Alex slowly pulled his hand away from the tree's rough bark. His skin trembled slightly, as if the presence of the ancient being still resonated through his body with every heartbeat. He knew now—this was no ordinary entity. It came from a race of ancients, from a time so distant that their memory survived only in the whispers of ruins and the silence of lost lands.
"This tree…" he said softly. "It's dying. We opened the way, and in return, we took most of its power. That being… it knew this would happen."
He looked toward Lyra, his eyes filled with more than fear—they carried the weight of knowledge he was not yet ready to bear.
"He said he would reveal the secrets of magic," he added in a whisper. "But we have to hurry. Do what I ask. We don't have much time."
He reached out toward the resin slowly dripping from a split in the bark. The liquid shimmered in the fading glow of magic like molten light—thick and golden, yet disturbingly dark at the edges. It was heavy with power—he could feel it pulsing in the air, resonating like the heartbeat of this place.
"You need to drink," he said firmly. "It's the sap of this tree. Its essence. The rest—we take it with us. We can share this power with others… with those still alive."
He looked around frantically.
"We need water skins. All of them. We have to fill them before this place fades completely."
For a moment, silence followed his words. A silence quickly broken.
From the depths of the corridor leading back to the surface came sounds that froze the blood in their veins like a blade of ice. At first, they were distant, disturbing growls—but then they became screams. Screams of pain. Screams of death.
They weren't human.
"The camels…" Lyra whispered. "They're still up there."
They couldn't see anything—the distance, the rocks, and the twists of the ancient tunnels kept the exit out of sight—but they heard everything. The wild roar of beasts, the frantic pounding of hooves, the tearing of flesh, the crack of breaking bones. The demons had reached the surface. They were hunting.
The magic that had until now gently illuminated the ceiling and walls of the underground chamber began to dim. As if all its strength was being drawn back into the tree—into its heart. The glowing light pulsed weaker and weaker, retreating toward the trunk like the dying breath of a world.
"There's no time! Do as I say!" Alex shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
Without hesitation, they grabbed their waterskins and drank the last of the water. Their throats, dry from dust and stress, welcomed the cool liquid greedily, though their thoughts had already moved to what they were about to do. They couldn't let a single drop of the life-giving sap go to waste.
"Hold the skins here," he instructed, pointing at the crack in the bark.
From the tree's trunk, the thick liquid began to flow—like a golden stream pouring from the heart of an ancient world. The sap oozed slowly, sticky and gleaming like molten metal. Its glow cast warm reflections across Lyra's hands as she gently held each skin beneath it, filling them with the precious substance.
When the last of the containers was full, she looked at Alex. She hesitated for a moment. His gaze told her everything—there was no turning back.
She pressed her lips to the split in the bark. The sap was thick, bitter, surprisingly harsh—as if the tree had stored the memory of pain and ancient tragedy within it. The first drops slid over her tongue, stinging her throat like acrid smoke. She swallowed—and then everything changed.
She felt her body seize. Her heart slammed in her chest, as if trying to burst free. Her knees buckled, her fingers clenched in a convulsive spasm. She collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.
"Lyra!" Alex lunged toward her, panic-stricken.
Foam began to bubble from her mouth—pale, almost translucent, yet trembling as if alive. It looked as though the sap was poison, as if her body were trying to reject it. But it wasn't ordinary venom.
Her body began to convulse violently. Her entire frame arched, as though something inside was trying to seize control. Her arms trembled, her fingernails scraped against the stone, her eyes rolled back, showing only white.
Alex knelt beside her, helpless in the face of what was happening. He wanted to speak, to call her name, to scream with anger or beg for mercy—but the words caught in his throat. Instead came tears. Hot, heavy tears rolled down his cheeks as he held her trembling body, as if the sheer force of his despair could keep her alive.
"Lyra… please…" he whispered, voice breaking with pain. "Don't do this to me… don't leave me…"
He shut his eyes tight, his tears falling onto her face, mingling with the foam still spilling from her lips. He felt his heart screaming—as if it might break. This wasn't fear of the unknown. This was raw, naked terror.
The terror of losing her.