The tunnel was a throat of stone, narrow and damp, its walls slick with algae that glowed faintly under Lira's trembling hands. Her wings, frayed at the edges, brushed the ceiling as she channeled the last dregs of her magic. A shimmering veil—a fragile mimicry of sunlight on water—stretched across the tunnel's entrance, masking their scent, their warmth, their very presence.
"It won't hold long," she whispered, slumping against the wall. "Maybe an hour. Maybe less."
The survivors huddled in the dark. Ten left. Ten out of forty-three. Tarek sat with his back to the stone, his injured leg propped on a rotted crate. Jarek sharpened a stolen dagger, the shink-shink of steel rhythmic, almost soothing. Garrel crouched beside Ren, whose breathing was so shallow it seemed to stop entirely between each ragged inhale.
Kaela stood at the rear, her sword still drawn. "If they find us, we fight. No speeches. No heroics. Kill quickly. Die quietly."
No one argued.
The footsteps came an hour later.
Slow. Deliberate. Leather boots crunching gravel.
Lira's veil wavered. The magic was tied to her pulse, and her heart now hammered like a cornered rabbit's. The hunter paused at the tunnel's hidden mouth. A torch's glow seeped through the veil, casting distorted shadows on the walls.
"Anything?" A voice echoed from outside.
The hunter grunted. "Rubble. Rats. No blood."
"Commander's calling us back. The witch's hounds picked up a trail east."
A beat of silence. The torchlight lingered.
Inside, Jarek's hand tightened on his dagger. Tarek mouthed a prayer to gods long dead. Ren's eyelids fluttered, his lips moving soundlessly—Vorath's name, or a curse, no one could tell.
Then, the light receded. Footsteps faded.
Lira's veil dissolved. She gagged, blood trickling from her nose. "Gone… they're gone."
The relief was a suffocating thing. No cheers. No tears. Just the quiet unraveling of tension, like strings cut from a puppet.
Jarek stood first, peering out the tunnel. "Scourge's hunter left too. Saw her shadow heading northeast. Arrogant wretch didn't even glance this way."
"Arrogance saves lives," Kaela muttered, sheathing her sword. "Move deeper. They might double back."
They crawled forward, the tunnel narrowing until they had to shuffle sideways. Ren's limp body was dragged on a makeshift stretcher of cloaks and belts, his head lolling. The mark on his chest had spread, thorn-like tendrils now curling around his ribs.
Garrel walked beside him, his milky eyes unblinking. "He's slipping. Vorath's roots are digging into his marrow."
"Can you stop it?" Tarek asked.
"No. But he might. If he wakes."
The tunnel spilled into a cavern, its ceiling strung with bioluminescent fungi that cast a ghostly blue light. A underground stream trickled along one wall, its water clear and cold. The survivors collapsed on the rocky shore, drinking greedily, splashing their faces.
Lira dipped her wings in the water, hissing as the magic in her veins cooled. "This place… it's in Garrel's maps?"
"No," Garrel said softly. "But the water… it's pure. Untainted by the Ascendancy's poisons. A good omen."
Kaela snorted. "Omens are for fools."
"Says the woman who still carries her brother's pendant."
Kaela's hand flew to her throat, where a silver chain glinted. She said nothing.
Night deepened. Or what passed for night underground. The fungi dimmed, and the survivors huddled around a small fire fed by moss and dead roots. Ren lay at the edge of the light, pale as a corpse.
Tarek and Jarek: The Weight of Memory
Tarek stared into the flames. "My daughter… she loved caves. Used to collect glow-worms in jars."
Jarek glanced up. "What happened to her?"
"Ascendancy purge. They called her 'defective'—she had a clubfoot." He flexed his injured leg. "Now I'm the defective one. Poetic, isn't it?"
Jarek tossed a pebble into the stream. "My brother joined the Ascendancy. Last I saw him, he was burning a village. My village."
"You kill him?"
"Tried. He parried. I didn't."
Lira traced the scars on her wings—jagged lines where the Ascendancy had tried to clip them. "They said I'd never fly. Now look at me. Can't even hold a veil."
Garrel stirred a paste of herbs and fungi. "Magic is a river. You've been ladling from it with a cracked cup. Rest. Heal."
"And if they find us again?"
"Then we'll die wiser than we lived." He pressed the paste to her temples. "Sleep, child."
Kaela stood guard, her brother's pendant burning against her skin. The pendant was empty—a locket with no portrait. He had taken the picture with him to the mines.
"You'll lead them someday," he'd said. "Lead them well."
She'd led them to ruin.
Ren and Vorath: The Whispered Pact
"You're dying," Vorath cooed. "Let me in. Let me fix you."
Ren's mind floated in a void, unmoored. Why? Why save me?
"You're a weapon. Weapons must be wielded."
And after?
Dawn approached—or so Garrel guessed. The survivors slept fitfully. Lira's wings twitched with nightmares. Tarek muttered his daughter's name.
Kaela kept watch, her sword across her knees.
And Ren opened his eyes.
The mark pulsed, tendrils curling like smoke. He sat up slowly, his body foreign, his thoughts clearer.
Vorath's voice was a distant growl. "They'll die without me."
Ren stared at his hands. What choice do I have?
As the others slept, Ren crept to the cavern's edge. The stream's water reflected his face—pale, hollow-eyed, the mark's thorns now creeping up his neck.
Behind him, a voice: "Going somewhere?"
Kaela stood, her sword loose at her side.
Ren didn't turn. "You should've left me to die."
"Maybe." She stepped closer. "But Garrel says Vorath's prison is cracking. You're not the only one it's talking to."
Ren froze. "What?"
Kaela's gaze drifted to the tunnel. "The Devourer's voice… it's in the walls now. In the water. And it's hungry."
Somewhere deep in the earth, stone groaned.
The cavern's bioluminescent fungi pulsed faintly, their blue glow dimming as if mourning the weight of unspoken truths. Ren sat cross-legged by the underground stream, its icy water numbing his hands as he scrubbed dried blood from his skin. The Vorath mark throbbed in time with his heartbeat, its tendrils now spidering up his neck like veins of ink. Across the cavern, the others huddled in fractured groups—exhausted, but too wary to sleep deeply.
Kaela lingered near the tunnel entrance, her brother's pendant clenched in her fist. The silver chain bit into her palm, a grounding pain. Lead them well, his voice echoed, a ghost chiding her failures. She glanced at Ren, his silhouette hunched and brittle. He's not the only one breaking.
Lira perched on a moss-covered stone, her wings drooping like wilted petals. Garrel knelt beside her, grinding luminescent fungi into a paste with a mortar stone. The concoction shimmered faintly, casting prismatic flecks onto his weathered hands.
"This will dull the pain," he said, daubing the paste onto the raw scars where her wings met her back. "But your magic… it needs time to replenish."
Lira flinched as the salve seared her skin. "Time is a luxury we don't have." She nodded toward Ren. "He's worse, isn't he?"
Garrel followed her gaze. The scholar's milky eyes narrowed. "Vorath's roots are deep. But the Devourer's whispers… they're not just in him anymore. Can't you hear it?"
Lira stilled. Beneath the trickle of the stream, beneath the ragged breaths of the survivors, there was a hum. Low, resonant, like a plucked string vibrating in the earth.
"It's in the water," she whispered.
Garrel nodded. "And the stone. The longer we stay, the louder it gets."
Tarek leaned against the cavern wall, his injured leg stretched stiff. Jarek sat nearby, methodically sharpening his dagger. The rhythmic shink-shink of steel filled the silence until Tarek spoke.
"Your brother," he said, voice rough. "You ever wonder if he's still out there? Burning villages?"
Jarek paused, the blade hovering over the whetstone. "Every day. And every day, I hope he's dead."
Tarek grunted. "My daughter… she used to sing. Made-up tunes, nonsense words. Drove me mad at dawn." His throat tightened. "Now I'd give anything to hear it again."
Jarek sheathed the dagger. "We're all haunted here. But ghosts don't win wars."
"No," Tarek said, staring at his calloused hands. "But they keep us fighting."
Kaela's boots crunched over loose shale as she approached Ren. He didn't look up, his fingers trailing in the stream.
"You should rest," she said, her tone more order than suggestion.
Ren's laugh was hollow. "Rest? Vorath doesn't sleep. It digs." He tapped his temple. "In here. In my bones."
Kaela crouched, her armor creaking. "Garrel says the Devourer's voice is spreading. You're not the only one at risk."
Ren finally met her gaze. "Then why keep me alive? Why not cut the mark out and be done with it?"
For a flicker, Kaela's mask slipped—exhaustion, doubt, the burden of choice. "Because we're desperate. And desperate people cling to cursed things."
As night deepened, Garrel wandered to the cavern's far wall, his hands brushing over jagged stone. The fungi's glow revealed what fatigue had hidden—a faded mural, its colors leached by time. Winged figures knelt before a towering obsidian spire, their hands raised in supplication. At the spire's base, a serpentine shadow coiled, its maw devouring stars.
"Lira," Garrel called, voice trembling. "Come here."
The others gathered, their shadows dancing across the ancient art.
"The Black Tower," Garrel murmured. "And the Devourer. This mural… it's a warning. Or a prophecy."
Jarek squinted. "Those winged people. They're handing it something."
"Not something. Themselves." Garrel traced a figure's outstretched arm, its body dissolving into the shadow. "The Ascendancy's ancestors didn't imprison the Devourer—they worshipped it. Fed it."
Lira's wings shuddered. "Why?"
"Power," Ren said quietly. They turned to him. His eyes were distant, fixed on the mural. "Vorath's whispers… they're clearer here. The Devourer wasn't just a god. It was a weapon. And they sacrificed thousands to keep it."
Kaela's hand drifted to her sword. "Can it be controlled?"
Ren's smile was bitter. "Ask the Ascendancy."
The survivors settled back into uneasy silence, the mural's revelation hanging thick. Tarek limped to the stream, dunking his head to shake off the dread. Jarek muttered about scouting the tunnels, though they all knew it was futile—they had nowhere left to run.
Lira crouched beside Garrel, her voice low. "If the Devourer wakes… can we stop it?"
The scholar hesitated. "There are texts. Forgotten rituals. But they require a price."
"What kind of price?"
Garrel's milky eyes flicked to Ren. "A life entwined with the Devourer's essence. A vessel."
Lira's breath caught. "You can't mean—"
"I mean nothing yet," Garrel interrupted. "But choices are coming, child. Hard ones."
Hours slipped by. The survivors dozed in shifts, their sleep fitful. Ren dreamt of the girl in the woods—her void-eyes pleading, her hands stained with ash. "You're running out of time," she whispered. "Free me, brother."
He woke gasping, the Vorath mark searing as if branded. Across the cavern, Kaela stood watch, her posture rigid.
"You heard her too," Ren said, voice raw.
Kaela didn't turn. "The Devourer?"
"The girl. She's real. She's… connected."
For once, Kaela had no retort. "Garrel found something. In the mural." She nodded to the ancient art. "A chamber beneath the Black Tower. The heart of the Devourer's prison."
Ren stiffened. "You think destroying it will end this?"
"I think," Kaela said slowly, "that we're out of options."
The fire crackled low, its embers painting the cave walls in fleeting shadows. The survivors sat in a loose circle, their faces hollowed by exhaustion. Ren lay propped against a moss-covered stone, his bandaged chest rising faintly. The Vorath mark had quieted, its tendrils stilled to a faint itch beneath his skin. For now.
Lira picked at a stale ration cake, her wings folded tightly like a moth at rest. "Do you think they're still out there? The Ascendancy's hounds?"
Jarek snorted, sharpening a dagger with mechanical precision. "If they were, we'd be dead. Luck doesn't stick around twice."
"Luck?" Kaela leaned against the cave wall, her sword across her lap. Her brother's pendant glinted dully in the firelight. "We're alive because they're arrogant. Arrogance blinds."
Tarek grunted, rewrapping the bloodied linen around his leg. "Blind or not, they'll come back. Always do."
Ren stared into the flames. "Why?"
The question hung like smoke.
Garrel stirred, his milky eyes reflecting the fire's dance. "The Ascendancy fears what they cannot control. And we… we are proof of their failure." He gestured vaguely at Lira's wings, Ren's mark, his own scarred hands. "To them, imperfection is rebellion."
Lira tucked her wings tighter. "My parents left me at the Tower's base. Thought the Ascendancy would 'fix' me." Her laugh was brittle. "Instead, they tried to burn my wings off."
Jarek paused his sharpening. "My brother joined them. Said purity was the only way to survive. Last I saw him, he was leading a purge. Didn't recognize me."
"Did you try to kill him?" Tarek asked, voice flat.
"Yes." Jarek resumed scraping the blade. "He disarmed me. Told me to run."
Kaela's fingers tightened on her pendant. "The Ascendancy doesn't spare traitors."
"No," Jarek said. "But family does."
Ren's voice cut through the quiet. "What happens when we reach the northern pass?"
The fire popped. No one answered.
Garrel sighed. "If the texts are right, there's a sanctuary. A place the Ascendancy's magic cannot touch. But…"
"But?" Lira pressed.
"Sanctuaries attract desperate souls. And desperate souls attract wolves."
Kaela's gaze drifted to the cave entrance, where moonlight filtered through a veil of ivy. "We'll need to trust someone eventually. If not each other, then no one."
Ren's laugh was dry. "Trust? The last person I trusted sold me to the Emperor."
"And the last person I trusted died in my arms," Kaela countered. "Trust isn't about worth. It's about survival."
Lira hugged her knees. "What if the sanctuary isn't real? What if we're just… running?"
Tarek tossed a pebble into the fire. "Running's all I've done since my daughter died. Doesn't matter where you end up. The dead still follow."
Ren's hand drifted to his chest. "The mark follows too."
Garrel leaned forward, his voice soft but urgent. "Vorath is a symptom, not the disease. The Devourer's influence is spreading. Even dormant, it's hungry. And hunger… finds a way."
A chill crept into the cave, though the fire still burned.
Outside, the wind shifted. The ivy rustled, and for a moment, the distant howl of a wolf—or something less natural—echoed through the trees.
Lira stiffened. "Did you hear that?"
Jarek stood, dagger ready. "Hear what?"
The sound didn't repeat. Just the sigh of leaves and the crackle of embers.
Kaela rose, her sword a silver sliver in the dark. "Rest while you can. Dawn comes early."
But as the others drifted into uneasy sleep, Ren remained awake. The mark pulsed once, faintly, and a whisper brushed his mind—not Vorath's, but hers. The girl from the woods.
"You can't outrun what's inside you, brother."
He closed his eyes.
Somewhere far off, the howl came again. Closer this time.