The Alarm is Triggered
Aden's breath came slow and steady as he followed the trail of blood deeper into the passage. The walls pressed in, damp with age, the scent of decay thick in the air. His boots barely made a sound against the stone floor, but his heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Then he saw it.
A sigil, etched into the wall in dark ink, almost invisible in the flickering torchlight. He paused, studying it. The symbol was familiar—he had seen it before, stamped on the back of the warning note.
> "A trap."
Too late.
A faint click echoed through the corridor. The sigil pulsed once, a sickly red glow spreading across the walls like veins beneath the skin. A deep, droning hum followed, reverberating through the tunnels. Then—
The alarm.
Aden's muscles tensed as the temple shook with eerie, chime-like tones, rhythmic and precise. It wasn't chaotic; it was methodical—measured beats, like a heartbeat. A warning.
Someone was coming.
The Cult's Reaction
Deep within the underground sanctum, a robed figure straightened.
"The sigil has been activated," one whispered.
A second figure, seated in front of a large, rune-covered obelisk, exhaled slowly.
> "Then he has entered the path of the marked."
Their voice was reverent, laced with something close to amusement.
> "The hunt begins."
Around them, several others rose, their movements fluid, almost mechanical. Weapons were retrieved, hoods drawn. A low, collective chant filled the chamber, barely audible over the still-resonating alarm.
One of them stepped forward, a curved dagger gleaming in their grip.
> "Find him. Kill him before he understands what he is."
Aden didn't hesitate.
He turned and sprinted, keeping low. The tunnels split ahead, and he veered right, heart hammering. He had to find a way out before they cornered him.
The dim torches along the walls flickered as the alarm pulsed again—another beat, another warning. He was being tracked.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. Someone was already here.
He exhaled sharply, sliding behind a pillar as two figures emerged from a side passage. They moved carefully, scanning the area with practiced efficiency.
Aden's fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger.
> Not yet.
He couldn't fight them head-on. Not in a place like this.
Instead, he watched. Waited.
When one of them turned their back, he slipped into the shadows, unseen.
The hunt had begun.