Time lost all meaning in the tunnel. I’d brought food and a lamp, but I didn’t know how far I had to go, so both had to be used sparingly. The floor tilted down at times, sometimes so steeply I turned and felt for the bottom with my feet. More than once I wanted to turn back, to crawl back into the light, to return to the monastery.

But the monastery was gone, all the people there dead. I’d be returning to a graveyard. So I continued on into the dark.

After what felt like days, I felt a whiff of cooler air. And then the tunnel opened up into a larger chamber. If the books were right, if I’d found the right tunnel, then this was the place. With trembling fingers, I lit the lamp.

A cavern surrounded me, a pool hollowed out in the middle. Glittering stalactites and stalagmites protruded from the cave ceiling and floor, forcing me to pick my way across the floor. It took some searching to find what I’d been looking for. The pool was wide, though not deep, and there was more ground to cover than I’d expected. But just as I’d resolved to wade into the pool, I found it.

A tiny, curled creature, its eyes still closed, webbed paws twitching every so often and wiping across its face. It was the size of a kitten. Gray fur, long tail, whiskered face. Still young. Old enough to survive on its own, but malleable. My hands reached out to it and then stopped. I couldn’t be impatient. There were other parts of the plan to enact.

The cloud juniper berry was bitter in my mouth, the sharp taste of it flooding my mouth and nostrils as I chewed. Strength flooded through my body. I went to the tunnel, took the little pickaxe from my belt, and tore at the rocks.

Some boulders pried loose easily from the surrounding tunnel. Others I had to pull at with all of my enhanced strength. But the tunnel filled. My heart beat wildly as my only means of escape closed off. If this did not work, I’d die down here. I could drink from the pool, and though that would keep me alive for longer than water would – eventually I would starve. The lamp would run out of oil. It would be a long, slow death in the dark.

“The greatest prizes are often born of the greatest risk,” I muttered to myself. Was I quoting Ningsu’s Proverbs? I was more than just a little shaken.