The Elderlight Conflux

The chamber Oliver awoke in was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The room was octagonal, with every surface—walls, ceiling, and floor—engraved with ancient carvings. They depicted scenes he couldn’t comprehend their swirling patterns, strange figures that bent and twisted in ways that defied logic, and symbols that seemed to pulse faintly when he looked too long. The room exuded a deep blue glow, faint enough to leave large patches of shadow creeping in every corner. It was otherworldly and oppressive, like being inside a forgotten dream.

His fingers tightened instinctively around the hilt of his sword, the familiar weight offering a shred of comfort in the unknown. He turned, catching sight of Mali already on her feet. She moved confidently toward an exit—a dark octagonal passage leading downward. She paused at the threshold, her silver hair a wild halo in the faint light.

“Where are we?” Oliver asked, his voice hushed but sharp with tension. The strange echoes from the corridor beyond unsettled him: faint sounds of something moving, and the unmistakable sound of liquid dripping—except it didn’t sound like water. The texture of the sound made his skin crawl.

Mali didn’t answer immediately. She stood still, listening with her head tilted. Finally, she turned to face him, her green eyes catching the faint light. “This is the Elderlight Conflux,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “It’s a pocket reality, nestled against the Breach Between.”

Her explanation did little to soothe his unease. He frowned. “This doesn’t look like a place visited often.”

“It isn’t,” she replied with a shrug. “The Conflux was once used by the Abyssal Architects when they helped the Faceless God create the world. But they abandoned it long ago. Few know how to access it, and those who do avoid it—because it’s infested.”

“Infested?” Oliver repeated, his voice rising slightly. “By what?”

“Creatures twisted by the Elderlight.” Her tone remained casual, as though she were describing a slight inconvenience rather than a potentially lethal reality.

Oliver sighed, studying her. “You know a lot for a peasant girl.”

Mali tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Peasant girl?”

“Well, you don’t seem like a mage or a scholar,” he offered, gesturing vaguely toward her tattered cloak and worn corset. He wasn’t sure why he said it—it just slipped out.

To his surprise, her lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “I’m not a peasant, Oliver.” She said it simply, as if correcting a child. Before he could press her further, she added, “You’re not what I expected, either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He tried to sound indignant, but her words caught him off guard.

“You seem... kind,” she said, glancing away. “For someone dressed like a general of the Bone Lord’s army. I did not expect anything but ruthless carnage from those who serve the Dread Lord.”

Oliver hesitated, caught between gratitude and embarrassment. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, thanks. And, for what it’s worth, I feel safer around you. You’re smart and... capable.”

Mali’s eyes widened slightly, and for a brief moment, she looked almost flustered. But she quickly recovered, her demeanor shifting back to its usual calm. “Do you want to learn how to navigate the Conflux?” she asked abruptly.

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. Anything to get them out of this unsettling place faster.

She stopped walking and stepped beside him. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes, Oliver,” she repeated, her tone firmer. “The Conflux isn’t like a normal place. It’s alive, in a sense. The energy here moves between portals, and each path has its own current. If you focus, you can sense them.”

Oliver gave her a skeptical look but complied, closing his eyes. He stood still, straining to hear or feel anything beyond the strange echoes of the passages. He heard the faint dripping sound again, the unsettling movement of something distant.

“Not with your senses,” Mali instructed softly. “Feel with your soul. The Conflux resonates with energy. Listen to it.”

He frowned, trying to ignore the creeping anxiety building in his chest. For a moment, there was nothing—just the oppressive silence and the faint noises from the distance. But then, he felt it: a subtle pull, like a thread tugging gently at the edge of his awareness. It wasn’t physical, but it was undeniably there, drawing him toward the leftmost passage at the upcoming junction.

“I think I... felt something,” he said, opening his eyes. He looked to Mali, who was watching him closely.

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Good. You’ll get better with practice.” She reached into her cloak and pulled out a silver chain with a jagged red crystal dangling from it. The crystal seemed to shimmer faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. “This will help amplify what you’re sensing until you can do it on your own.”

Oliver took the necklace, feeling the warmth of the crystal against his skin as he hung it around his neck. “Thanks,” he said, his voice sincere.

They continued down the passage Oliver had sensed, the glow of Mali’s green energy orb lighting the way. The strange echoes grew louder as they walked, and Oliver couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. He gripped his sword tightly, his knuckles white.

“What kind of creatures are in here?” he asked, his voice low.

Mali glanced at him. “Twisted Eclipses,” she began, her tone clinical. “They devour memories and warp perception. Then there are the Mawling Constructs—clockwork beings made of rusted metal and bone, relentless but slow.” She paused, as though mentally cataloging the horrors. “Soul-Weavers trap souls in shimmering webs. The Echoing Choir causes anomalies if you listen too long. Gloomroot Crawlers are rooted in the walls and floors but attack if disturbed. And the Lurking Shards... fragments of corrupted light and shadow.”

Oliver swallowed hard, his grip on his sword tightening. “Anything else?”

Her expression darkened. “The Obsidian Prowlers.”

He didn’t ask her to elaborate. He didn’t want to know.

As they approached a large junction, Oliver’s unease deepened. The room they entered was vast, its ceiling so high that it disappeared into shadow. In the center stood a massive pillar covered in the same carvings as the walls of the initial chamber. The pillar rose from a circular platform, which was surrounded by a glowing pit. Narrow walkways connected the platform to the outer edges of the room, creating a precarious crossing.

Mali suddenly grabbed Oliver’s arm, pulling him toward the pillar. “Quickly,” she whispered, her voice urgent. She pushed him onto the narrow walkway, forcing him to cross to the central platform. Her grip was firm as she pressed him against the pillar, her body shielding his.

As Mali's body pressed against Oliver's, her breasts were forcefully shoved into his face. The soft, warm flesh enveloped his cheeks, the delicate curve of her cleavage tantalizingly close to his nose. There was a moment that Oliver could not help but laugh to himself that he got more action in this weird horror world than in his own.

The weight of her breasts pressed down on him as she pushed in closer, forcing his face to bury itself deeper into her chest. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the scent of her skin permeating his nostrils. Her heartbeat pulsed through her chest, a quickened rhythm that echoed in his ears.

Mali's hands gripped his shoulders tightly, her fingers digging into his skin as she held him firmly against the pillar. The pressure of her body against his only served to heighten the intensity of the moment, the physical contact between them a tangible reminder of her power and control over him.

“What’s going on?” Oliver said muffled and feeling a bit ridiculous.

She hushed him, her green energy orb dimming to a faint flicker. “Obsidian Prowlers,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

Oliver froze, his heart pounding. Peering under her arm, he spotted movement in the shadows near the room’s edges. Two jet-black creatures, almost invisible in the darkness, moved silently across the stone floor. Their forms were indistinct, like living shadows, and their presence seemed to drink in the light around them. They moved with a predatory grace, their heads swiveling as though searching for something—or someone.

Oliver barely dared to breathe.