Date: October 30, 542, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Datuk had been walking for several hours. The tunnels stretched in an endless chain, and he, weakened but unbroken, trudged forward, using his axe as a staff. Blood on his clothes had dried into a crust, and each step sent a dull ache through his chest where the King's claws had left four deep gouges.
He knew he could not go far like this. The wounds needed time, and time was short — creatures might return, drawn by the scent of blood. He needed a place to wait, safe from attack from behind.
Datuk examined the tunnel walls. The stone was uneven, with occasional deep cracks and small niches, but none looked reliable enough. He walked on, and finally, after about an hour of wandering, he found what he was looking for.
In the wall, about a meter up, gaped a small hollow — probably a natural depression formed when a stone block had fallen out years ago. The depth was about a meter and a half, the height a little over a meter. Not luxury, but good enough for a night's sleep.
Datuk inspected the hollow from all sides, checking for cracks through which a predator might squeeze. It seemed clean. Then he set to work.
He found several large stones lying nearby and began to block the entrance. Not completely — he left a small gap just big enough to crawl through. The stones sat unevenly, but the more he stacked, the less visible the shelter became. From the outside, it looked like just a pile of rubble against the wall.
Datuk squeezed inside, pulled the last stone into place, and found himself in almost total darkness.
"Good enough," he said to himself. "I'll hole up, heal up."
He took the last of his supplies from his pack — a piece of dried meat, a handful of hardtack, a flask of water. He ate slowly, without appetite, forcing himself. His body needed fuel to recover.
Then he treated his wounds. He washed away the dried blood as best he could in the cramped space and bandaged the deepest cuts with strips of his shirt. His left arm, broken in two places, throbbed with every movement. Datuk fashioned a splint from two stone fragments and tied it with a strap from his pack.
"Hold on," he told his arm. "Not time to give up yet."
He leaned his back against the cold wall, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
---
Two days. Forty‑eight hours in darkness, silence, and near total stillness.
Datuk slept more than he was awake. His body, battered by battle, demanded rest, and he gave it as much as he could. He would wake, drink water, chew a hardtack — then fall asleep again.
Regeneration worked. Slowly but surely, the wounds closed. The King's claws had left deep scars, but the bleeding stopped, and the edges of the cuts began to pinken — a sure sign that tissue was repairing. His left arm still hurt badly, but Datuk could wiggle his fingers — the bones were knitting properly.
By the end of the second day, he felt ready to move on.
Datuk pushed aside the stones, crawled out of his shelter, and stretched, his spine cracking. His back was stiff, his muscles ached, but he was on his feet. That was what mattered.
"Alright, you beasts," he said, shifting his grip on the axe. "I'm back."
---
The third day of his breakout was unexpectedly easy.
The rats did not attack. They sensed him — Datuk saw their red eyes in the darkness, heard the rustle of their paws and the soft, frightened squeaks. But they did not charge. They hid in crevices and side passages, and only the stupidest, hungriest dared to dart out.
Datuk killed them without mercy. One blow — fast, clean, almost mechanical. The axe would sink into a skull, and the creature would fall silent before it could even squeal.
"Afraid, are you?" the dwarf grinned, wiping the blade on a rat's hide. "Smart."
He walked through the tunnels, not turning aside, not slowing. His body was not fully healed — his left arm still ached, and breathing deeply hurt — but he felt his strength returning. The Berserker Spirit, exhausted after the Final Battle, began to pulse in his blood again, driving it through his veins.
By evening of the third day, Datuk realized he had wandered into an unfamiliar part of the dungeon. The walls here were different — smoother, as if worked by human hands. Torches were spaced farther apart, and their light was dim, yellow, barely pushing back the darkness.
And then he found the room.
---
It was small — about ten paces long and ten wide. The walls were covered in runes — not like those in the elder's tower, but older, more angular. They glowed with a faint bluish light, and that light, pulsing and alive, made the air in the room tremble.
The floor was etched with complex geometric lines. They converged in the center, forming a perfect circle, from which rays radiated to the walls. In the ceiling, directly above the center, gaped a small dark hole. It did not look like a ventilation shaft — too regular, too round.
Datuk stopped at the threshold, looking around.
"Well, well," he said, not daring to enter. "What's this?"
The runes on the walls pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Or so it seemed. The dwarf frowned. There was something familiar about this place. The same lines on the floor, the same circle in the center, the same dark hole in the ceiling…
"Wait a minute," Datuk narrowed his eyes. "This is… this is like up there. Where I jumped from."
He remembered the cave where his fall had begun. The same runes on the walls. The same lines on the floor. And the dark hole in the ceiling — only there it had been the floor, and here it was the ceiling.
"So this is another descent," he said. "Or an ascent? Damned if I know."
He stepped forward. Then another step. His axe was ready, but he sensed no threat. The runes glowed calmly, evenly. The lines on the floor did not move. The room was silent.
Datuk walked to the center, to the circle where all the lines converged. He stopped. He looked up — at the dark hole in the ceiling. Nothing. Just darkness.
"Well, what am I supposed to do with this?" he asked the emptiness.
No answer.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and in that instant, the runes on the walls blazed with blinding light. The lines on the floor came alive, swirling around his legs, rising higher — to his knees, his thighs, his chest.
Datuk tried to step back, but his legs would not obey. He tried to raise his axe, but his hand froze in the air, as if filled with lead.
"What the…" he began, but did not finish.
The light became unbearable. It flooded the room, flooded him, and Datuk felt the ground vanish from under his feet. He was not falling — he was rising. Slowly, smoothly, as if an invisible hand had grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him upward.
Into the darkness.
Into the hole in the ceiling.
Datuk had time to see the runes on the walls go out, the lines on the floor disappear — and then only darkness remained. Thick, dense, it enveloped him from all sides, and he lost all sense of direction. Up, down — he could not tell.
Then the light returned.
It was white, even, diffused — just like in the world above. Datuk felt solid ground under his feet. He stood at the edge of a huge crater, and the wind, cold and biting, tousled his hair.
Below, as far as the eye could see, stretched the Dead Crater.
Datuk stood exactly where he had jumped days ago.
"I'm back," he said, and in his hoarse, ragged voice was surprise.
He looked at his hands. Dirty, crusted with dried blood. At his axe, its blade notched. At the two dragon bones still tucked into his belt.
"Alive," he said. "Damn it, I'm alive."
Datuk turned and walked toward the firz village. He did not look back.
Ahead lay rest, food, and maybe a proper bed. Then the journey back to his friends.