Runesong

solve the ancient riddle, and you will...

the rest of the message in the stone was scratched out by something with very, very large claws.

the soft flowing of the swamp echoed down the long, tunneling cavern, as a wildclaw stood to read the words on the wall. they smiled as they looked forward - this was certainly it.

greatness was just a small trip ahead.

they held a simple paper scroll, tightly yet carefully bound. on their back was their adventuring gear, disheveled from the long trek to get here. "finally going to make it," they whispered to themselves, yet the swamp seemed to respond with a series of ripples.

every scrawled warning went right past them as they walked with confidence down the cavern, dead-set on the exit. and yet when they reached it, they froze, unable to leave...

...for the swamp itself had risen, a wall of water, plantlife, and piercing eyes, to greet them.

warm water grasped their ankles as they shuddered in place, eyes wide in both awe and fear. this was it. this was the key...

"the-..." the wildclaw hastily opened the scroll, claws shaking, and took a deep breath in the humid air.

"the answer is..."

and they sung a melody in perfect tune, practiced over months. the runesong, precisely copied on the paper, was perfectly executed. ending the final line in a delicate tone, they reopened their eyes to complete stillness.

their shaking claws held the scroll of runes, so delicate and light, as their adventuring gear weighed down their entire body. the air was still, sweltering yet chilling in the presence of the beast. she blinked, once, sending ripples through her body. they barely felt the waterflow on their ankles.

everything, everything they prepared for, all that they did over so many months, was for that song. this single moment. they never break their gaze on the monster as she pondered, eyes boring into the smaller dragon's soul like cold judgement itself.

after what felt like eternity, they felt their eyes widen further, as something unfolded before them--

---

a wildclaw, in complete disrepair, crawls out of a long, tunneling cavern. their body is wracked with scrapes and wounds, embedded with the sharp tips of rocks, and soaked in muddy waters.

they grasp the dirt, shaking and heaving, with a message permanently etched into their mind. something they will never, ever forget:

"for a beautiful performance, you were spared.

perhaps put your talent to use in the art of singing and not of deceiving."