“Archibald!” Cyrus screamed again.

Slumped on his knees, he stifled a reach over the blackened abyss hoping desperately he could retrieve his friend from it. He didn’t like to admit it, but Archibald was his best (and only) friend and losing him was a powerful blow to his motivation. He prayed that Archibald would survive his fall but a sinking feeling consumed him. Cyrus hung his head and let tears roll from in his eyes. He felt the loss of a friendly face, and one who was adept at teaching him and keeping him safe.

“Archibald…I promise…” Cyrus whispered, so no one could hear him. “If you live, I’ll never say I want to execute you again.”

To make matters worse, the blood-red eyes from the walls sensed it was time to reveal their true nature. Henry took a step back as small head sized boulders with filmy red eyes rolled out of the wall. Tiny imp like bodies unrolled from the cyclops-like boulder heads. They sported poisonous fangs ready to tear into the flesh of the unfortunate. The creatures squeaked and growled as they danced with spears around the pit in a dining ritual.

“Wh-what are they” Cyrus screamed, lifting his arms but still refusing to move.

“Foul rockblins,” Henry responded, shuddering. “Tiny golems animated by the essence of evil itself.”

The creatures pointed their spears at Cyrus and Henry as they danced.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Henry grunted. “But prince, we have to go. They will kill us or worse.”

Cyrus remained on his knees, mourning the loss of his friend. A look of empathy came over the knight’s eyes. “Look, I know he was your friend and probably your mentor too,” Henry said, his eyes wistfully sad and lacking their machismo, “but isn’t this what a mentor trains us for? So we can survive and face the world without them? Take it from someone who lost their master.”

A rockblin jabbed a pointed spear at Cyrus’ arm.

“Ow!” he cried “I don’t want to die. I want to become a legend but not by dying like Archibald.”

Henry stabbed at the rockblin’s eye causing it to flee for the moment. He reached a gloved hand towards Cyrus and yanked the prince to his feet. The two were about to escape together when Cyrus exclaimed, “Archibald’s briefcase!”

He quickly weaved left and right dodging rockblin spears before snatching it. More rockblins emerged from the wall and swarmed Cyrus like a pack of rabid wolfhounds. They advanced on him with hungry looks in their eyes, knowing full well his meaty frame would provide a better meal than Henry who was strictly metal and bone.

Henry slashed at the creatures but their weak spot—their eyes—were turned towards Cyrus. They advanced in a circle, closing in on Cyrus who whimpered and moaned like he often did in a tight spot. He pulled the briefcase even closer to his body. The knight raised his finger as an idea came to him. “Look, I don’t want you to die, just use something your friend had and…”

“But I don’t know how to use anything,” Cyrus said with sudden performance anxiety.

“Better to take a chance and save yourself than just die,” Henry shouted and Cyrus nodded with tears in his eyes.

“Here goes nothing…Archibald,” Cyrus opened the briefcase, and this time, there was no alarm system.

Cyrus quickly reached in and pulled out a bag of powder. It was bright purple and tied with a yellow string. A patchwork explosion was sown on the front. “Flash-bang powder!” Cyrus exclaimed. “Archibald uses this for magic tricks.”

Cyrus haphazardly threw the powder. There was a powerful explosion of light and Henry along with the rockblins cried out. Cyrus opened his eyes and witnessed all of the evil creatures writhing on the ground with their eyes shut. Their spears were tossed aside in the midst of flailing with squeaks and gasps. Cyrus ran around them to Henry who stood with his chestnut eyes gone hazy. “I can’t see anything,” he said, shaking. “What did you do?”

Cyrus grabbed Henry’s hand. “Come on, I’ll tell you later.”

Cyrus lead Henry away from the pit, taking one last glance in sorrow. Together they headed to a stone door emblazoned with an eye similar to the creatures. Cyrus saw no handle so he pressed against it and with a gravelly groan, it swung open. The two adventurers tumbled into the next room and landed on top of each other.

“What happened out there? You have to tell me,” Henry said frantically grasping like a blind boy. “What has taken my vision?”

Cyrus quickly pushed the groping knight off of him and boldly smiled. “I used flash powder to blind those fiends!”

“Nice job, you clumsy oaf,” Henry said, his arms crossed as he stared blindly into space. “You blinded them…and me as well.”

“At least I saved us,” Cyrus shot back.

“You saved yourself. I wasn’t in any danger,” Henry stated angrily. “I am a master of the blade, you were the only one getting attacked.”

“You told me to do something and then get mad at me when I do? You are such a moody knight.”

Sir Celine turned aside and muttered, “There’s no way in hell Princess Trinity will fall for you the way you are. You are hardly a gentlemen, more like a pig in human flesh.”

Cyrus turned bright red and shouted, “I wish people would stop saying I look like a pig.”

“I’m not talking about your appearance,” Henry responded. “It’s how you act.”

Cyrus fell silent. Even he had a tinge of understanding where Henry was coming from, but he’d never admit it. Instead he changed the subject to the matter at hand. “Well, why don’t we get out of this cave,” he said.

“It’ll be hard since I can’t see,” Henry sneered. “You’ll have to fend off everything. It’s a man’s job!”

Cyrus swallowed hard. He only had a tiny increase of confidence from fending off the rockblins, but it wasn’t enough to deal with a titanic rock golem. The only thing that made him feel safe was how it seemed Archibald had prepared his briefcase for a circumstance like this.

The young prince gazed off the balcony. Two flights of stairs were carved into the ledge where they stood. Cyrus, ever the wannabe historian, wondered if the stone steps were carved by the mining crew from 100 years ago or a much older civilization. With a wince, he grasped Henry’s gloved hand and made his way down to three separate tunnels blasted into the painted walls. They were crude and definitely looked like the work of the miners since they were cragged and cut away with crude blast magic.

Since Henry was no use when it came to choosing a tunnel, Cyrus had to decide all by himself. He groaned and paced a little, drawing Henry’s attention who stood with squinted hazy eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Why are you complaining?”

“I don’t know the way,” Cyrus exclaimed. “There’s three tunnels and I don’t know which one takes us out…or which one leads to the rock golem.”

“Maybe the good woman’s story can help?” Henry responded. “I must admit there were other things on my mind when I heard the story, so I can’t help you remember.”

Cyrus closed his eyes and recounted the fascinating but spooky story that had captured his imagination. Cyrus got to the part where the man journeyed into the path of the ancients and with a sudden ‘a-ha’ he remembered.

“He stumbled onto the path of the ancients! There were obviously people here before the miners and we just need to find their path instead.”

Henry’s tan skin practically glowed white in fear. “B-but…the path of the ancients led them to that cursed sanctuary.”

“And considering the miners never made it through,” Cyrus remarked. “The path of the ancients is the only way. “

Henry trembled and muttered to himself. His voice was high and had none of that deep voiced intonation he’d put on. “Why does it have to come to this. Why does it have to come to this?”

Cyrus breathed in, feeling the same and took the scared boy by the hand, walking straight ahead into the cavern tunnel. He seized a torch from the wall and walked through. Even through the armor, Cyrus could feel Henry shivering. Though Henry had annoyed Cyrus greatly, the two felt the same fear, and Cyrus gently patted Henry’s back in a consoling manner.

Henry turned around and yelled, ever vigilant even when blinded, “What in blazes was that?!”

“It was nothing. Don’t worry,” Cyrus responded quickly.

As Cyrus walked through the tunnels, it seemed like he wasn’t getting anywhere. They all felt identical to him and reeked of the same 100 year old blast powder. There weren’t even any monsters much to Cyrus’ relief; his only irritation was how the heat made him sweat profusely. He was about to give up and plop his large rear on the ground when suddenly, a chilling breeze blew over his body. It normally would have refreshed and cooled him, but it sent a chill that went straight through his body and reached his bones. Cyrus turned and saw a broken wall, one that had been shattered by a pick axe. Little engravings of eyes remained on remnants of the wall.

“Do you feel that,” Cyrus asked a still blinded Henry.

“I don’t like it at all,” Henry whined nervously, clinking his armored thighs together.

Cyrus gazed into the passage and saw the same blue florescent wall painting illuminating it. “The path of the ancients,” he said in awe.

The prince excitedly moved down the newly uncovered pathway without noticing the evil presence clinging to the ceiling. Creatures with singular eyes and glowing fangs hung in the darkness, and when they saw two mortals full of ripe blood, they spread their wings and let out a piercing screech.

Cyrus looked up as five demonic eyeballs with batwings and silver teeth swooped down. Henry immediately screamed and dropped down to the ground, holding his hands over his head. Cyrus screamed and frantically swing the briefcase and torch, smacking the twisted bats and causing juices to fly from their glowing eyeballs. Glowing green goop soaked Henry and Cyrus as the nightmarish creatures fled the tunnel. The only exception were the few bats that had felt the brunt of the briefcase. The wounded lay on the ground, squeaking and writhing like rabies victims. Henry blinked with his mouth hanging open like a naked mole rat. Suddenly, his brown eyes lost their haze. “I can see!” he exclaimed.

“Oh did I save you again?” Cyrus said boastfully trying to wipe away the juices that dyed his robe and zebra pants light green.

Henry’s face turned bright red and his high voice came back. “You didn’t do anything. The juice in these cursed bat’s eyeballs must have some kind of sight elixir. You were just lucky. The day a knight like me is saved by some spoiled noble is the day I hang up my sword and become a fool like your jester friend.”

“You don’t have to be so proud,” Cyrus said back.

Henry’s coldness had finally stuck in him and he felt dejected, even though he had no idea why. Henry was the most confusing boy he had ever met.

“Lead the way,” he told Henry. “I hate having to risk my well being for someone far more insignificant.”

The knight gave a hmph and walked on ahead. With a sliding shing, Henry drew his sword and held the Toccata coat of arms emblazoned on his shield. To Cyrus, he seemed a lot more confident when spurred on by the repulsive thought of being saved in any manner by Cyrus.

They came to a stone door where a small wooden crank jutted out of the left wall. A blood red eye gleamed from the center of the door glaring at the two adventurers. Cyrus swore he heard Henry swallow. “Well, what are you waiting for,” Henry gruffly accosted the prince. “Crank the door so an accomplished knight can take this abomination head on.”

“Ok, ok” whined Cyrus. He was beginning to understand what it was like to be ordered around by someone as bossy as him, but he dared not threaten someone who clutched a sword.

Cyrus scurried over to it, and with all his might, he began to spin the creaking crank. The door slowly rose as he grunted and Henry dropped himself off the ledge into the sanctuary below.

Cyrus watched as Henry breathed heavily in the cold, and before he moved an inch, he heard an unsettling groan. Across from him in the dimly lit sanctuary stood a hulking but slender stone figure whose limbs jutted out at odd angles. Even when it stood slouched, it still towered over eight feet. Its body convulsed when it heard Henry’s footsteps. When Henry let out another breath, a singular piercing red eyeball opened on its head made of yellow rock. Its mouth spread apart revealing a gaping mouth of pointed stone teeth. The golem slowly lurched towards the young knight with its arms outstretched; it was ready to tear him in two.