The voices emanated from the cavern exit on the far side from where Paul stood, leading to the map room and resurrection site. When Paul looked that way, he saw lights bobbing in the tunnel's darkness.

He rushed into the mushroom grove in the cavern’s center, searching out the nearest mushroom large enough to duck behind. He crouched low, eyes fixed on the opening. His immediate suspicion was Trolls, but the only connecting route between their territory and that tunnel was his home cavern, and he doubted he would have missed their passage.

Maybe there is another population of trolls in another section of caves linking to that tunnel? It was a possibility; he certainly hadn’t charted the full extent of the cave system. Even the sprawling map carved and painted on the tunnel wall had incomplete branches, and Paul had explored some of the labyrinth's winding passageways further than the map depicted.

The timbre of the voices didn’t strike him as fitting for the Mantis Trolls, however, and the lights were closer to the cave floor than the torches the Trolls often carried with them. Moreover, these lights cast an unwavering greenish glow instead of flickering in yellow and orange.

The voices were familiar to Paul in a way that he could not quite put his finger on, and he strained to listen. His eyes widened as he realized he could understand some of what was said as the voices drew closer. The words sounded strange to his ears, as if spoken in an accent he had never heard, but accent or no, he understood them.

Tunnel.

Walk.

Water.

He was still far enough away that he only caught one in every five words, but excitement gripped him.

I’ve finally found other people!

Relief washed over him like a wave, and his face split with a smile. He made to stand and signal the group but heard an angry chirp from Seymore and felt a sharp pinch like the little lizard had scratched the back of his neck.

What was that? Great, going to speak to others for the first time in months, and I’m going mad.

Paul shook off the sensation and began to stand again, but the delay allowed his brain to catch up with his ears. While he could understand the words, they were not spoken in any language he knew. He remained crouched behind the fungus as he tried to process what was happening and the strange disconnect between the sounds he heard and their meaning.

Something is wrong.

Hairs stood up on the back of Paul’s arms, and he felt nauseous, unease spreading from his gut to every extremity. Suddenly, he wished he had chosen a better hiding spot than the waist-high cave mushroom that barely obscured his crouched frame.

Then, four figures emerged from the exit, and Paul’s worst fears were confirmed. The figures were not of humans or trolls, but he nonetheless recognized them from his patchy memory fragments. They were the aliens that had landed on Trappist IV.

The front figure was tall and lithe, dressed in leather and carrying a massive bow with two of their four arms. Behind, the next two appeared to be of the same race - shorter than Paul but nearly half again as wide, stubby legs and powerful arms. One wore dark brown robes, carrying a pole - Paul couldn’t tell if it was a staff or spear at this distance - in one hand. The other was dressed in mail, hatchets at their side and round shield on their back.

The last was the most alien, insectile in appearance, with mottled green chitin covering its segmented body. Four legs carried their thorax close to the ground. Another body segment rose from its thorax, from which six small arms connected, and on top, a head with large, faceted eyes. A turgid abdomen at its anterior balanced the creature. In all, it reminded Paul of some sort of nightmarish centaur.

Paul’s heart beat faster, and he felt short of breath, memories of death and battle playing through his mind. He latched onto [Meditation], it and [Mental Resilience] working to center his thoughts.

How are they here? They must have come from the resurrection cave. Did they die too?

Paul’s eyes cast about for a better hiding spot, one where he could use [Hide in Shadows], but the bioluminescent shelf-fungus cast enough light in his home cavern that there were no areas of true darkness nearby.

The four figures showed no signs that they had noticed him. Instead, they strode toward the stream, and Paul could now catch fragments of their conversation.

“It feels good to be back on Pilgrimage,” the robed one said. “There’s something about the air in the Gauntlet that makes me feel more alive. Though I do wish that we had a Guardian with us.”

“More experience for us!” the other short one replied. “Isamel mentioned that no one has completed this Proving Grounds in decades. Think of the rewards and the glory!”

“” The last words came from the insectoid creature, and the disconnect between the strange chittering noises it made and their meaning made Paul’s head hurt.

How can I understand that?

The translation reminded Paul of the skill notifications he received, the information implanted in his consciousness.

“Yes, Mertar, we’ll have plenty of lessers to hunt.” The robed one spoke again, and Paul got the impression that they were humoring the insectoid creature.

The tall, four-armed one in front didn’t engage in the conversation, instead looking intently around the cavern. Paul made himself small behind the cover of the cave mushrooms as their gaze fell his way. They made no sign of noticing him, and Paul continued to watch.

Suddenly, the lead figure stiffened, holding up a hand in warning, fixated on something across the cavern. Paul followed their eyes to his kiln.

Shit.

“Someone has been here,” the four-armed one said, and all four tensed, peering around the room. “Recently, too.”

The tall one crouched down, concentrating on the cavern floor. “Tracks. Bipedal.”

“Ismael said that no one has bound their implant to the Silent Stone Caverns in a generation.” The mailed one chuffed. “Perhaps an unforged from the outside?”

The lead creature with the bow appeared thoughtful. “It’s possible.” They continued to study the ground. “These are fresh.”

Paul had dismantled his camp and buried most of his equipment so that Death Rats or other scavengers wouldn’t destroy it, but he had not attempted to disguise the fact he had lived there for months. Signs of him inhabiting the cavern were everywhere, and the group of creatures quickly found many of them.

“Dhorranu, give us sight,” the tall one commanded, and Paul watched as the robed one - Dhorranu, he supposed - twitched his fingers and muttered under their breath. The hand movements reminded Paul of the ones the troll fire mage had made, but these seemed infinitely more complex.

A moment later, the eyes of all four creatures lit with violet flames. They surveyed the cave, and Paul did his best to remain as still as possible, quieting his breathing, drawing upon all the lessons from [Silent Movement] and [Hide in Shadows] he had learned.

It wasn’t enough.

“Spears,” the insectoid one said, one of its six arms pointed directly at Paul’s hiding spot.

“Fuck,” Paul muttered under his breath, eyes looking up toward his brace of javelins. While he had concealed his body in the forest of giant mushrooms, the top quarter of the weapons poked above their caps.

The four-armed one notched their giant curved bow, and the other three drew weapons. All four slowly stalked toward Paul.

Indecision paralyzed him, and he bit his cheek as he considered his options.

Ever since discovering the Mantis Trolls, he had replayed their first encounter in his mind countless times. While they had attacked first, Paul had gone on to kill all but the fire mage. He often wondered if the Trolls would have been so bent on destroying him had he acted differently and escaped instead of fighting.

And while these beings were undoubtedly of some of the same species that had attacked Trappist-IV, that didn’t mean that these individuals were the ones who did so, or even if they were of the same group. For all he knew, the ones that attacked his planet were from a rogue faction.

I just don’t have enough information. The talk of hunting “unforged” sounds problematic, but I don’t even know what an “unforged” is. “Unforged” could be evil for all I know.

The four aliens stalked closer, but still, Paul didn’t move.

Fight, flight, or parley?

It was loneliness that tipped the scales for Paul. In front of him were four thinking creatures that he could understand.

If there is a chance that they could be friendly, I have to take it.

Gathering his courage, Paul slowly stood, leaving his spear on the ground near his feet. He held his hands open and wide, showing he carried no weapons.

“Hello, I mean no harm… fuck!”

Paul knew he had made the wrong choice, as several things happened at once. First, as he began to speak, the tall one with the bow whipped it in his direction, drawing and loosing an arrow faster than he thought possible. The arrowhead glowed red and left a streak of crimson across the cavern, traveling impossibly fast. Paul launched himself onto his back, the projectile missing him by centimeters before impacting the far cavern wall with a sharp crack, dust, and debris shooting from its resting spot.

Paul looked back and gaped at the arrow, half embedded in the solid rock.

“” the insectoid creature chittered.

“How is a heretic here?” One of the short aliens asked.

“Maybe he is the one that stole the Alpha implant?” Replied the tall one with the bow.

Paul rolled to his hands and knees, scrambling through the mushroom forest. He popped his head up to see where the aliens were, only to duck back down as another arrow flew toward his head.

Fuck, this was a bad call. Never giving anyone the benefit of the doubt again.

“I don’t want to fight; I just want to talk!” He knew it was probably well past that, but this wasn’t a fight he thought he could win. Nevertheless, he felt it was worth the try.

Worse comes to worst, and I just resurrect.

“Heretics are not to be trusted.” The short one that wore mail said. Their intonation gave the impression that this was an oft-repeated phrase. “Their words are poisoned honey, their gifts are naught but traps, they have spit on the birthright of the elders. Heretics,” they continued, “must be purged.”

By the end of their speech, the other three had joined in, clearly familiar with the screed.

Well, so much for talking.

Paul continued to crawl from mushroom to mushroom, pack on his back and spear dragging along the ground, trying to put distance between himself and the aliens, but crawling on all fours was slow.

If I can put one of the bigger stalagmites between them and me, I can make for the tunnel. Then, I can lose them there and head for the surface, just like I planned.

He took a long breath and coiled his legs under him like he was in a starting block. Then, with an exhale, he exploded from his stance, drawing on every rank in [Sprinting] and then some.

He felt more than saw two arrows streak behind him. Violet energies crackled from the robed creature’s fingertips, and motes of magenta flew toward him. He skidded around a nearby fungus for cover, but while several of the fist-sized globs of lilac splattered against the mushroom cap, three others curved around its bulk to strike Paul on his arm and side.

The purple energy hissed as it hit, and Paul let out a surprised cry as it burned through his buckskins to scald his flesh. He turned to see another volley arcing toward him, and Paul sprinted away again, perpendicular to the archer and spell-slinger. [Dodge] was showing its worth, and Paul threw himself to the side to avoid another arrow.

So far, the insectoid alien hadn’t attacked, but Paul saw it circling the mushroom grove, chittering excitedly, with a vicious-looking stiletto in each pincer. The short one in mail strode toward him, its voice raised in an ululating chant, twirling a hatchet in each hand.

Paul considered making a break for the tunnel entrance, but glancing at the expanse of open ground he would have to travel between the grove and the dark tunnel dissuaded him.

Running that distance without cover will wind up with me looking like a pincushion.

He grimaced.

I’m going to have to fight.

He paused behind another mushroom, considering his options.

Ranged attackers at 12 o’clock, melee attacker approaching from 3’oclock, another cutting off my 6’oclock. If I run to my 9’oclock, the ranged attackers will have a clear shot. If I stay here, I’ll be surrounded.

Paul’s deliberations were cut short by an arrow impacting the mushroom he was hiding behind, chunking the mushroom cap in an explosion of fungus. His cover’s destruction made up Paul’s mind for him, and he moved.

Paul sprinted toward the tall archer and the short creature in robes, zig-zagging through the grove. [Free Running] and [Tumbling] combined with [Dodge] as he pushed off of a mushroom stem, twisting in the air to avoid another arrow, then somersaulting beneath a swarm of purple magic.

He sprung to his feet again, closing the distance between himself and the archer. Paul mentally prepared himself for the last leg of his sprint, where he would have to cross fifty meters of open ground before reaching his attackers. He readied his light orbs, a half-dozen winking into existence over his shoulder.

The edge of the mushroom rushed toward him, and Paul pushed two of his glowing spheres forward, packing them dense with intent.

Ten steps left. 6. 2…

Paul felt like he had stepped into jelly. Purple light surrounded his limbs, and his movements slowed; his breakneck sprint turned into a sluggish jog.

What the fuck is this?

He struggled to move faster, but the purple energy resisted his efforts, rendering his efforts sluggish as if the air itself around him had thickened to mud.

Paul’s eyes grew wide as he traced a thin filament of purple energy back to the robed figure's staff, then flicked his gaze to the archer, who met Paul’s eyes with their own. The archer smiled at Paul, who had a moment of horrified realization as the tall alien released their arrow. He wrenched himself to the side in an attempt to dodge, but he was moving too slow, and the archer was far, far, too close.