The darkness was complete, stretching to every wall of the damp tunnel. Half frozen droplets of water cascaded with echoing plops to the stony ground below, running down stalactites that curved like wayward fangs from the ceiling. At every turn there was stone, cold and hard and darker than the shadows. The stillness of the tunnel radiated a feeling of secrecy and mystery borne of ages lain sleeping beneath the earth.

By all appearances, there should have been no life there. Yet, nestled deep within the unyielding shadows, something stirred. It appeared only as a haze at first, but as it continued down the twisted path through the earth it took form enough to discern that it was like nothing seen by men on earth. It was a shadow incarnate; a being whose heart had long since ceased to beat, and whose footsteps left in their wake a frost that crept hungrily up the curving walls.

Soon the tunnel turned abruptly to the right and opened into a larger cavern, and it was evidently to here that the shadow beast was headed. It paused before it entered, appearing as little more than black smoke against the walls until it turned and its crimson eyes glittered in the darkness. The hungry light of its gaze only seemed to thicken the black haze around its shadow flesh.

Within the cavern, the stillness was broken by a soft and ever-present stream of flowing water. It trickled along the ceiling, flowing steadily back to the floor and then through shallow ditches to the center of the space. Here it gradually became visible within a patch of bright light in the center of the cavern, and was illuminated a crystalline shade of blue frosted by the paler echo of luminescent stone beneath the water’s surface. The water threw rippling phantoms of white light across the walls.

The cavern floor was an ebony surface as slick and reflective as glass, riddled with the shimmering channels of water. A majestic fountain sat at the heart of those channels. It was of a fine, dark stone carved in the form of a serpent-like beast so real it might as well have been impossibly cold and hard living flesh - a creature petrified in its centuries-long vigil over the treasures of the cavern. Water poured from the rim of the bowl at the top of the fountain, fanning out over the fountain’s carved wings to be lost in the channels below. It was the luminescent glow of the water that lit the cavern. The phantom shadow’s eyes narrowed in recognition. This was no serpent. The shadow beast hissed once, and the sound echoed in the enclosed space. Dragon.

And around the dragon’s feet there was the dark etch of words – strange words taken form through unfamiliar characters engraved with a sharp and heavy hand.

Beware the ages that, within this cavern, have yet to pass.

In the span of a breath, the shadow beast hovered at the edge of the light, reaching forward with talons deadlier than any blade. As it moved, the darkness seemed to move with it, eating away at the glow of the water. The floor, the ceiling, and even the arching mouth of the cavern entrance were reflected in the glossy floor, and yet there was no reflection of the shadow beast. It was a ghost, an apparition, and by the slow blink of its eyes, it seemed to know as much.

As if in response to the shadow beast’s presence, from the unseen reaches around the edge of the vast cavern came the grate of stone against stone. The air warmed, its scent tainted by the heavier odors of molten rock and sulfur. A few droplets of water spattered softly against the floor, shaken loose by the motion of something ancient and heavy. Eyes like fire flashed in and out of existence within the shadows beyond the fountain’s light, all focused inward to the fountain and the spectral intruder before it. Yet, there was no life in those eyes. They were only glowing pits carved into the rock of the cavern itself, smoldering like embers against the cold stone.

Heedless of the whispers of long-forgotten words that now echoed from all sides, the shadow beast leaned closer. There, within what remained of the gently lapping pool of luminous water at the top of the fountain, sat two large, opalescent spheres, like midnight pearls resting in a veil of moon-soaked surf. Magic pulsed from them – magic as gentle as a warm spring breeze and as fierce as an arctic snowstorm. Magic so powerful that the world warped beneath its touch. But it was not only the spheres that emitted that power - there were more letters inscribed in the stone, letters with their own power. The shadow beast knew the hands that had penned them seven hundred years before.

Vampire.

Apparently unimpressed, the shadow beast moved to snatch the spheres from the waters. Without warning, both water and light billowed outward, sending the beast hurtling backwards like so much smoke before the wind. Its crimson gaze took in everything in that moment: the gargoyle-like stone statues that rimmed the cavern, fiery eyes riveted inward, the curving channels that defied gravity and time both, the fountain, in all its brilliance, that had been the final gift of dragons, men, and vampires. And, perhaps, of the *keliarn* as well.

From the walls of the great cavern, the wounded beast reared up, bloody gaze sharp upon the fountain. The sound of the stone gargoyles was clearer now, as they moved with frightening rapidity through the gloom at the edges of the fountain’s light. And that light pulsed, great blinding waves of pure illumination that swallowed up the shadows. Turning after only the shortest of pauses, the shadow beast was gone, gliding noiselessly back through the winding tunnel. When it reached the end of the tunnel it did not pause, but, with a soft rustling as of ghostly wings, melted into the earth. Seconds later it stood again, staring down into a dark hole in the earth, surrounded by the night forest.

The air was deadly silent around the hole. No living creature stirred and the trees remained unmoving in the chill wind. The air smelled strongly of soft earth and coming rain, but around the creature it wavered as if in a hot haze. And even as the beast stood still, apparently loathe to give up its quest, the wind was growing colder, forming a fine layer of frost over the water dripping down the woody trunks of the nearby trees. Several more long seconds passed before the creature turned and melted into the shadows of the trees, apparently abandoning its prize.

Somewhere in the darkness, a wolf raised its wailing cry to the moon.