Sigurd's Blinding Ass pt. 2: The Rocky Ascent

The fresh air from the newly revealed passage was short-lived. As the group stood at the threshold, staring down the cool, inviting corridor, Mahogany’s knees buckled beneath him. His hoof scraped against the stone floor as he staggered, clutching his side where a deep bruise had formed from their earlier tumble. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain, once dull and manageable, was now gnawing at him like a hungry beast.

Sigurd, who had been trailing behind with his usual sarcastic mutterings, noticed Mahogany’s faltering. “Whoa, whoa, hold up,” he said, rushing over and placing a hoof on Mahogany’s shoulder to steady him. “Don’t tell me our fearless leader’s about to drop.”

Mahogany winced and tried to stand taller, but the weight of the dungeon—the journey, the relentless pressure, the secrets still hiding in its walls—pressed him back down. His chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths. “I’m fine. Just need a minute.”

Caveman, ever watchful, was at his side in an instant, his large frame radiating quiet concern. His usual stoicism cracked just enough to let out a grunt of disapproval. “We need more than a minute. We’re not in shape to keep pushing forward.”

Fetch, who had wandered ahead down the new corridor, paused and glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes, usually filled with their usual playful glint, were more subdued now. She took a deep breath, as if sensing the shift in the group’s energy. “The dungeon won’t wait for you,” she said, though there was less whimsy in her voice this time. “It knows when you're too weak to play its games.”

Sigurd wiped his forehead, brushing off the muck and goo that had accumulated from their earlier fall. “Yeah, well, I’m calling time-out on this whole thing. I’m all for uncovering ancient secrets and whatnot, but we’re not exactly in a state to deal with whatever comes next.”

Mahogany wanted to argue, to insist that they had to push forward—that the glowing symbols, the pulsing energy in the dungeon, all of it had meaning. They were close to something monumental. But the ache in his bones told him otherwise. Every step they took seemed to sap more strength than the last, and now, standing on the edge of this new path, he realized they couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes.

His vision blurred for a moment, and he could barely hear Sigurd and Caveman bickering behind him. Fetch’s voice cut through the fog in his mind like a thin thread, pulling him back to the present. “It’s not shameful to turn around,” she said softly. “Sometimes the dungeon wants to see if you’ll give in.”

Mahogany forced himself to take a step forward, but his hoof wobbled. Caveman caught him before he collapsed, his strong grip steady. “You’re not ready for this,” Caveman said quietly, a deep, knowing sadness in his voice. “None of us are.”

Sigurd huffed. “Yeah, not to mention my herb pouch is almost empty. I can’t exactly whip up healing potions out of thin air. And judging by how you’re looking, Mahogany, we’re going to need more than just a few leaves.”

Mahogany closed his eyes, frustration bubbling up inside him. He had wanted to be stronger, to push through the pain and exhaustion and uncover whatever lay deeper within this cursed dungeon. But he had to admit to himself what the others already knew: they weren’t going to make it if they kept going.

“All right,” Mahogany finally said, his voice heavy with reluctance. “We turn back.”

Sigurd let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Thank the stars. I didn’t want to die in a pile of dungeon slime.”

Fetch, her silver eyes glittering in the faint light of the torch, approached the group, her usual cryptic smile replaced with a more understanding expression. “The dungeon’s still here,” she said softly. “It’s not going anywhere. You’ll be back.”

Mahogany nodded, feeling the truth in her words. This wasn’t the end of their journey—just a pause. He could sense the dungeon’s vastness, its endless twists and secrets waiting to be uncovered. But right now, survival was the priority.

Caveman pointed back the way they came. “I saw a slope earlier, leading up. If we retrace our steps, we might find our way out. The dungeon wants us to leave, for now.”

As they began their slow and careful retreat, the weight of their decision hung in the air. Each step was slower than the last, and the winding corridors seemed darker, more oppressive than when they’d first entered. The dungeon, sensing their retreat, felt more alive than ever—whispering through the cracks in the stone, rustling the air with unseen movement.

Mahogany’s hooves felt heavy, each step a reminder of their failure. Sigurd stayed close to him, offering support when his legs wobbled. Even the sarcastic herbalist was too tired to make any more quips, his own exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders slumped.

“We’ll come back,” Mahogany said, more to himself than anyone else. “We’ll find out what this place is hiding.”

Caveman, leading the way, grunted. “First, we heal. Then we return.”

Fetch, who had taken to softly humming a strange tune as they walked, tilted her head toward the ceiling. “The dungeon’s patient. It’ll wait.”

Hours passed—or maybe it was minutes, or days. Time had lost its meaning down here, swallowed by the twisting tunnels and the weight of their exhaustion. But eventually, after what felt like an eternity, they found the slope Caveman had spotted earlier. It was steep but manageable, the stone slick with moisture but free of the dripping goo that had plagued them earlier.

With great effort, they began their ascent. Fetch darted ahead, her strange connection to the dungeon seemingly giving her more strength than the others. Sigurd groaned with every step, clutching his side as he struggled upward. Caveman moved with slow, deliberate care, making sure Mahogany didn’t fall behind.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the surface. The entrance to the dungeon loomed behind them like the maw of some great beast, dark and foreboding. The sky above was a deep orange, signaling the approach of dusk.

Mahogany collapsed onto the grass just outside the entrance, his body shaking with exhaustion. Sigurd flopped down next to him, groaning. “Well, that was awful. Never doing that again.”

“You’ll do it again,” Fetch said, sitting on a nearby rock, her eyes sparkling with the same strange amusement she always carried.

Sigurd shot her a withering look. “Don’t remind me.”

Caveman stood silently, staring back into the darkness of the dungeon. His face was unreadable, but Mahogany knew they shared the same thoughts. They had failed this time, but the dungeon wasn’t finished with them. Not by a long shot.

“We’ll be back,” Mahogany said again, more firmly this time. “And next time, we’ll be ready.”

For now, though, they were alive. And that was enough.