Panting heavily, the heroine swept her sword around one last time, slicing the zombie's head off cleanly. She leaned against the wall, trying to calm her breathing. The last one had injured her badly, a stroke against her leg that she should have blocked—but anyone could tell she had been down here too long. The cellars—sewers, really—below Draynor were no place for the living, and certainly not for any extended amount of time.

And certainly not for weeks.

But for weeks, she had stayed down here, and now, finally, exhaustion and lack of sun were starting to take their toll. She would have to return to the surface soon.

Why, one might ask, would any sane woman exile herself to a dungeon for weeks on end when she could hunt goblins in bright daylight? No-one yet had bothered to ask this question, which was just as well, as the heroine would have had no satisfactory answer. But every time she was injured and common sense told her to climb the ladder leading back to civilization, she would find some excuse to stay down there just a little longer. Perhaps it was something in rewards gained from zombies—arrows, two-handed swords, runes, coins, even helms.

Or perhaps she simply enjoyed the darkness, the lack of civilization itself, and the mystery of the dungeons.

Ah, mystery. She had spent her entire life going from mystery to mystery, from dungeon to dungeon, from one dark corner of the world to the other. Darkness and mystery, mystery and darkness, twined together like the trees and the soil of the world above. Down here, you could just make out vague outlines of roots pressed against the walls of the cellar, with little indication of the bright life they supported above. Everything down here was like that, though—vague hints and mysteries, always mysteries, but never a true tale of what thrived above the dank world below ground. Climbing down the ladder was like stepping through a portal into another world.

Another zombie approached the heroine, startling her from her daydreaming. Idly, she remembered that it was her birthday—she had grown another term older and wiser in the darkness without even realizing it. Her sword swung around in the familiar pattern, blocking the zombie's clumsy swings. Zombies were not, under any circumstances, good swordfighters, but anything holding a long, sharp, rusty piece of metal deserves a certain measure of respect.

One more swing, and yet another zombie lay dead before her. Sighing, she adjusted her helm, and briefly set down her adamant sword. She had run out of food the day before, and with as tired as she was, she couldn't put of the inevitable trip to the surface any longer. She sighed again. Maybe she'd just kill a couple more…

The heroine reached down to collect the dead zombie's belongings, scuffing away the loose dirt of the dungeon floor to bury its bones. She had done this so many times that the ritual had began to lose meaning. She had achieved three prayer levels while down in the darkness.

But wait…there was something nestled among the bones. Something small enough that she hadn't seen it until she had actually leaned down to pick up the bones. Something that certainly didn't belong here, in a dungeon. Something that whispered of the outside world, of running water in great rivers and lakes, instead of the lachrymose puddles that grew lethargically from the never-ending dripping of the ceiling. Something that spoke of life growing in a cycle, of interdependency and kindness, and not of the distorted, undead beings who killed each other when no-one else would take the duty.

Something that didn't belong in any dungeon was nestled among the bones of the zombie she had just killed. The heroine blinked several times, shaking her head, sure that the scant torchlight was playing tricks on her eyes. She picked up the piece of the world that didn't belong where it was now beheld. She stared at it and marveled. Then she sat down and thought long and hard. Or, rather, she repeated one pertinent question over and over in her mind.

What in the…is going on???

Abruptly the darkness was less intriguing than it was disturbing. The heroine fled the dungeon, not looking back once as she abandoned the dismal underground worlds for the bright patterns of day.

For several months, she immersed herself in the comings and goings of the worlds of light, doing everything in her power not to think of the object lying discarded on the floor of the dungeons below Draynor.

**************

Sighing with some relief, a friend of the dead zombie reached down and picked up the abandoned items. Their secret was safe. Besides, his friend didn't seem to have much use for these anymore…the zombie grinned evilly like only a zombie can as he weighed the fishing bait in his hand. A spot of fishing was just what he felt like at the moment. Maybe he'd even invite one of his other friends. After all, fishing was every zombie's love and passion.

It wouldn't do for the rest of the world to know that, of course….