Chapter 3 — Into the Dark

The soldiers closed in, shields raised, spearpoints catching the glow from Merlin's chest. He leaned into me, trembling, his breaths shallow but defiant. He couldn't rise again. Not now.

"Take them!" the commander barked.

The line began to press forward.

I dragged Merlin back, step by step, heart hammering. The broken circle was at our backs, no exit there, just walls and ash. Then I saw it—an archway gaping on the far side of the chamber, half-choked with smoke. Not a door. A tunnel.

"Come on," I hissed, pulling at Merlin's collar. He stumbled but moved, his claws scraping the stone.

The soldiers advanced. One jabbed forward, spearpoint sparking against the floor just short of Merlin's paw. He snarled weakly, and the whole line recoiled a step, as if expecting him to swell again into the glowing beast he had been moments before.

He didn't. And we ran.

Through the archway, down the rough-hewn corridor, smoke stinging my eyes. Behind us came the clash of boots—but not pursuit. The sound faltered, then stopped.

I risked a glance back. The soldiers stood at the threshold of the chamber, spears lowered but not advancing. Their commander shoved one forward, barking an order. The man shook his head violently and refused to move.

They weren't afraid of me. They weren't afraid of Merlin, not like this.

They were afraid of what lay ahead.

The tunnel sloped down, the air cooling, damp stone slick beneath my boots. The horns sounded again, louder, closer, their resonance like a storm in the bones of the earth. Merlin pressed against my leg, panting raggedly. The glow in his chest flickered once, then dimmed to nothing.

Darkness swallowed us.

And somewhere in that blackness, far down the passage, something answered the horns.

Not a call. Not a signal.

A roar.

— Still the first day, fleeing deeper into the tunnels —