Everything went black for a second.
Then I was in a cell.
Stone walls. No windows. Just ... and them.
I looked down. The three bandits who’d grabbed were lying at my feet, unconscious—maybe worse. Their bodies twitched slightly, faint trails of corrupted Essentia leaking off their skin like smoke that forgot how to rise.
"What the hell…?" I muttered.
I crouched, checking their pulses. Still alive. But barely.
They’d been full of energy—too much energy—when they hugged . Like they were fueled by fire. Now?
Now they were cold.
“Did they use it all up… just to bring here?”
My throat felt tight. My mind was racing, but there was no one to hear it.
Where was here?
No guards. No torches. Just a pulsing glow from sowhere behind the walls. The air was thick—like it had been sitting still for too long. And there was a hum in the distance, low and steady, like a beast breathing in its sleep.
I pressed my hand to the cell bars. They didn’t burn, but they humd faintly with corrupted Essentia. Not active enough to hurt. Just... enough to make you feel watched.
I tried to gather my flow, just a little spark of Essentia through my veins.
It ca. But sluggish. Like it didn’t want to move.
“Great,” I whispered. “So we’re doing this the hard way.”
The energy here is heavy. Too heavy.
Every ti I try to let my Essentia flow, it fades out—like it gets swallowed by the air itself. I can feel it tugging, draining the second it leaves my core.
I glance around through the bars. A hallway. Rows of cells.
Guess I’m not the only victim.
I focus. There's breathing—barely. Soft, uneven rhythms in the distance.
Unconscious. Could be from the corruption.
I turn back to the three bandits still slumped at my feet. “Maybe one of you geniuses brought a key?” I mutter.
I kneel beside them and start checking pockets.
Crushed vials. A broken charm. And then—
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A coin.
It shines with a strange, dark luster. Not tal. Not natural.
“Bingo.”
Then I find a small vial next to it. Thick liquid, almost black. Just holding it makes my stomach twist.
I glance at the cell door.
The lock's old, but not chanical. Runes etched around it—dead, for now.
“Let’s try the coin,” I whisper, pressing it against the bars.
Nothing.
“Okay… maybe it needs a little juice?”
I try channeling my Essentia into it.
Nothing again.
It rejects my flow, like it knows I’m not one of them.
I stare at the vial, heart sinking a little.
“This stuff… it’s probably what gave them enough corrupted Essentia to teleport.”
I uncork it, just slightly.
A wave of rot and burning air hits . It slls like spoiled blood and crushed tal. I gag and pull my face away.
“Disgusting,” I mutter. “Don’t wanna get corrupted or anything…”
Carefully, I pour a few drops onto the coin—holding it with part of the unconscious bandit's tunic so it doesn’t touch my skin.
The mont the liquid hits the coin, the runes on the cell door pulse faintly.
Towan steps back, holding his breath.
“...Please work.”
The corrupted liquid hissed as it touched the coin. The runes on the bars pulsed — once, then again, brighter.
Then the lock clicked.
Not slowly.
Not with effort.
It clicked like it had been waiting.
The door creaked open an inch. I didn’t touch it.
I stared at it for a long second.
“...That’s not ominous at all.”
I wrapped the coin in cloth, shoved it into one of the bandits’ pouches, and stepped out carefully. No guards. No alarms. Just the sound of breathing — the unconscious kind — echoing faintly down the corridor.
Too easy.
Way too easy.
I moved down the hallway. The cells were identical — stone, bars, silence. But inside?
People. Dozens. All unconscious. So twitching. So curled up like they were freezing.
And not all of them were human.
One had scaled arms. Another had glassy skin and white eyes. I don’t know if they were alive. I didn’t stop to check.
This wasn’t just a prison.
This was a lab.
Or worse — a harvest.
At the far end of the hall, the stone changed. Smoother. Newer. Faintly pulsing like a heartbeat under my feet.
I slowed down. Every step felt like walking into soone else’s dream. Or their nightmare.
There was a sigil on the wall ahead — large, unfamiliar, carved in twisting black lines.
It humd.
I don’t recognize the sigil. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s religious? A cult? A death god?
So of the lines almost look like letters… but not any language I know.
I’ll have to ask Elliot later.
Then—
“He…lp… …”
I jumped, heart slamming into my ribs. “Holy shit—!”
Behind , in one of the cells I’d passed… soone was awake.
A bald man—thin, pale, draped in worn monk robes. His head rested against the bars, breath ragged and shallow.
I stepped closer, cautiously. “Who are you?”
His eyes fluttered open. “My na is… Lutharos…”
Another breath. Then another. “They… they ant to take Lytharos… got the wrong man…”
My stomach twisted.
Lytharos…?
“What? Who are they?” I asked, kneeling beside the bars.
I couldn’t open the cell. Not without a key. But if he survived, I could co back.
He raised a trembling finger and pointed toward the pulsing sigil on the wall.
“The Circle… of… Ourothan…”
“Circle of wha—?”
The words sparked sothing.
Suddenly—
I was standing on a platform.
A tournant arena. Elliot beside .
We were fighting. Together.
Against enemies I didn’t recognize.
A woman scread.
The sky cracked.
That never happened.
I grabbed my head, staggering back. What was that!?
“Ge…t out…” Lutharos whispered. His eyes were heavy now. “He is coming…”
And then his eyes closed.
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