The boy had always been a hermit, a loner, avoiding society and preferring the silence of his own company to the noise of conversations. But after a long and exhausting journey, even he, accustomed to solitude, began to feel a longing for the presence of other living people. The slaves around him rarely spoke to one another, but at least once a week they exchanged a few words to remind themselves they were still human. The boy stood frozen, lost in his thoughts, unsure of how to respond to the offered food. After a minute, he gave a short nod, signaling that the food was good, and muttered:
"Nameless."
His voice was weak, faltering, like that of someone who hadn't spoken in a long time. He had to repeat himself several times—his accent was strange, and his whisper barely cut through the noise of the cave. He could have explained that he had no name, but he realized they wouldn't understand him anyway. For now, it seemed like the best solution.
Soon, the conversations resumed, though occasional glances still fell on him. The boy waited patiently for another message to be passed to him. A few minutes later, a girl handed him another letter.
Walk near us, especially close to the old man. We'll lead you to a safe place.
This time he nodded almost immediately, without hesitation. After receiving water, the boy took a few sips, feeling his strength slowly returning. They set off. The cave was uneven and winding, and each step was a struggle for him. The old man walking beside him caught him several times when he nearly fell, though each time his grip became a little sharper, as if his patience was wearing thin.
The boy was curious to study the relics these people carried and compare them to his own. This could help him evaluate his artifacts and possibly find a way to sell them profitably in the future.
They stopped. Ahead of them was nothing more than a huge boulder, surrounded by the walls of the cave. It seemed like it would be easy enough to walk past it, but the people froze, cautiously looking around. The boy stared at them in confusion: what did they see that he didn't? Suddenly, they split into two groups again—one moved to the right, preparing for something.
They moved like shadows—silent and swift. The air grew thick with tension, and the boy held his breath. The four of them advanced, their faces remaining expressionless. Only their rare gestures showed that they knew exactly what to do next.
When the boulder suddenly shifted, the boy felt a chill down his spine. From behind the rock emerged a massive figure—a troll, covered in stone armor. The giant straightened up with difficulty, and his heavy limbs scraped loudly against the cave floor, causing echoes to reverberate off the walls. Yet none of the group flinched. The hunters moved quickly and in sync. Some began to circle the troll from the right, while others stayed behind, preparing for an attack.
The boy barely dared to breathe, trying not to lag behind the others. The hunters were lightning-fast, each step carefully calculated. One of them, holding a short but heavy sword, gave a signal. The troll, sensing something was wrong, began to turn, but didn't have time. A strike to its knees made it stagger, and it lost its balance, collapsing onto one knee. A second hunter rushed to its arms, immobilizing its gigantic limbs, while the others delivered precise blows to its most vulnerable spots.
Flaming knives, thrown with precision, pierced the troll, penetrating its stony skin. The creature howled in pain but couldn't fight back. At that moment, one of the hunters climbed onto its back, aiming for the neck. The boy noticed another, armed with a heavy, glowing hammer, preparing for the final, decisive blow. With a powerful leap, he landed in front of the monster's face and brought the hammer down with crushing force on its skull.
The troll let out one last, deathly groan, and its massive body collapsed heavily onto the stones. The hunters immediately went to work—dismantling the troll's remains, gathering materials from its body. It was clear to the boy that these people left nothing to chance—every step, every strike had been executed with the utmost precision.
As they continued their journey, the cave grew darker. Soon, the group reached a fork in the path. Without much deliberation, they split up again. The boy had been right; they truly were two different groups that didn't fully trust each other. The boy followed the old man, the girl, and the silent young warrior. The deeper they went, the thicker the darkness became. They had to light a torch. The pace slowed. The boy could feel that danger lay ahead. They walked for a long time.
And finally, they emerged into a strange, eerie place. It was filled with bizarre structures, resembling tangled webs or organic growths. The atmosphere was ominous, almost otherworldly. The only light came from their torch, faintly illuminating the space around them. The further they went, the more the boy noticed webs. They clung to the walls and floor like a sticky trap, ready to ensnare the unwary.
Suddenly, the old man stopped, his eyes narrowing. With a strange calmness, he removed the torch from his belt and slowly tossed it into one of the sticky, foul-smelling webs. Flames erupted, racing along the tangled threads, illuminating the eerie landscape before them. The fire flared up, casting light into the dark corners. At that moment, the boy saw dozens of enormous spiders, which had been hiding in the shadows. One by one, they began to move, emerging from their lairs, preparing to strike.