Dear diary,
After a long, uncomfortable night on the cavern’s cold, unforgiving floor, we gathered in the dim glow of our lanterns to discuss our next move.
Did we try to negotiate with the Xorn, hoping it held the gems we needed to unlock the barrier? Or did we take the easier route—dispelling the magic directly and leaving the earth elemental undisturbed? After some debate, we settled on the latter. Luke cast his spell, unraveling the protective magic, and then sent his familiar darting forward to retrieve the gem.
The moment the crystal left its pedestal, the entire cavern shuddered.
A deafening crack split the air as a shockwave rippled outward, sending shards of stone and scalding acid spraying in all directions. The walls trembled, then began to cave in.
“Move!” I shouted.
We didn’t need to be told twice. Scrambling for the exit, we sprinted up the stairs, dodging falling boulders and the searing ooze that sloshed over the edges of the collapsing pools. The ground beneath us lurched violently, but we pushed forward, racing against the cavern’s imminent destruction.
At last, we burst into the open air, gasping for breath as dust and debris rained behind us.
We barely had time to catch our breath before a shadow passed overhead. One of the dragonnels—Geroda—descended cautiously, her golden eyes sharp with curiosity and something else. Wariness.
“I came to thank you,” she said, her voice measured. “For helping us against the wyverns.” She hesitated. “But… I must ask—did you take anything from the hoard?”
A heavy silence fell over the group.
“The dragon who owns it still lives,” Geroda continued carefully. “She has been gone for years, but she will not be pleased if her treasures have been disturbed.”
Luke, Gael, and I exchanged uneasy glances. Without argument, we returned what we had taken. Most of it, at least. A handful of gold stayed with us, but Dadroz flat-out refused to give up the enchanted gloves he had claimed.
Before leaving, we took a moment to properly introduce ourselves to the dragonnels. If their dragon ever returned, they promised to pass along word of our presence, ensuring we wouldn’t be mistaken for thieves or intruders.
When the conversation shifted to the basilisks, we admitted we had considered dealing with them. The dragonnels, however, asked us to let them be.
“They keep adventurers away from the hoard,” Geroda explained. “A natural deterrent.”
It made sense. If treasure hunters were reckless enough to seek riches in a place guarded by petrifying monsters, that was their risk to take. The basilisks weren’t rampaging through the countryside—they were simply there, keeping would-be thieves in check.
We agreed to leave them undisturbed.
Pleased with our decision, the dragonnels offered us a ride—a rare privilege. We climbed onto their backs, and with a few powerful beats of their wings, we soared over the vast forest, leaving the crumbling caverns behind. The wind howled past us, the treetops below stretching like an endless green sea.
Before long, we reached the edge of the woods, where our horses still waited. From there, the journey back to the village took most of the day.
By the time we arrived, the villagers gathered anxiously to hear our report.
“The wyverns are gone,” we told them, watching as relief rippled through the crowd.
We cautioned them to stay out of the forest—not just because of the dangers that still lurked there, but because some things were best left undisturbed.