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“Did you not hear me?”

“I did,” Z’leni says, his voice quiet and controlled, but there’s something beneath it. Something strained.

The Shaman tilts his head, considering. “Then obey.”

The warrior walks down the dais, unsheathing his blade as he approaches. The scrape of metal is deafening. Panic rises in my throat.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, desperate. “You know this isn’t right.”

His eyes flick to me, just for a second. Then he lifts the blade. Ryatuv doesn’t flinch. He meets death with steady resolve. Z’leni grips the weapon tighter, his hesitation stretching unbearably long.

“Do not test me.” The Shaman’s voice is somehow colder.

The blade hovers over Ryatuv’s throat. I can barely breathe. And then?—

The blade flashes downward.

A cry rips from my throat, but before the steel slices flesh, Z’leni shifts. A blur of motion, a twist of his wrist and his blade flies, spinning through the torchlight.

It embeds itself deep in the throat of one of the Maulavi standing at the Shaman’s side. The Urr’ki gurgles, clawing at the hilt before collapsing in a heap, blood pooling beneath its twitching limbs.

The chamber erupts.

Ryatuv lunges, snapping his restraints as if they were nothing. I gape. Those chains were never real restraints. They were always a lie. The two Urr’ki warriors flanking him take a step back, dropping into battle stances, and it hits me. They never bound him at all. They were never loyal to the Shaman.

A roar shatters the moment of stunned silence as the remaining Maulavi surge forward, their eyes wild with fury. Ryatuv doesn’t hesitate. He charges, slamming into the nearest one, his dark claws raking across its chest in a brutal arc. The Maulavi screams, staggering back, and Ryatuv twists, using momentum to hurl it into another.

I don’t have time to marvel at his strength. Z’leni is grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me to the side. I look at him, wild-eyed and confused.

“Run,” he barks, shoving me in a direction.

I stumble but obey, my pulse hammering. This is happening. This is real. The Shaman’s voice is a furious snarl behind us.

“Traitors!” the Shaman howls. “Seal the gates! Kill them all!”

Z’leni rushes ahead of Ryatuv, passing him and taking the lead. Ryatuv hooks his arm around my waist and slows his stride just enough for me to keep up, barely. Two Urr’ki warriors, Ryatuv’s supposed captors, fall into step behind us. I glance over my shoulder, the hairs on back of my neck on end from fear. One of them is gripping a short, curved blade, the other has a wicked looking spear. I don’t know their names, but I do know that they are our best chance of escaping.

Dozens of Urr’ki rush into the hall, emerging from the shadows, coming from every direction. It’s clear they were waiting, for this or for something. Some wear the robes of the Maulavi, some are armored like guards. All are giving chase to us. Ryatuv curses under his breath, shifting in front of me, his body tensing for a fight as two guards and a Maulavi block our path.

“No time for this!” Z’leni barks. “We need to move.”

One of the rogue Urr’ki guards flings his spear and impales a Maulavi. Blood blossoms around the spear, the Maulavi’s eyes widen as he grasps at the stick with one hand, the other waving as if trying to say, go on, I’m fine. He stumbles then drops to the ground, but the two guards with him are charging without hesitation.

Another Maulavi lunges from the side, jerking my attention off the fallen Maulavi. I stumble, my heel catching on uneven stone, and for a sickening moment, I’m falling.

A hand seizes my arm. Ryatuv yanks me upright and shoving me behind him in one seamless motion. The Maulavi never reaches me. Z’leni’s blade finds its throat first.

“Go!” Ryatuv roars, and we run.

We tear through the twisting tunnels, our footsteps hammering the ancient stones as chaos explodes behind us. My ankle is throbs with pain but it’s healed enough that it doesn’t stop me. The torches flicker wildly, the air thick with smoke and the stench of blood. Behind us, furious shouts echo as the Shaman’s forces give chase.

We sprint down a twisting passage, Z’leni leading, his movements sure despite the dim light. He knows this place. That realization sends a chill through me. How long has he been planning this escape? The walls resonate with the sound of pursuit, unrelenting. It’s only a matter of time before they catch us.

“We can’t outrun them,” I pant, chest burning. “Where?—”

“There.” Z’leni points ahead.

The wall looks like every other stretch of stone, seamless and unyielding. A few faint cracks mar its appearance, but there is clearly no way through it.