“Blazeheart?” The younger boy stared at him with such interest in his eyes.

  “No! Braveheart!” The elf boy looked for recognition in the younger boy's eyes. “Y’know, like the movie? Braveheart!”

  Despite everything—the spider, the dark, the aches on his skin—the younger boy felt something loose in his chest.

  Up above, the sky had been dreary for years. News anchors spoke in hushed tones about the rising rate of comas. Streets fell quieter. A full apartment building, once bustling with tenants, no longer had its lights turned on at night. Hospitals expanded like cities, occupying the spaces left vacant.

  His mother’s favorite armchair sat empty.

  The world felt… dim.

  But here, in this tiny, dark chamber beneath the earth, with a ridiculous green-haired stranger joking about his hero name, the air didn’t feel quite so grim.

  “You really think this is like the forums?” The younger boy asked quietly.

  Braveheart pointed to the wall behind him, gesturing to what lies ahead. “Health stone. Just like they said.” He looked back at the younger boy, eyes bright. “And if it’s like the forums, then we level. We get stronger. We climb.”

  The young boy glanced down at his hands. The threads shimmered faintly in his vision, weaving through the stone and trickling into the light from the green-haired boy himself.

  “What do you think the threads are?”

  “The threads? Like the spider webs?” Braveheart cocked his head at the question.

  The young boy hesitated. The golden lines pulsed gently, like they were listening.

  “No, the gold threads. They’re everywhere,” he murmured. “They showed where it was safe. They… move.”

  The green-haired boy’s grin returned slowly, slightly teasing this time, with a hint of something impressed.

  “Oh, so you’re special special.”

  The young boy frowned, “I don’t feel special."

  “Yeah,” Braveheart said lightly, stretching his hands outward in the cramped space. “That’s usually how it works.”

  A faint cracking sound echoed from above.

  Both boys looked up at the familiar sound of chitin mining at the rock above the crack.

  The spider was testing the rock.

  Braveheart moved towards the entrance of the crack immediately. “Okay. Bonding time over.”

  The smaller boy stepped up behind him, slowly.

  “New rule,” Braveheart said, peeking his head slowly out into the open, looking towards the health stone. “We don’t die in the tutorial.”

  “The tutorial?” the younger boy echoed.

  “First floor. Early game. Baby dungeon.” He grinned again, reckless and young. “The health stone is a safe point; spiders don’t go near it.”

  Another crack split the hard rock above them.

  Dust fell from the ceiling.

  The threads wrapped around Braveheart, calm and certain.

  “Come on!” Braveheart said.

  The younger boy didn’t question him.

  The boys ran out of the fissure, just under the spider.

  Small feet slapping against damp stone. Blue glow gleamed ahead of them. Red eyes glint on the wall, watching, waiting for a small mistake.

  Both boys hit the luminescent healing stone, four little palms treating it like base in a game of tag.

  They looked behind them to see that the spider had not moved.

  The only sound was the dripping of the cave.

  Braveheart started laughing again, breathless, exhilarated, wild.

  “We are absolute legends.” The green-haired boy clenched his fist.

  The younger boy laughed, pressing his back into the stone and sliding down to rest, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Legends.”

  The threads pulsed more slowly now.

  Calmer.

  The blue light from the health stone soaked into their skin slowly, like warmth returning to cold fingers.

  Scrapes faded to pink. Pain softened. The younger boy watched in fascination as the angry red along both boys’ knees faded and vanished without a trace.

  Braveheart kicked his foot forward and back experimentally.

  “No way,” he breathes, grinning down at himself. “No stitches, no tetanus shot; this place is sick, man.”

  “Was it still sick when we almost died?” The younger boy muttered, still sliding down the stone until he was slouching harshly against the blue glow and the damp mud.

  “Adrenaline builds character,” Braveheart said with confidence. He then leaned back against the crystal beside the young boy. “Also, we didn’t die. We have plot armor.”

  They sat there for a while, shoulders almost touching. The cave air smelled like wet earth, the sweet scent from earlier completely gone, leaving the air feeling stuffy.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  The younger boy closed his eyes for a moment.

  On Earth, rain had been constant for nearly three years. But really, it just felt that way. People, dredging through daily life, deciding to stop sleeping or sleep forever to get it over with. Entire neighborhoods sat still, half-lit. Hospitals expanded into old malls. Curtains never open.

  Down here, at least the gloom had fangs. It wasn’t pretending.

  Braveheart broke the silence first.

  “Okay,” he said, slapping his cheeks with both hands. “Let’s assess the damage. We spawn in Spider Hell. Zero weapons, zero clothes, immediate boss encounter.”

  “Mini-boss,” the younger boy corrected.

  Braveheart looked at him with delighted approval. “Mini-boss. Yes. Unfortunate.”

  The younger boy huffed, then giggled quietly.

  “This is a trash spawn,” Braveheart continued, gesturing dramatically around at the dark tunnel. “Absolute garbage. Who coded this? If there’s a dev up there, I will be filing a complaint.”

  “You think someone made it?” The boy asked.

  Braveheart shrugged. “Seems like every game ever, man.”

  The younger boy glanced down at the golden threads, shimmering faintly across the stone floor. The light stretched outward into the tunnels like pulsing veins.

  Braveheart leaned his head against the crystal. “So. Floor one.”

  “Is this really the first floor?”

  “Has to be.” Braveheart counted on his fingers. “Easy to avoid enemies. Cave with spiders. Safe zones. No dramatic monologues.” He looked over at the younger boy. “Classic structure.”

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  “You’ve thought about this a lot.”

  “Of course.” He bumped the younger boy lightly with his shoulder. “When forty percent of the planet drops into magical comas, you have to start considering what to do.”

  The younger boy swallowed. “My mom used to say it was the rapture or punishment.” He murmured.

  “My uncle said it was an alien mind-controlling ray,” Braveheart replied easily. “My cousin said it was late-stage capitalism.”

  The younger boy blinked at him.

  Braveheart grinned. “We’re a very normal family.”

  That pulled a warm laugh from the younger boy.

  They fell quiet again.

  After a moment, Braveheart sighed. “Okay, but seriously. How do we find a way out?”

  “Out?” The younger boy tilted his head.

  “Yeah. Surface. Floor one hub area. Village. Field with slimes. The grandmas from the forums. Something.” He waved in the dark. “There has to be more than just spider caves.”

  The thought made the younger boy’s chest tighten.

  “I don’t want to stay down here,” he admitted quietly, looking out towards the spider.

  “No kidding,” Braveheart said. “I didn’t sign up to be cave goblin number two.”

  “I’m number one?”

  “You crawled better.”

  The younger boy smiled despite himself.

  Braveheart leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “But how will we find it?” Uncertainty creeping in between his words. “All the tunnels down here look the same. Rock and more rock. Plus the spiders…” His voice trailed off.

  They were small.

  Alone.

  The young boy looked down at his little palms again.

  The threads were brighter now. Not flaring like before, no urgency, just… presence. Flowing past him towards a narrow tunnel to the right of the health stone. Subtle. Like a path drawn in sunlight.

  The curve was gentle, as if confident.

  The younger boy put one hand down on the damp rock and stood up slowly.

  Braveheart watched him. “What? You good?”

  The younger boy turned towards the tunnel that the light passed through. He studied the pathway for a second. “I think,” he said carefully, “I know the way.”

  Braveheart stared at him for a moment.

  Then his grin returned: wide, bright, reckless.

  “Of course you do,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. "Special, special.”

  The young boy steadied his eyes and smiled with certainty.

  The tunnel breathed cold air. Not fresher, just thinner.

  The golden threads streamed ahead of the younger boy in soft ribbons, skipping along the wall and over the uneven floors.

  Braveheart leaned in as they walked. “You sure?”

  The younger boy nodded. “Stay close to me; don't get caught on anything.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Braveheart whispered. “No touching the murder silk. Gotcha.”

  They moved slowly through the cave.

  Every few paces, they stopped. Braveheart would lean around a bend first, exaggeratedly dramatic, and then flatten himself against a wall.

  “Careful,” the younger boy hissed, smacking his arm.

  “I am careful.”

  Elias flinched. “You whisper loudly.”

  Braveheart opened his mouth to argue, then stopped when the younger boy grabbed his arm.

  Ahead, the tunnel grew wider.

  Webs draped across the ceiling and walls like banners. Thick, gooey clusters of pale eggs hung from the walls, faintly translucent; something dark curled inside each one. The streaks of light wound between them carefully. Deliberate and narrow.

  Braveheart’s face fell.

  “Okay,” he breathed. “That’s disgusting.”

  The younger boy swallowed. “Follow my footsteps.”

  They moved together like that, the young boy watching the threads, Braveheart watching everything else.

  The younger boy presses his small palm lightly against Braveheart’s chest to halt him when he misses a silk strand. Braveheart gently guided the younger boy around the sharp stone he didn’t see.

  Once, something in the sacs twitched.

  Both boys froze, locking their eyes on the dangling sac.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Nothing else moved. They continued.

  The cave floor sloped upwards now. The air shifted, less damp than before. The threads danced faintly ahead, curving in the distance.

  “We’re close,” the younger boy whispered.

  “To what?” Braveheart whispered back.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  They rounded another bend. The webs thinned out, and the egg sacs disappeared.

  For one short second, it felt like the worst was behind them.

  Braveheart exhaled. “Tutorial cleared, you see? We’re not so bad at this–"

  A shriek tore through the cavern. High. Piercing. Wrong.

  The younger boy flinched, frozen in fear. Braveheart covered his ears.

  From the rocky ceiling’s darkness, something dropped.

  Massive leathery wings unfurled midair. A body larger than either of them, its ribs visible beneath tight skin. A face could only be seen in the reflection of the glowing threads. It was all teeth and blind, milky eyes.

  The bat’s scream echoed through the cavern.

  “RUN!” Braveheart shouted.

  They ran, bare feet slapping against rock. The tunnel felt narrower now, cruel and unforgiving. Wind blasted over them as the bat swooped low.

  Claws raked across the small boy's shoulder.

  White-hot pain exploded through his small body. He screamed, stumbling forward as blood slicked his bare skin.

  Braveheart pulled his wrist. “MOVE!”

  The monster shrieked again and dove.

  Its talons caught Braveheart this time, dragging across his back, tearing into his flesh. He cried out, back arching, but didn’t slow.

  “Left!” The small boy gasped, pointing at the threads.

  The boys cut hard around a stone outcrop.

  The bat slammed into the wall behind them; the loud crack of stone echoed on their path.

  It rebounded quickly, swooping again, lower and faster.

  Claws wrapped around the young boy's torso.

  For one terrifying, weightless second, the ground vanished beneath his feet.

  The cave spun. He felt himself rising.

  “BRAVE–!”

  Braveheart lunged towards the bat.

  He grabbed the younger boy by the arm with both hands and yanked with everything he had in his small body.

  There was a sickening pop.

  The toddler's screams tore into the cavern as his shoulder ripped from its socket.

  But he fell.

  The boys crashed hard against the stone.

  The bat screeched, frustrated, circling above their heads wildly.

  Elias couldn’t move his arm. It hung limply at his side, agony drowning him in blinding waves.

  Braveheart scrambled to his knees, panting with a busted lip, eyes wide with something that definitely wasn’t joking anymore.

  “Get up,” he said hoarsely. ‘Get up, get up, get up.”

  “I can’t–”

  “You can.”

  The golden threads flared brighter than ever. Streaming along a straight path now, no more bends, no more turns.

  Light, sunlight.

  A thin golden beam spilled down the final stretch of the tunnel like a blade cutting through the darkness.

  “Exit,” Braveheart breathed.

  The bat dove again.

  Braveheart ducked, grabbing the younger boy under his good arm and hauling him upright. The young boy bit down on his lip to keep from blacking out.

  They ran.

  Uncoordinated, Braveheart was half-dragging, half-carrying him. Both boys stumbled, forcing their legs to move through waves of pain and nausea.

  The bat’s black wings thundered behind it.

  Claws grazed the younger boy's back again, slicing skin. He screamed. Braveheart screamed louder.

  They ran up the final incline, scrambling on their hands and knees toward the widening mouth of the cave.

  Sunlight flooded their vision.

  The bat shrieked one final time and stopped just before the sunlight. At the edge of the shadows, its wings beat furiously. Its body recoiled as if the sun itself burned it.

  Braveheart dragged the younger boy the last few meters.

  They tumbled out of the damp cave into the dry, warm sunlight.

  Grass.

  The air smelled different: alive, open, impossibly wide.

  The bat’s high-pitched cries echoed back into the depths of the cavern.

  Braveheart rolled onto his back, chest heaving wildly.

  “We–” he gasped. “We live.”

  The younger boy tried to laugh. It came out as a broken cry.

  The world above was beautifully vast. A stretch of rolling green under a pale sky. No rain, no gloom. This sky felt young.

  The pain surged. The young boy turned his head towards Braveheart. “You popped it.”

  "Yeah." Braveheart was already looking at him, breathless. “My bad.”

  Braveheart’s face blurred, golden threads shimmering once around the younger boy's vision.

  “You good?” Braveheart leaned on his elbow.

  The last thing the younger boy saw before everything went dark was a look of concern. Lying in the green grass, floating in the blue sky. The orange aura around Braveheart trickling towards him.

  Then he passed out.