Aden pressed on, his fingers trailing lightly along the damp stone walls. The air grew heavier with each step, thick with something old—not just dust and decay, but the weight of forgotten things.
The blood trail was fading now. Whoever had been dragged this far had either bled out or… their body had been taken somewhere else.
The passage narrowed until he had to turn sideways to squeeze through. A crack in the ruins—not natural, but deliberately widened by someone who had passed through before him. Recent.
> I'm not the first to come this way.
And I won't be the last.
The passage opened up into a small chamber, the air stale and unmoving. A single iron torch flickered against the far wall, casting long, twisting shadows.
Aden's eyes swept the room. No corpses. But there were signs of struggle—broken shackles, deep scratches along the stone floor, remnants of old restraints.
And in the center of the room…
A single chain dangled from the ceiling, still swaying.
He swallowed. Someone had been here recently.
Aden stepped forward—
Then froze.
> A sound. Close. Subtle.
Not stone shifting.
Not wind.
Breathing.
He watches from the shadows.
The boy moves cautiously—smart. Not reckless, but not careful enough.
His fingers twitch against the handle of his blade, but he does not move. Not yet.
The others are waiting. Watching.
A test, they said.
See how far he goes.
See what he does.
And when the time is right…
> We strike.
Aden's skin prickled. His instincts screamed at him.
Something was off.
He turned his head slightly, adjusting his breathing, slowing his pulse. Listening.
Someone was here.
Someone was watching him.
> Move now or be moved against.
Aden exhaled. His fingers curled around the hilt of his dagger.
Then, in one smooth motion—
He vanished into the shadows.
And the hunt began.