After what felt like hours—though with no sun to mark the passage of time, Edison could only guess—he finally stirred, his legs still felt shaky but they could at least bear his weight again.
He pushed himself up carefully, wincing as stiff muscles protested. A full-body stretch sent a series of satisfying pops through his spine, followed immediately by a sharp twinge in his side.
"Easy there," Guide cautioned. "That salve accelerated your healing, but you're not invincible. Avoid drastic movements unless you want to reopen something important."
Edison rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it."
Now upright, he took stock of his prison.
The chasm was narrower than he'd first thought—maybe fifteen feet across at its widest point, with walls of jagged ice, ancient stone.
But it wasn't completely featureless.
To his left, the wall sloped slightly, a treacherous incline of ice and loose rock that might—might—be climbable. To his right, the chasm narrowed further, disappearing into inky blackness. And directly ahead...
"Is that a tunnel?" Edison squinted at the dark opening near the base of the opposite wall.
"Appears to be," Guide confirmed. "Likely formed by meltwater or seismic activity. Depth and destination unknown."
Edison weighed his options.
Up the slope: possible freedom, possible Ursine waiting at the top.
Into the tunnel: possible shelter, possible horrifying death in the dark.
"Well?" Guide prompted. "Your extremely well-informed decision?"
Edison exhaled sharply.
"Tunnel," he decided. "I can't climb anyway."
"Ah, the eternal wisdom of 'down is better than up.' Truly, survival instincts at their finest."
Ignoring the jab, Edison began picking his way across the chasm floor.
Ignoring the jab, Edison began picking his way across the chasm floor. The deeper he moved from the snowy patch where he'd landed, the darker it became. Soon, he could barely see his own hands in front of his face.
He stopped.
"Guide," he said, squinting uselessly into the blackness ahead. "How much for a torch in that shop of yours?"
"Ah! Excellent inquiry," Guide replied, sounding far too pleased. "A pre-lit torch costs 2 SP. An unlit torch is just 1 SP."
Edison blinked. "Why the hell is a pre-lit torch double the price?"
"Because you, my underprepared survivor, vastly underestimate how difficult it is to light a torch in a place like this," Guide said, dripping with condescension. "Even with your flint and steel, the humidity, the cold, the general misery of this chasm? You'd waste hours trying to get a spark to catch. Hours you don't have."
Edison rolled his eyes. "Fine. What kind of torch are we talking about, anyway? Some half-rotted stick with a rag tied to it?"
"Oh, please," Guide scoffed. "This isn't some back-alley black-market torch. This is premium survival equipment. Treated oak handle, triple-waxed for water resistance, head wrapped in oil-soaked linen that burns twice as long as standard issue. The flame is wind-resistant, self-sustaining, and—if I may boast—exceptionally aesthetic."
Edison stared into the darkness. "...Aesthetic?"
"A flickering torch sets the mood," Guide said defensively. "You wouldn't understand."
Edison sighed. "Just give me the pre-lit one."
[Purchase confirmed: Pre-Lit Torch (-2 SP)]
[Remaining SP: 8]
With a soft whoosh, a torch materialized in Edison's hand, its flame casting a warm, golden glow across the icy walls. The light pushed back the darkness just enough to reveal the tunnel entrance ahead.
"Happy?" Guide asked.
Edison tightened his grip on the torch. "Thrilled."
Hold the torch, Edison looked into the tunnel.
"Here goes nothing," Edison muttered under his breath before venturing into the tunnel.
The damp, narrow passage swallowed him whole, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the jagged walls. The tunnel was unpredictable—one moment sloping sharply upward, forcing him to climb hand-over-hand, the next plunging downward so suddenly that he slipped more than once.
At times, the walls widened to a spacious five or six feet, allowing him to walk normally. Other times, the ceiling dropped so low he had to crawl on his hands and knees, the rough stone scraping against his leathers.
"Remind me why I chose this again?" Edison grunted as he squeezed through another tight crevice.
"Because climbing back up would require actual physical capability," Guide replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And let's be honest - you're a shit-tier, soda-chugging gamer whose greatest athletic achievement was sprinting to the bathroom during a League loading screen. That climb might as well be Mount Targon for someone of your calibre."
The torchlight flickered off Edison's scowling face as he muttered, "I hate you so much," while continuing forward into the narrowing tunnel.
"Noted."
The ice-covered walls gradually gave way to rough stone as the tunnel widened into a natural cavern. The floor sloped upward at a gentle incline, the ceiling rising high enough that his torchlight couldn't reach the top. Icicles still clung to some outcroppings, but the air here was drier - still cold enough to see his breath, but without the oppressive dampness of the deeper chasm.
Edison paused, running a hand along the uneven wall. "This feels... different."
"Geological analysis suggests we're moving through a natural limestone formation," Guide observed
"So can this lead out to the surface?"
"Hard to say," Guide answered. "We've no way to know how deep we are after all that twisting and turning. Could be twenty feet from the surface. Could be two hundred."
Edison sighed and found a relatively dry spot to sit, propping the torch against a nearby rock. To his surprise, it was still burning strong—whatever magic or oil kept it lit, it wasn't fading anytime soon.
He pulled out his canteen and took a careful sip, forcing himself to stop after just a mouthful. "Gotta make this last," he muttered. Who knew how long he'd be stuck down here?
His thoughts turned to his location. If the Ursine were here, that meant he was deep in the northern reaches of the Freljord—where the tribes clashed with Volibear's monstrous followers. That was bad. The nearest settlement would be the Frostguard Citadel, and the Frostguards weren't exactly known for their hospitality to outsiders.
"Second option would be the Village of the Ice Children," he mused aloud. "Somewhere west of here. They should to be friendlier, but... no idea where exactly they are."
And the Winter's Claw? They relocate every now and then and without knowing which timeline he's in and which season it is right now, it'll be hard to even guess their locations.
And no way they'd venture this far north.
The more he thought about it, the more hopeless it seemed. No help. No supplies. No way out.
"Planning ahead is good," Guide cut in, its tone uncharacteristically neutral. "But obsessing over futures you can't control? That's just borrowing trouble. Focus on what's in front of you."
Edison sighed and took a deep breath. "Right," he muttered. "One step at a time."
He reached for the pouch of jerky still hanging at his waist and pulled out a piece. The dried meat was tough as leather, and the first bite made him wince—hard as rock, and extremely salty.
But as he chewed, the flavor deepened into something almost... edible. If he pretended really hard, it almost tasted like actual food.
"Not bad for mystery meat," he grumbled around a mouthful.
Then something hit him.
"Hey, Guide," he started, swallowing thickly. "Can your shop—"
"Crrrk."
Edison's fingers froze halfway to his mouth, the jerky forgotten. A sharp skitter echoed through the cavern - too light to be a rockfall, too deliberate to be natural erosion.
The sound came from somewhere in the darkness.