Water clung to their legs—thick, murky, reeking of rot and sewage. It coated their ankles, staining Alex and Lyra as they trudged through the narrow, damp tunnels beneath the city. They moved in near silence, pressing their bodies against the cold sandstone walls. They lifted their knees high, trying not to sink deeper into the foul sludge, where something occasionally stirred just beneath the surface.
The dimness wrapped around them like a bottomless well. Only the dripping of water and their quickened breaths broke the silence. Each step had to be taken with care—the stones beneath them were slick, and some parts of the floor disappeared completely beneath layers of slimy muck. The cramped passages forced them to hunch, sometimes nearly crawling, their shoulders brushing against the slick walls streaked with moisture and decayed filth.
Alex slid a hand along the sandstone for balance. Beneath his fingers, he felt grime, dried mud, and the stench that soaked into his skin. This wasn't a place made by men—it was a wound in the city's belly, clogged with refuse and a putrid history no one wanted to remember.
He and Lyra exchanged only the briefest of whispers—"this way," "careful," "lower"—barely audible over the trickling water. They moved in rhythm with their breath, as if each twitch of muscle was part of a greater game, known only to them and the darkness.
The air was dense and heavy, saturated with the scent of decay. When they reached a fork in the tunnel, Lyra suddenly stopped and raised her hand. Alex froze, every sense on edge.
For a moment, there was only the dripping water and the soft sounds of their breathing. Then—a rustle. Scratching. The scrape of claws on stone.
From the darkness, rats emerged.
First a few, then dozens, then hundreds. A tide of wet, slick bodies swarmed the narrow corridor, darting between their legs, scurrying up walls, climbing crumbling bricks. Alex barely held back a scream. One ran across his boot, another struck his calf, leaving a burning trail with its claws.
Lyra didn't flinch. She stood still as a shadow, her eyes wide, tracking the rodents with cold precision. Only after the last tail vanished into the dark did she nod faintly.
She moved forward again, and Alex, throat tight and heart pounding, followed.
Now he understood why no one patrolled the sewers.
Over time, fear became less dominant—just one of many quiet companions lurking at the back of the mind. The worst was the uncertainty. They didn't know if they were going the right way, though Lyra seemed to trust her instincts. In the maze of narrow, stinking tunnels, Alex did his best not to fall behind, even as exhaustion clawed at his body. He had the strange sense that Lyra could feel the way through the chaos. She moved through the corridors with surprising confidence, pausing from time to time as if sensing obstacles ahead.
Once, lost among branching paths, Lyra suddenly spun on her heel and headed in the opposite direction. Alex didn't even ask—he just followed, panting, forcing his weary body to keep pace. A strained whisper escaped his lips:
"How much farther?"
Lyra glanced over her shoulder, as if calculating the distance in her mind.
"Not far. We should be near the wall soon."
They continued through the cold labyrinth. Each step echoed off the stone walls, blending with the dripping water and the quiet scurrying of rat claws. Soon they began to notice small ventilation grates in the walls leading to the surface. Sounds from above reminded them they were still close to the city's center.
Turning a sharp corner, they heard footsteps from above. They froze, pressed into a shadowed alcove, bodies glued to the damp stone. For several seconds, nothing but breathing, dripping, and the wild beating of Alex's heart.
Then—light. A torch. A guard descended and drew so close that Alex could see the faint scars on his face—thin lines like a map of old battles, glowing in the firelight. He heard the man's footsteps echo through the darkness, growing louder in his head, drowning everything else out.
And then—a pause. A soft snap. Faint, but unmistakable. Alex's body tensed with a shiver. The guard stopped. He was listening.
Before he could react, Lyra launched from the shadows. One smooth movement—her dagger slid into his throat. The blade cut through the trachea, and she yanked it free. Shock froze on the guard's face. For a few seconds, he tried to hold back the fountain of blood spilling from his neck. Then he collapsed into the dark with a splash. The torch slipped from his fingers and bounced off the wall.
Alex reacted instinctively, catching it before it hit the water. Lyra pulled the body deeper into the alcove in one swift motion. Alex knelt beside the corpse, stunned by how efficient she had been. The torchlight lit the guard's bloody hands, still clutching his neck, as if trying to undo what had just happened.
"Hurry," Lyra hissed, impatience flashing in her eyes at his hesitation.
They searched the body. A flint, an unused rope—which Lyra handed to Alex without a word—and a folded map of the local area. Less than a minute later, they heard it—the familiar rustling. Rats. They were drawn to the fresh blood now flowing through the canal.
"Quiet now," Lyra murmured, then continued, even more cautiously than before.
"Understood," Alex whispered almost silently.
A new energy surged through their tired limbs. Their movements became lighter, more certain. Every sound hinted at danger, but the knowledge they had a map gave them strength. There was still hope—even if some tunnels were blocked or crumbling.
Lyra analyzed the map with cool precision, charting new routes without hesitation. Alex followed her, increasingly convinced they would make it out. Despite his exhaustion, he didn't give up. They were close.
He glanced at her again with admiration. Her determination knew no bounds. He was surprised at how quickly his strength had returned—how this ordeal had become a turning point. Though they remained cautious, their steps were buoyed by quiet euphoria. A sense of safety rekindled not only their bodies, but something between them.
"You're incredible," Alex whispered.
Lyra looked back over her shoulder. Her gaze wasn't as cold as before.
"Not now. Not here," she replied softly, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.
Their bond felt stronger than ever. Because they knew—the exit was near.
Suddenly the space widened, as if the tunnel had pushed them out into the open. They emerged from the darkness into the moonlight. Before them stood a stone arch—the end of the sewers. They had reached the outer wall of the city.
Evening light reflected off the stones, and a cool breeze brushed their sweat-soaked faces. Alex and Lyra stopped, stunned by the sudden change—after the long march through suffocating, foul corridors, the light felt almost unnatural. Their wet footprints marked the pale stone clearly, a silent chronicle of their escape.
They breathed heavily, as if breath itself was the last thing keeping them alive. Silence descended upon them like a weight. Thick. Almost unreal. After everything they'd endured, it hit like a blow—too quiet, too calm to be true.
Lyra lifted her chin, pointing to the vast desert beyond, streaked by a dark ribbon of river.
"We'll wait until dawn. It'll be easier to move in daylight. We'll go over the map, maybe find a route." Her voice was soft, but firm. "Unless… you want to leave. Go on your own. This is the moment to decide."
Alex looked at her for a long moment. There was no coldness in her eyes—only weariness and honesty. She wasn't giving him an ultimatum. She was giving him freedom.
He opened his mouth to respond… but hesitated. He realized fear had lived in him for so long, so deeply, that he could no longer tell it apart from instinct. For a moment, he didn't know what to say.
Lyra watched him carefully. Her face remained calm, but tension flickered in her eyes—revealing uncertainty no words could hide.
The world around them seemed suspended—as if time itself had paused between what they left behind and what lay ahead. The darkness of the sewers still clung to them, but the desert wasn't any less dangerous. In the distance, along the wall, shadows moved. Demons. Their silhouettes shifted slowly, silently, alert. Neither of them wanted to draw attention.
Lyra turned to him, waiting for his decision. He nodded faintly, though the throbbing in his temples made it hard to focus.
"No, I'm staying with you," he said at last, softly but firmly. "We'll wait."
Lyra exhaled with a quiet sigh of relief, and her lips curled into a barely visible smile.
Before them stretched freedom—but it was full of uncertainty, like everything they had known so far. The light of the coming day slowly tinged the horizon, signaling dawn. Hope mingled with fear. And the desert, though open, promised nothing but new danger.
The wind howled suddenly, carrying with it the sounds of the night—howls, whispers, wild cries ripping through the silence. An echo rolled along the city walls and faded somewhere beyond the river.
Alex felt Lyra gently place a hand on his shoulder.
"Let's rest. While we still can."