In the Darkest Shadows, She Kneels

Chapter 1 - Beneath the Surface

The Underdark was quiet tonight--if such a realm ever truly knew silence. Far beneath the world of sun and sky, the air was thick with moisture and magic, the very rock humming with secrets. Shadowheart's boots scraped softly along the cavern floor, her mace slung across her back, eyes flicking to every shadow. Minthara strode ahead with practiced grace, unbothered by the oppressive darkness, her white hair stark against the gloom.

They had fought off a band of hook horrors earlier--messy work, and Shadowheart's shoulder ached from where one had landed a glancing blow. But Minthara had pressed on, and Shadowheart had followed.

When strange gas-filled orbs of gold and red began to drift through the higher levels of the cavern and an eerie dusk settled in, Minthara called a halt. They stopped on a defensible plateau, flanked by wide, rough-hewn fungal trees and jagged ridges of stone. Thick slabs broke the ground like ancient bones pushing through skin.

"Why are we stopping?" Shadowheart asked, arms crossed.

"Because I chose to," Minthara said, not looking up.

Shadowheart exhaled sharply. "You're not the leader here."

Minthara's head tilted slowly, like a predator noting the rustle of prey. She stood, her eyes catching the light in a way that made them look almost silver.

"You think we're equals?" she asked, voice too smooth.

"I didn't say that."

"But you believe it."

"I've kept you alive more than once," Shadowheart said. "I've earned--"

Minthara cut her off with silence. Held her gaze.

"You think survival earns rank?" she asked. "You think this"--she gestured to the wilderness, the stone, the dark--"functions like the world above?"

A faint tremor moved through the cleric's hands. She tried to hide it.

The Cleric gave a huff of indignation and turned her attention to her away. Minthara watched her. She had been watching her for the whole journey.

She noticed the way Shadowheart's steps faltered only when she believed herself unobserved. The way she gripped her mace too tightly when the silence stretched. The way her eyes flicked to Minthara's back, resentful, uncertain, needing something she didn't yet understand.

The Sharran unpacked their supplies methodically. She laid out maps and texts, each as enigmatic and obtuse as the next. The Tomb of Dar'umbar Kazek. Its name alone stirred something dark in her. A place of ascension, perhaps. Or of ruin. She couldn't say why she felt drawn to it. Maybe because Minthara was.

Some said the tomb was a place of ascension, others of oblivion. Minthara found herself wondering which it would be--for either of them.

It had obsessed them for days. Their only lead so far was to follow to the edge of their map and hope to find clues to guide them the rest of the way.

Now they had stopped to rest in this shallow alcove, sheltered by the fungal overgrowth and jagged stone. Minthara stretched languidly, shedding pieces of armor with casual flair. She sat on one of the slabs of stone, a smooth rock, one leg crossed over the other, booted foot twitching in the lowlight.

On the surface, the cleric had been imperious and stubborn. Their companions had fawned over her because of this. Indulged her. She had pranced about like the favourite daughter. The girl was used to getting what she wanted.

Minthara noted her delicate features. The Sharran was pensive at times, like a prey animal. But also, furious and guarded, like a honey badger. She worried her nose and furrowed her brow at any obstacle. Minthara's gaze lingered on the curve of Shadowheart's neck, the soft fall of her hair. It made her chest tighten, a sensation she hadn't expected. Her breath caught, but she quelled it.

Shadowheart looked off in the distance, her eyes wide and thoughtful. She had said before that the Underdark didn't scare her. She said it had felt like a second place - a home of a childhood friend.

She had no idea what she was talking about. Shadowheart had a fantasy version of the Underdark. It was not the reality that Minthara knew it to be.

The Underdark was not the place for indulging entitlement. It was not for the spoiled.

She turned her back again. Sat with her back straight, slow and deliberate. Began unfastening her left boot strap.

It only took a moment for Shadowheart to react.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Minthara didn't look up. "Removing my boots. They're filthy."

"And?"

"And you'll help."

Silence.

Minthara heard her heart rate quicken. She didn't have to look to see the disbelief on the girl's face.

"No."

Minthara stopped, lifted her gaze just enough to let the word fall.

"That wasn't a request."

Shadowheart laughed. A bitter, cracking sound. "I'm not your servant."

"No," Minthara said. "Not yet."

She turned her full body toward her now, both boots half-loosened. Shadowheart stood her ground, jaw clenched, defiant.

Minthara felt the heat in her veins--the pleasure of the moment before surrender, before the crack. Not sexual, not yet. But intimate, in the way knives were.

"You follow me," Minthara said. "You eat what I permit. You sleep when I say it's safe. You fight where I point. You know this. But you pretend otherwise. Why?"

"Because I chose to be here," Shadowheart hissed. "I chose to follow."

"No," Minthara said, rising to her feet. "You chose to submit. You just haven't learned how to admit it."

She stepped forward again, letting her presence do the work. Not touching. Just near.

"You wear your pride like armor, and it's full of cracks."

"I serve Shar," Shadowheart said, but her voice faltered.

"You serve a void," Minthara said. "You've never had a master who could see you. Who wanted to."

Shadowheart's hand lifted--slow, uncertain. The slap landed with a hollow sound.

Minthara's cheek stung. She let the pain settle. Let the silence breathe.

She didn't retaliate.

Instead, she smiled.

Shadowheart looked horrified. Not by Minthara, but by herself.

That was better.

"I test," Minthara said calmly. "You passed. Barely."

"You're insane."

"No," Minthara said. "I'm patient."

She turned again. Sat. Removed both boots and set them aside. Then she leaned back, watching the girl squirm.

"Take them," she said. "Hold them. Kiss them."

"You're disgusting."

"Yet you stay."

More silence.

Minthara waited. She didn't move. She never begged.

It took a minute. Two. She could feel the girl's turmoil radiating off her--like a sickness, or a prayer.

And then, like a string snapping: Shadowheart dropped to her knees.

She didn't crawl. She didn't sob. But she lowered herself, breathing ragged, eyes glazed with rage and shame and something far deeper.

Minthara watched without speaking.

The girl's hands reached forward, hesitant, and touched the boots. Then the feet. Then--finally--her lips brushed against Minthara's skin.

Minthara didn't sigh. Didn't gloat. She let the moment stretch, then rested her hand gently atop Shadowheart's bowed head.

She said only one thing.

"Good girl."

For a moment, neither moved. The Underdark whispered around them--distant drips, the flutter of unseen wings.

On her hands and knees, a shivered wracked her. Her face contorted, and she rasped something bitter and low--a curse, or maybe a prayer. Minthara didn't ask. Shadowheart stood without a word, turned away, and returned to the edge of their camp. She sat down with her back to the drow and said nothing until sleep took her.

Minthara, watching, smiled to herself.

She told herself it was necessity. Discipline. Not indulgence. But that quiet flutter in her chest said otherwise--and she'd learned, long ago, to ignore feelings that softened her. Shadowheart needed to understand the rules of this place. That she was an outsider. And that the Drow who lived in this place of no light would find Shadowheart to be a thing of great fun. She was a liability. Minthara would have to watch her. Keep her from harms way. By extension, keep herself out of harm's way because the Sharran may blindly wander into it. Of course, that was all true. But also, it felt good to humiliate her. Too good. That was the problem. Minthara licked her lips. She would teach this girl.

The Underdark thrived on power, and tonight, the balance had shifted.