Vespera

As the shadowy figure lunged toward them, Nas and Lucien instinctively tried to evade, but their efforts were in vain. In the blink of an eye, Lucien felt an overwhelming force slam into his body, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his ribs. The impact was so strong that it tore Elodie from his grasp, and he could only watch helplessly as her small frame slipped from his arms and tumbled onto the cold, barren ground. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he crashed down, his body hitting the dirt with a heavy thud.

Before he could even gather his breath, a crushing weight pressed down on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Lucien grimaced, his lungs burning from the sudden pressure. Slowly, he forced his eyes open, his vision momentarily blurred by the pain.

Then, through the suffocating darkness, he saw them—two glowing crimson eyes, burning like embers in the abyss. Their eerie light cast a dim, orange glow around the figure, illuminating its terrifying presence.

His breath hitched as his gaze locked with the creature's. The shadows around it seemed to shift and writhe like living smoke, but as his vision adjusted, the form became clearer. It was a horse—but not of flesh and blood. This beast was sculpted from pure darkness, its body an unnatural void that swallowed the faintest slivers of light. Its mane flowed like liquid shadow, rippling and twisting as though possessed by an unseen force. The creature's hooves, wreathed in mist, hovered just above his chest before pressing down again, making Lucien grit his teeth in agony.

For the first time in his life, he felt true terror. This was no ordinary beast—this was a nightmare given form, something that had clawed its way out of the Abyss itself.

A chilling whisper slithered through the air, low and guttural, yet resonating with an ancient authority that sent a shiver down Lucien's spine.

"The Presaged future shall proceed."

After that, the horse dissolved into shadows, fading into the darkness until it was no more than a whisper in the void. Nas, watching the entire event unfold before him with a horrified expression from afar, felt cold sweat trickling down his body. He couldn't see clearly what was happening, but those crimson eyes, that terrifying figure from the darkness—it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. A deep sense of helplessness overwhelmed him.

"What was that... just now?"

Nas's voice trembled, his eyes still wide with disbelief as he stared into the dark void where the shadowy horse had once stood.

After a few moments, Nas cautiously approached Lucien, who remained unmoving, his gaze fixed on the place where the shadow had once been. The air between them was thick with unspoken words. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, a terrible realization settled over them both. Before they could process further, a chilling growl echoed from the dense underbrush behind them—low, guttural, and filled with malice.

"Rift Hound..."

Nas gulped, his throat dry with fear. This situation couldn't get any worse. The Rift Hound was no ordinary predator. It was a carnivorous, monstrous canine known for its insatiable hunger for human flesh. What made it even more terrifying was its nature—it wasn't a solitary hunter, but part of a hunting pack, a coordinated group of these beasts that stalked their prey in numbers. They were not just dangerous on their own; their strength and effectiveness lay in their unity.

"Elodie...,"

Lucien muttered, his voice shaking slightly. His body snapped to attention, suddenly alert. His eyes darted around, searching for Elodie.

"Where is she?"

Lucien's heart pounded in his chest as his gaze darted frantically through the darkness. The chilling presence of the shadowed horse had left an eerie silence in its wake, but now, that silence was broken by the deep, menacing growls that echoed through the trees. The Rift Hound was near.

Nas' hand reached for the small dagger in his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he scanned the surroundings. His body remained rigid, his senses sharpened by the sheer force of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could feel it in the air—the oppressive weight of something lurking just beyond their sight, hidden within the thick, foreboding underbrush.

'Rift Hound sensitive to smell, there is no way they don't smell us unless...'

Meanwhile, Lucien, having finally found Elodie, lifted her fragile body into his arms. She was light—far too light—but every step he took sent fire through his muscles, his body screaming for rest. His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs threatened to give out, yet he forced himself to stand. Because stopping was not an option. Not now.

"Hey, we need to run."

Lucien's head snapped up, his exhausted eyes locking onto Nas. His voice was hoarse, edged with desperation.

"To where?"

Silence.

Nas said nothing, because he had no answer. There was nowhere to run. The only way out of the mine was blocked by a pack of Rift Hounds. Nowhere safe. If they fled deeper into the forest, they would only be delaying the inevitable. Death lurked in the shadows, patient and certain.

He studied the two young souls before him, hesitating. It had been so long since he had spoken this much to another person—so long since conversation had been anything more than a necessity for survival. Words had become foreign to him, an art he had long abandoned.

Because what use did a slave have for words?

Nas had never been a man of purpose. Never someone with a grand ambition or a place in the world. His existence had been simple—endure the day, survive the night, repeat. Life, to him, had always been a single black line scrawled across a blank page. A stain. A meaningless scribble. Pain and joy were nothing more than opposite ends of the same thread, bound together in a story he had never asked to be a part of.

The only thing that connected him to kings and beggars, to tyrants and prisoners, to the powerful and the forgotten—was death. The great equalizer. The silent certainty that reduced all men to dust.

It did not matter how far one ran. In the end, everyone arrived at the same destination.

At least, that's what he had always believed.

But today—just for a moment—he felt like he could do something that mattered. Something that, even if he found himself in hell, surrounded by wretched men like Kennedy, he could claim with pride.

He exhaled slowly and turned to Lucien, his gaze steady.

"I have a plan."

Lucien hesitated, uncertain.

"Save the girl," Nas said. His voice was quiet but firm. "I'll clear the way."

There were no promises of victory. No certainty of survival. Only a choice—one that, for the first time in a long time, he made not for himself, but for something greater.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.