall.

Sorn kept very still. He knew beasts and spirits, but this one was unfamiliar. This was something corporeal and old and deadly. The bat, he knew, was gone.

With a tight grip on the torch, its fire rippling like a flag between them, Sorn steadied his glare upon the strange woman's face, and he did not look away when she pointed to the mushrooms. One cannot take one's eyes away from the unknown. He did not offer his torch.

"Are you the spirit of this place?" he asked in a low voice -- and then, with the aid of a deep slit in the center of his tongue, he spoke with an impossible sound that pulled at the eardrums in almost an opposite to her reverberation. It was the language of the spirits. The fire grew and glowed brighter, expanding its warmth and light to better illuminate the stranger. She still seemed real. But how could she be? Who else could have found this place, let alone entered it at the same time?

A slow smile grew around his sharp teeth. "What makes you think it's a trap?" Surely she wouldn't walk into it and save him the time and effort of finding a sacrifice. "A trap implies there's something to protect."