Round 311

The water was cold enough to steal breath, each wave stealing more warmth than the last. Merrin’s teeth chattered, vision blurring at the edges—not from fear, though there was plenty of that, but from the creeping frostbite. Varikka clung to the rock above, a dark shape against the rising tide, and Merrin’s stomach twisted with something hotter than the water. “Varikka!” she yelled again, her voice barely carrying over the churning below. “Move! Toward me!” The tentacled horror still writhed in the depths, its eyes fixed on the priestess like a starving man on a feast.

Merrin’s hands shook as she pulled out the rope, looping it around her wrist with practiced ease despite the numbness creeping into her fingers. She began to climb, boots finding precarious purchase on the slick stone. Each movement sent fresh water cascading down her body, stealing what little warmth remained. The structure above groaned—loud enough this time to be unmistakable. A fresh cascade of rock and dust plummeted from the ceiling, splashing into the rising pool below. Merrin’s heart lurched. They were running out of time.