Morning in the Netherworld didn't come with sunlight — only a dim shift in the darkness, where shadows turned from pitch black to slightly less black.
Eryndor's group was already on the move, their cart creaking as Gronk the alligator trudged forward with the patience of a saint and the smell of an open sewer.
Behind the cart, tied together by ropes, were their four newest "companions" — Raxor and his squad of humbled Hound warriors, each one limping slightly and refusing to make eye contact with Xaren, their new personal nightmare.
Raxor growled, "We haven't eaten in two days! You can't treat warriors of the Hound Tribe like this!"
Eryndor turned his head slightly. "Didn't you try to murder us?"
Raxor puffed up. "Details!"
Before Eryndor could answer, Xaren snapped his fingers.
"Worry not! I shall provide nourishment!"
He conjured a slab of meat the size of a barrel — still twitching, still steaming, and suspiciously glowing green.
Krog grimaced. "That's… moving."
"It's fresh!" Xaren declared proudly. "Mutant Abyss Boar — lightly aged, naturally seasoned by poison gas!"
Raxor sniffed it, went pale, and turned away. "We'll… fast for now."
Morga whispered, "Our stomachs will fast, our souls won't survive that."
Xaren looked offended. "Ungrateful mutts. I even removed most of the maggots!"
Krog muttered under his breath, "Keyword: most."
Elara walked beside them, silently amused. She didn't comment — mostly because she wasn't sure if the smell could even be described in mortal language.
---
By the next "day" — or whatever passed for it in the Netherworld — the landscape began to change.
The endless plains of dead stone gave way to faint signs of life. A small hill rose ahead, coated in creeping vines and faint moss that shimmered eerily under the gloom.
Eryndor stopped the cart and pointed.
"That's it. According to Kern's map, the first cat tribe village should be beneath that hill."
Krog squinted. "Beneath? As in… underground?"
"Exactly. Catfolk build their homes in connected cave systems. Safer that way."
Elara stepped forward, brushing away the thick vines concealing a narrow tunnel entrance.
"Well… if this is the way in, it's going to be a tight fit."
She wasn't wrong — the tunnel mouth was barely large enough to fit one person at a time.
Eryndor, Krog, and Elara prepared to enter while Xaren stayed behind to watch the cart, prisoners, and Gronk.
Xaren saluted sharply.
"Leave the camp to me, my lord! No one shall disturb your quest while I stand vigilant!"
The four Hounds shivered in unison.
Eryndor gave a quick nod, partly trusting him.
---
As they crawled through the narrow passage, Elara conjured a sphere of pale white light that floated ahead of them, revealing glistening walls of mineral and roots twisted through the ceiling.
"Stay close," she said softly. "Some of these tunnels are old and unstable."
Krog ducked his head and muttered, "I swear if something jumps at me, I'm punching the ceiling."
For nearly an hour, the group followed the winding path downward. The air grew warmer — heavier — until they spotted a faint glow ahead.
"The exit," Eryndor breathed.
When they finally stepped out, they were greeted not by open plains, but by a fortified gate — tall, spiked, built from sharpened logs bound by iron roots. Two watchtowers loomed above, and from both, bows were drawn, arrows aimed directly at their chests.
"Hands up," Eryndor muttered. He slowly raised his palms. "We're not enemies!"
A feline voice hissed from above. "Then why do you come armed through a hidden tunnel?"
Eryndor replied quickly, "Because Kern of the Cat Tribe sent us! We've brought supplies — medicine, food, armor and resources for your people!"
A pause followed. The tension in the air thickened until even Elara's light seemed to dim.
Then, a second voice — older, steadier — spoke from the tower.
"Let them wait."
Moments later, a figure stepped onto the upper walkway — an elderly catwoman cloaked in rough wool and fur, her gray stripes faded with age. Her eyes were sharp golden slits that glowed even in the dim cave light, and her tail swayed slowly behind her.
She carried herself like someone who had seen a hundred winters — and survived them all by wit and stubborn will.
This was Elder Mina, matriarch of the Hollowpaw Tribe.
"Strangers claiming to be sent by Kern?" she thought.
From behind her, a scout darted forward and whispered something into Mina's ear.
He had just returned from the surface, having seen Xaren's cart and the four terrified Hound warriors tied to it.
"You've brought the hound tribe to our doorsteps" she said, her voice deep.
Eryndor nodded. "We captured them on the road. They tried to ambush us. They might be useful for information."
Mina's ears twitched, processing. Finally, she gave a slow nod.
"It seems you speak the truth, human."
She raised her clawed hand.
"Open the gate!"
The heavy wooden barrier creaked, the sound echoing through the cavern. As it opened, the faint glow of torches revealed a hidden world beyond — wooden houses carved into cave walls, hanging gardens lit by glowing fungi, and dozens of catfolk peering nervously at the newcomers.
Mina leaned on her carved staff, eyes scanning Eryndor's face.
"Kern's letter said he would send help," she murmured. "I did not expect it to arrive..."
Mina gestured inward. "Come. You must speak with me in the council hall. We have much to discuss… and far less time than you think."
As they stepped through the gates, dozens of feline eyes followed them.