The day faded into a sullen afternoon, the sky blanketed by a layer of smoky grey clouds that seemed to press down on the broken city. A cold, damp breeze whistled through the hollowed streets as Fred, Zara, Mira, Elise, and Damon moved swiftly, keeping to the shadows.
They were heading for the Old Chapel, the secret entrance to the tunnels — a place once known only to those sworn to protect the Heart of the City. Now, even that loyalty had splintered.
Fred's mind burned with conflicting emotions as they ran: betrayal, sorrow, determination. Each footfall on the cracked stone streets echoed the memory of Lucien's mocking voice.
The oaths you swore are already broken.
But Fred wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.
The Old Chapel loomed ahead, hidden behind a curtain of ivy and forgotten prayers. Its stone walls were crumbling, worn by centuries of neglect, and its iron doors hung askew. A single bell, long silent, creaked in the wind.
Fred led the way inside.
The air was thick with the scent of mildew and old candle wax. Faded pews lined the main hall, many overturned or smashed. The stained glass windows, once vibrant depictions of saints and heroes, were shattered, leaving only jagged shards to catch the dim light.
At the altar, Damon knelt down, searching with quick hands. He pulled aside a rotting rug to reveal a rusted iron ring embedded in the floor.
"Here," Damon grunted.
Fred and Zara helped him pull. The trapdoor groaned open, revealing a set of ancient stone steps spiraling downward into darkness.
Mira shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her small frame. Elise's eyes widened, but she said nothing, her hand tightening around her dagger.
Fred lit a torch pulled from the old wall sconce. The flame sputtered, casting a trembling glow down the stairwell.
"Stay close," Fred said. "No mistakes."
One by one, they descended.
The air grew colder with every step, the musty smell of earth and damp stone surrounding them. Their footfalls echoed in eerie rhythm, the flickering torchlight dancing across the tight, rough-hewn walls.
After what felt like an eternity, they emerged into the tunnels.
The labyrinth stretched before them — narrow passageways branching off endlessly, some caved in, others swallowed by water or choked with roots. Strange symbols were carved into the walls, many too faded to read.
Fred glanced at the map he had memorized from the courthouse.
Left at the broken arch, down past the three weeping statues, right at the sunken courtyard.
But the tunnels were alive with deception. Sounds traveled strangely — whispers, creaks, and distant thuds, though the group was alone.
Or so they thought.
Suddenly, Mira grabbed Fred's arm, eyes wide.
"Look!" she whispered.
Ahead, in the intersection of several tunnels, stood a figure — draped in a heavy cloak, face hidden in shadow. A lantern hung from his staff, casting an otherworldly glow.
Fred raised his torch higher. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't move. His voice, when it came, was dry and cracked, like wind scraping against stone.
"You seek the Heart," he rasped. "But the Heart does not seek you."
Fred stepped forward carefully. "We need a guide."
The figure tilted his head, the hood slipping back slightly to reveal a weathered face marked with deep scars. His skin was like old parchment, his eyes a cloudy silver.
"I was once the Keeper," the old man said. "Now, I am nothing but the last whisper of a dying city."
Fred bowed slightly, showing respect. "Help us. Please."
The old man studied him for a long, heavy moment. Finally, he turned and beckoned.
"Follow, but tread lightly. The walls have ears... and not all who walk these tunnels are still alive."
A chill raced down Fred's spine.
Without a word, the group followed.
As they walked deeper into the labyrinth, the walls seemed to close in, the air turning thinner, heavier. The torchlight revealed strange, ancient murals — battles fought under black suns, cities swallowed by waves of darkness, heroes with no names.
It was a history the surface world had forgotten.
A history Fred feared they might soon become part of.
After what felt like hours, the Keeper finally stopped in front of a massive stone door covered in intricate carvings. In the center was an empty handprint.
"The Heart lies beyond," the Keeper said. "But beware… you are not the only ones who seek it."
Fred stepped forward, pressing his palm against the cold stone.
The ground rumbled.
The door slowly ground open, revealing a passage bathed in a golden, eerie light.
Beyond it… destiny awaited.
And so did Lucien.
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