RAVEN'S GAMBIT

Twenty-three embers now smoldered where once a blazing army burned.

The dead were buried. The tears had dried—or were hidden behind hardened expressions and grim silence. The ruins of White Plume Mountain had become their crucible, and still, it was not yet done with them.

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They camped at the edge of the old entry chamber, surrounded by stacked armor and bodies cloaked respectfully in linen. The night passed with little rest, but what sleep came was necessary. Healers worked throughout the encampment.

Wounds were tended. Bandages wrapped. Salves applied. The few healing potions left were administered to those too weak to stand.

The spoils—treasures from the dome chamber—were sorted and distributed.

There were scrolls, potions, a wand of lightning bolts, a bracelet of feather falling, and coils of rope—which caused more than one adventurer to chuckle bitterly.

"Would’ve helped back in the spinning tunnel..." someone muttered.

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Hachiro Noboru sat cross-legged, eyes closed, daisho blades resting across his lap. He didn’t speak. Didn’t eat. Only breathed—slow and disciplined, as if his breath itself could make sense of the chaos.

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Theron Blackroot sat alone with the warhammer.

It pulsed with ancient energy. Magic hummed like an old dwarven hymn.

“Whelm.”

That was its name.

He had sensed the hammer's hunger, its longing to be held by dwarven hands. He could wield it—but poorly.

“Ungrateful relic,” he muttered.

Still, he strapped it to his back. Even a bitter tool was still a tool.

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Elowyn Mosswhisper mourned her fallen wolf—but she had not been left empty-handed.

From the cold waters and crab-crushed treasures, she had drawn Wave, a trident pulsing with elemental energy and intelligence.

Elowyn eyed the weapon.

“I don’t even like spears,” she sighed.

But it pulsed in her hand like a heartbeat. A new bond. A new path.

She would train.

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At first light, they descended once more—the spiral staircase now familiar, its rusted rails slick with condensation.

They passed the gynosphinx’s ruined lair, its once-arrogant guardian now long dead and forgotten.

They turned west.

The corridor was half-submerged. Water lapped at their boots. Algae clung to walls. The ceiling glistened.

The pit trap beneath the murky water was known now—avoided with rope, careful swimmers, and watchful eyes.

Beyond it waited another trial.

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Copper-plated walls.

They stretched along the corridor, each 6-foot square. The moment metal entered their field—pain.

Weapons, armor, even belt buckles and wire-bound spellbooks seared flesh.

They had no choice. They couldn’t abandon their gear. Guns were left behind, carefully stacked with prayer—no one wanted to see a blaster detonate mid-hall.

They took turns. Two at a time.

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Hachiro Noboru and Theron Blackroot went first. They ran flat-out.

Their clothes smoked. Skin blistered. But they made it.

They resisted the urge to leap into the murky pool that now rippled ahead.

Elowyn Mosswhisper and Kaela Virell followed. Steam rose from their armor as they stumbled, coughing and gritting teeth.

Khopesh and Tavrix 'Whisper' Malen next. Tavrix screamed, nearly collapsing. Khopesh caught him and dragged him to safety.

Marcus Virelli and Brock “Bull” Dawson powered through, the agent gritting his teeth and Bull grunting the whole way.

Dr. Elias Finch and Lin of the Whispering Wind. Lin collapsed at the end. She screamed, smoke curling from her robes.

Marcus 'Tank' Rourke and Seren Willowmere.

Jahari 'Duststep' Malek and Kael the Ember-Eyed.

Elric Duskwind and Kaelen Firebrand.

Thalia Emberbranch and Elaren Duskroot.

Trix Vorn and Shino of the Whispering Leaves.

Tessa 'Quickfingers' Vell and Kael 'Fingers' Vire.

Taya Vex and Bran 'Brick' McGraw.

All passed. All were in pain.

Some could barely stand. Some had burns on face and hands. Many were close to death.

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Shino whispered prayers and summoned gentle waves of healing energy to restore himself, Brick, Taya, and Kael 'Fingers.'

Seren Willowmere did the same, her divine light bathing a dozen in rejuvenation.

Khopesh, as an undead, remained untouched. He watched the healing process like a man watching rain fall behind a window.

Hachiro Noboru uncorked a gold-rimmed potion—a potent elixir saved from earlier battles—and pressed it into Thalia’s hands. She drank. Her wounds sealed slowly, but not fully.

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Beyond the heated corridor, a short staircase rose out of the water. The group ascended, dripping, burned, but intact.

They arrived on a dry landing.

Ahead stood a closed doorway.

Hachiro Noboru stepped forward and ran his hand across the frame, eyes narrowing with memory.

"Beyond this doorway... is the frictionless room."

And that… was another trial entirely.

TO BE CONTINUED...