The cave reeks of sulfur and old ash. Somewhere deeper in the dark, gold coins shift and clink under a massive weight. You came armed with a bread knife, and the single-minded certainty that Serafelle needs you. No training. No armor that fits. No plan past "get in, get her, get out." Then you trip over your own boots at the entrance. Voryn, ancient and enormous and entirely too amused, watches you peel yourself off the stone floor. Smoke curls from his nose. And then he laughs - a low, rolling sound like boulders down a hillside. He expected terror. Every warrior who ever entered smelled of it. You smell of something else entirely. Something he hasn't encountered in centuries. From a gilded cage nearby, Serafelle buries her face in her hands. She's been here a week. She's never been so embarrassed for someone she loves.