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Detraeus rose early.

Two days remained before his opening ‘act’ in the pit, and he thought on that as he worked through his morning routine. Exercises for his arms, shoulders, back, stomach, and legs. A brief but relatively intense endurance run, and then breakfast. While he would need to take care not to injure himself on the planned excursion for the day, he did believe it would make for a good warm up in preparation for the pit fight he was likely to encounter when the day came.

The sun was barely a sliver of light on the far horizon when Detraeus started out into the sand. As the hard, caked earth shifted into softer, rolling dunes and his boots sank inward with each step, Detraeus made a mental note that one day, eventually, he would do well to earn himself a mount in one fashion or another. His legs need not carry him everywhere he needed to go. Thankfully, he had all the day to work with, and, if he were fortunate, he wouldn’t need that much to locate the cave in question.

To his mild surprise, fortune did favor him that morning, and it was not yet high noon when he came upon the yawning entrance to a cave that fit the hybrid pit-fighter’s description. Not that it looked particularly spectacular or ominous up close, Detraeus thought with a frown as he eyed it. As he approached, surveying the outer structure, he began to wonder if it even was the cave in question or — if it was — if the woman’s speech about ‘endless dragons’ had been made more excess verbiage and tall tales than actual fact. Or a trick, perhaps?

Not, he figured after a long moment, that it mattered much. He had made his way out this far. What more could he lose? It was with that mindset that Detraeus started towards the cave’s mouth to make a proper inspection.

Detraeus froze, muscles bunching up at the unexpected touch like the coils of a startled viper woken from sleep, and his spare hand instinctively jerked around, snatching up the dagger at his hip, yanking it from its scabbard, whipping around and—

He blinked, pulse fast in his throat, blade raised, and other hand already hovering over a second hilt when recognition sank in. Then, he narrowed his eyes. “You.” Without thinking twice about why, precisely, he lowered his blade, if only a few inches, before shaking the tip to emphasize his words. “I told you not to show up. Are you deaf? Or just stupid?” Scowling, he stuffed his weapon back where he’d yanked it from. “Leave. I got here first. And don't touch me again unless you want to lose a hand.”

Detraeus blinked, startled speechless the rebuttal. As the ‘Thank you…’ sank in, he felt a strange, unasked for heat creep up into cheeks and burn there, making him heartily grateful that his dark skin wouldn’t show it. As he thought on it, though, his brow furrowed. What was she thanking him for? He’d just pulled a knife on her. Wasn’t that generally enough to deter most people? And wasn’t she supposed to be the one ‘disgusted’ by oblivionites? The one Casseth had said wanted himself and his father fought off even after they’d saved her friend’s life? Not to mention, what did—

Detraeus frowned, pulled from his musings, and turned to watch as she strut past him. At her taunt, he snorted, squaring his shoulders and opening his mouth. But then, she was moving into the cave, and Detraeus grit his teeth instead, drawing his bow and stalking after. Some girl this was.

The first, high-domed cavern that they came across looked approximately as ominous as the entrance: well-lit, quiet, and uninteresting. It wasn’t until he made it close to the dovaa’s side — ready to inform her that if she expected any extra favors out of him, she’d come to the wrong place — that he spotted the room’s only other living inhabitant larger than a boot. One, sleeping ysali dragon.

Detraeus pursed his lips, bow still in hand and curbed the urge to scoff. Without a word, he plucked an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and fired. The dragon’s initial waking SQUAWK of protest was quickly cut off by two more arrows burying themselves in its side, and the quiet thrrssshhh of its body disintegrating to dust. Stalking forward, Detraeus retrieved his arrows, fed them back into their hold, and then stooped, plucking up the two soul orbs left in the beasts wake.

After catching his companion’s eye, he tossed one of the orbs her way. “Deal with me, sky princess,” he said. “I'm staying.”

As soon as the orb was caught, Detraeus tucked away his own half of the spoils, and turned his attention onwards, to the next awaiting cavern. From the looks of things, the cave seemed multi-faceted, with several smaller tunnels leading off from the initial main room. Picking one, he stepped uneven, rocky surface of the cave floor, and moved through the tunnel’s opening. Though smaller and darker — not that the light level affected him in the least — the second room looked relatively similar to the first, with the only difference being that the ‘inhabitant’ of this one was far more awake, if distracted.

Again, a sole ysali dragon waited for them. Small. Unthreatening, and distracted, besides, its eyes focussed on some manner of small rodent scurrying along the far wall of the cave. As Detraeus watched, the miniature grass dragon wriggled, swished its tail, and pounced, wings spreading as it let out a happy chirrup of victory while its prey squealed between its jaws. One tiny crack later, the rodent went to see its god, and the ysali swallowed it happily.

Detraeus sighed, pursing his lips, and waited for his companion to step through. If this mighty ‘cave of dragons’ did not start turning up more worthy opponents soon, Detraeus was of a mind to let the dovaa girl have all the glory and leave. Since he’d made it all the way out here, though, it seemed a waste to turn back so soon, and at least, from the look of things, a good wealth of tunnels still waited ahead. Perhaps, if they were lucky, there was something in there worth wasting their time on.

Detraeus watched Araceli cast, curious in spite of himself as he felt the air ripple with movement and then, subtle as a thief’s blade, crack, shoving the tiny, unsuspecting ysali into the far wall with bone-snapping force. As an archer, the wind was capable of being either his greatest ally, or his most trying foe. He needed it on his side to aim lest his arrows blow astray, and as such, he was especially aware of it and any strange shifts in its mood. To share a room with someone who shaped the wind to her will, bent it, and could pluck at it at any time with her magic — it made him curious. Fascinated in ways and to extents that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

He rolled a shoulder, frowning, and accepted the orb as she spoke. “Detraeus,” he answered, before starting forward again.

Of the options before them, the soft, beckoning air currents whispering through one of the openings drew his curiosity, and he started towards that, climbing over the small outcropping of rock at the tunnel’s entrance before slipping through, and into the next cavern. At the threshold between the previous room and the next, Detraeus paused, fingers flitting back to his quiver as he eyed their next target.

Deep shadows lined the far edges of the room. Dark enough, Detraeus suspected, that his companion would not be able to make out those areas, but to him, everything was in perfect view, including the obvious source of the unexpected wind currents: a lone, full-grown ayrala dragon. It beat the air with its wings, pacing about as it did as though restless and hungry for something. Detraeus nocked an arrow, aimed, and fired.

Unfortunately, despite their relative weakness on the grand scale of dragons, an ayrala’s power was particularly potent to archers, and at the first cut of his arrow through the air, the dragon spun on him, snarling and sending a sharp tunnel of current through the air to knock his shot off course. Gritting his teeth, Detraeus strung two distracting shots, hoping to draw the beast’s attention, and then nocked a third, drawing back far as his bow would give before releasing.

At the instant of its release, though, Detraeus felt a strange rush about his fingers. An unnatural ripple of air that he knew had nothing to do with the beast facing him since, instead of throwing it sidelong, the air tunnel in question swivelled around his arrow, guiding it towards the ayrala. Detraeus stared, a strange rush of eager energy bubbling up in his chest as he watched his shot not only cut through the dragon’s deflection attempt, but bury itself deep in the beast’s skull. Not one to miss an opportunity when he saw it or count his coins before they made it to his purse, Detraeus wasted no time snatching loose two of the throwing knives at his chest and slinging them each out in quick succession to the arrow. Between the three piercings, the dragon was wailing and disintegrating in a pile of dust on the cavern floor before Detraeus could string another arrow.

He breathed out and stepped fully into the room, a satisfied glow of energy filling his chest as the winds around him died back out. With the battle behind him, though, he was quick to put two and two together, and since the helpful ripple of magic had come from neither him nor the dragon…

His attention flit back to the dovaa girl. ‘You did that,’ lingered unspoken on the tip of his tongue as he watched her, directly alongside, ‘Why?’ and, far less likely to ever be vocalized: ‘Thank you.’

Instead of voicing any of those, however, he eventually turned his gaze away, frowned and dipped, ignoring the second unasked for rush of heat to his cheeks in favor of retrieving the waiting orbs and handing one over in silence. After re-fastening his knives, too, and fetching his arrows, Detraeus eyed the remaining passageways, and then glanced to his company, arching his eyebrows with a wordless: ‘Well? Any preferences?’

Detraeus tensed, muscles knotting up at the brush of contact. Unlike last time, however, he was not so startled that his fingers moved instinctively to his blades, and instead, he watched his companion with narrowed eyes, fingers hovering at his belt before dropping loose to his sides. Words still lingered on the tip of his tongue. Things that a buried part of him felt he ought to say, but despite all his efforts, he still despised the sound of his own voice, and unless necessary, he generally opted not to open his mouth. Instead, he followed wordlessly behind Araceli’s lead.

Click.

Detraeus felt the world slow at the sound. Like a finger snap that turned the air to gelatin around him, starting at his ankles and working up his legs to his waist, chest, arms, throat. His pulse flurried in his chest, rationality and common sense clinging to their last fibers as a raw, horribly familiar panic seeped into his veins like poison. When he pushed at his muscles, forcing his leg forward to follow after Araceli, he moved, but not fast enough, and it felt like being drowned in air. Fighting in water. Struggling against his natural surroundings.

Sorcery.

It couldn’t be anything else, particularly since he felt the spell like needle pricks of ink along his skin. Spell words carved into the rock and melted into the air itself. The last strands of Detraeus’ logical mind told him that either he or his companion must have triggered a trap. All he could think, however, was that he was pinned. Weak. Vulnerable. Made helpless all over again.

His heart flung itself against the cage of his chest like a feral animal, mad with panic and desperate for escape from the confines of its prison.

“Araceli…”