Round 62

Merrin's wiry frame cut through the water with practiced efficiency as she moved toward the newly revealed passage, her dark eyes scanning every inch of the darkness ahead. The sound of rushing liquid filled her ears, drowning out all other noise except for the occasional creak of ancient stone groaning overhead—a reminder that death waited above as surely as it did below. She could feel the weight of her soaked clothes pulling her down, each movement requiring more effort than usual. Her gaze flickered back to the churning waters where Varikka had disappeared, a lump forming in her throat.

We're on our own now, she thought grimly, just Seraphine and me against whatever horrors this place holds. The halfling's fingers tightened around her crossbow, the cold metal a familiar comfort. She knew it was dry—she'd checked twice already—but against whatever lurked in these depths, even a functional weapon felt woefully inadequate.

Focus, she told herself as they waded deeper into the tunnel. Find a way to help Varikka without getting pulled in myself. The water rose with each step, soon lapping at her chest. She could feel it tugging at her legs, trying to drag her down into the abyss below. But Merrin was no stranger to precarious situations, and she moved forward with the cautious determination of a rogue who'd cheated death more times than she cared to admit.

The sound of rushing water echoed off the stone walls as they pressed onward, the tunnel narrowing ahead. And then—a new noise cut through the deluge. A loud scuttling, like countless tiny feet scurrying across stone, followed by a faint scratching sound from deeper within the passage. Merrin froze mid-step, her heart pounding in her chest.

Shit, she thought, what now? The scratching grew louder, closer, and Merrin knew they were far from alone in this watery hell.