I think I'm dying.

The young man pressed a white gloved hand to his side, feeling the sickening pulse of blood. He was losing far too much of it, precious dark fluids leaving his body and uselessly staining the stone floor. It was making him feel faint and staining his white clothes. What had possessed him to wear so much white? Oh, right, none of this should have happened in the first place.

A soft sound made him freeze, dark eyes glancing around feverishly in the blackness. Technically, he is blind. There is no light in this place, none whatsoever. He can create a light – he holds some power – but if he does that, they will know where he is. Yet, they can see in the dark. The young man wants to laugh but what comes out of his throat is more of a sob. If he isn't dying now, he's going to be, very soon. For a brief moment he considers stopping and drawing his knife to fight again. But the young man knows that's tantamount to suicide and he's not quite ready to give up yet. So instead, he stumbles onwards.

These caverns are man-made. The young man has spelunked for a hobby and he knows a natural cavern from one made by human hands. Despite that, though, the caverns are twisty and often very narrow and low slung. The young man bangs his head on the ceiling several times, as he tries to satisfy the imperative for survival.

Suddenly, his eyes are touched by something and he wonders if he is hallucinating. Light?! Filled with sudden hope, he stumbles towards the flickering light. It's strange and red. An emergency exit? Yes, that could be it!

It's not. It's not and when he sees the source of the light, his hope turns to dust and ashes.

"What the hell is this?" He whispered, gazing at the vault he's stumbled into. A medium sized room, it makes the artificial nature of the caverns clearer, as it is stocked with bookshelves, beakers and odd items he cannot truly make out. The only source of illumination is the circle on the floor. Drawn by the dull red light, the young man knelt beside it and gently ran a hand over the ridges and whorls. "How is it glowing?" A very intricate design, someone has painstakingly chiseled it into the ground. "Magic…" He was almost untrained, except for bits and pieces he'd picked up spying on his younger brother. Yet, what else could it be?

Then the young man hears a faint shuffle of movement and turns, pulling out his dagger. He can see one of the shadow things, staring at him from the entrance to the room. It's even uglier in the red glow of the circle and the young man prepares himself to sell his life dearly.

But he had a true gift for survival. The shadowy beast rushed him but he dodged and slashed, raising a line of ichor on dark skin. The beast turned, fury in mad blue eyes, just before it rushed again. But the charges are mindless and the young man managed to trap it, tricking the beast into running right into a bookshelf. The shelf collapsed on it and that was just enough for the young man to stab it in the back –

"!" Breath left the young man as absolute agony erupted on his face. He felt the hot blood explode over himself, the wild thrashing of the beast as he ground the blade home, forcing it deeper into the flesh and bone. The bookshelf. A fragment had… hit him… but it didn't matter. What mattered was killing the thing!

He felt the telltale lack of resistance just before the shadow vanished entirely. Stumbling back he reached up and touched his face. There was a fragment of wood in his eye. His stunned mind didn't want to accept that and moving with instinct, he grasped the piece and pulled it out. Blood spilled over his cheek and the young man suddenly wondered if he should have left it in. Well, too late now, he certainly wasn't putting it back. Chuckling weakly – or was he sobbing? – he stumbled back towards the only source of light in the room.

"I don't want to die here," he murmured as he fell to his knees in front of the circle. His only remaining eye was blurry with tears. "I'm too young. I haven't finished. I haven't even started yet." He rested a bloody hand in the circle, hearing more shiftings behind him, more of the shadows converging. The light of the circle seemed to grow brighter and the young man felt a drain on his mage circuits, but that was all. Smiling bitterly – miracles were not a real thing, after all – he slowly stood and turned around, lifting his knife. Three sets of eyes looked at him, two red and one blue. "Ah," he murmured, acceptance finally coming. He was going to die now. Feeling almost at peace he lifted the blade –

"?!" Something flashed by his remaining eye, a burst of brilliant red and gold. Then the shadows in front of him disintegrated, too fast for his remaining eye to see. "Wha… at…?" he muttered, wavering on his feet as the red and gold settled and then turned around. The young man's breath caught in his throat as he beheld a man who was positively unearthly. His white skin seemed to reflect the red light of the circle and his eyes were a glorious blue, lined with red. "A ghost?" he breathed before feeling a burning pain in his hand. "Ah!" he gasped, dropping the knife as he clutched his aching hand. Vaguely, the young man realized the ghost in front of him could now kill him effortlessly. But it hardly seemed to matter. If the ghost wasn't here to help him, he was dead anyway.

"Arjuna?" the voice of the man in front of him was odd, toneless and uncaring. The young man blinked.

"The ghost knows my name…" he said before feeling his knees buckle. Reaching to his side, he realized he was still bleeding there. "I am going to die," he said, more to himself than the ghost in front of him. Then arms went around him, lifting him as gently as if he was but a feather.

"You will not die, Master. I will see to it," that cold and empty voice said and the young man clutched to the hope it offered like a life raft in a storm. Then they were moving, so swiftly his hair flew around his face and he relaxed as the ghost carried him easily as a child.

Arjuna had no idea what was happening. He could only surrender to it.