Raven's POV
Consciousness returned in fragments, like shattered glass slowly reassembling itself into something recognizable but fundamentally broken.
First came sensation—cold seeping through thin fabric into my bones, the rough texture of concrete against my cheek, the dull ache of circulation cut off by restraints. Then sound—the distant drip of water somewhere in darkness, my own ragged breathing, and another set of breaths nearby that made my heart lurch with recognition.
*Riyan.*
My eyelids felt weighted, refusing to open for long moments as I fought against the drug's lingering effects. When they finally obeyed, the world swam into focus with agonizing slowness. Gray walls. A single bare bulb hanging from a chain, casting harsh shadows. No windows. A metal door that looked far too solid to offer any hope.
And Riyan, lying motionless on the floor three meters away, his dark hair falling across his face, wrists and ankles bound with the same rough rope that cut into my own skin.
Terror crystallized in my chest, sharp and cold. *Is he dead? Did they—*
"Riyan." My voice came out as a rasp, throat raw from whatever chemical cocktail they'd forced down it. "Riyan, wake up."
For three eternal heartbeats, nothing. Then his chest expanded with a deeper breath, his eyelids fluttering. Relief flooded through me with such intensity that tears pricked my eyes.
His gaze found mine, confusion clearing into focus as awareness returned. I watched recognition dawn—first of me, then of our situation. His expression hardened, the last traces of childhood innocence burning away in the reality of our circumstances.
We were captives. Taken by Nexus. And whatever came next would be worse than the kidnapping itself.
---
"We need to escape." Riyan's voice was steadier than mine had been, though I could see the fear he was suppressing in the tight line of his jaw. "Now, before—"
"Before they come back," I finished, understanding immediately. The festival had been hours ago if my internal sense of time could be trusted. Dawn might be approaching, or it might have already passed. Either way, our captors would return eventually, and whatever they had planned for us wouldn't involve mercy.
Riyan shifted, testing his bonds. The rope held firm, digging deeper with each movement. His eyes closed in concentration, and I felt the subtle shift of mana gathering around him—a heat that made the air shimmer slightly.
"If they didn't use a Mana Seal," he muttered, and a small flame sparked to life on his palm. The orange glow painted dancing shadows on the walls, beautiful and dangerous. "Yes. They must have been too injured or in too much of a hurry."
The fire kissed the ropes binding his wrists, and the fibers began to blacken and curl, releasing acrid smoke. It was slower than cutting them would be—he had to be careful not to burn himself—but within minutes his hands were free. He made quick work of his ankle restraints, then moved to me with purpose.
"Stay still," he said, positioning himself so the flame was between his hands and my bound wrists. The heat was intense, uncomfortable but not unbearable. I watched the rope fray and snap, felt circulation return in painful tingles.
When we were both free, we immediately checked for our belongings. Phones gone. Money gone. Anything that could help us contact the outside world or identify our location—stripped away. But Riyan's watch remained, somehow overlooked in the hasty imprisonment.
He checked it, and his expression tightened. "Six hours since the festival. Dawn should be breaking soon if we're anywhere near Qara City's time zone."
"We are," I said, surprising myself with the certainty. "We have to be. He was injured—I saw the guard land a serious blow before..." Before he died protecting us. The memory threatened to paralyze me, but I shoved it down. "He couldn't have traveled far with that kind of wound. We're probably in some safe house within the city limits."
Riyan nodded, assessing the room with tactical focus that seemed far too mature for a ten-year-old. But then, we'd both been forced to grow up in the last six hours. "The door's reinforced. Multiple locks from the sound of it." He'd been listening while I was still unconscious, I realized. "But it's old construction. The metal's solid but the frame..."
He moved to examine it more closely, running his hands along the edges where door met wall. "There's give here. Not much, but if I can heat it enough to warp the metal, create a gap..."
"They'll hear," I said quietly. "Or see the light. Or smell the burning."
"I know." His jaw set with determination I'd never seen before. "But we don't have a choice. Either we try now while whoever took us might still be recovering, or we wait for them to come back and do... whatever they planned to do."
The unspoken hung between us—the reason Nexus had taken a demon-blooded child. Artificial devils. Experiments. Things that required raw materials harvested from living subjects. My stomach twisted, but I forced the fear down into something colder, harder.
"Do it," I said. "I'll watch the door, warn you if I hear anything."
---
Riyan positioned himself at the door's weakest point—where the frame met the wall, where decades of settling had created microscopic gaps. He placed both palms against the metal, and I felt the temperature in the room spike as he channeled everything he had into concentrated heat.
The metal began to glow—first red, then orange, then a white-hot brilliance that made my eyes water. Sweat beaded on Riyan's forehead, his face contorted with effort. This was beyond anything a ten-year-old should be capable of, but desperation pushed limits in ways normal training never could.
The frame groaned. Concrete cracked with sharp reports that sounded deafening in the enclosed space. I kept my position by the door, one ear pressed against the cold metal, listening for any response to the noise.
"Almost," Riyan gasped, his voice strained. "Just a little more—"
A crack appeared. Then another. The metal warped, creating a gap maybe three centimeters wide between door and frame. Not enough to squeeze through, but enough to see what lay beyond.
I pressed my eye to the opening, and my heart sank.
A corridor. Empty, but only for the moment. Blood stains on the floor—recent, leading away from our room. Signs of hasty medical treatment—discarded bandages, an overturned chair. And at the far end of the hallway, light spilling under another door, suggesting someone was awake and active.
"We're not alone in this building," I whispered. "Someone's here. Maybe more than one person."
Riyan's flames guttered out as his strength failed, the metal cooling from white to red to dull gray. He sagged against the wall, breathing hard. "Then we need to be smart about this. Create a bigger opening, but quietly. Wait for the right moment to run."
It was a plan born of desperation rather than confidence, but it was all we had.
He rested for precious minutes, gathering strength while I kept watch at the gap. The building was old—I could smell mildew and decay beneath the sharper scent of blood and antiseptic. A warehouse, maybe. Or an abandoned residential structure in one of Qara City's forgotten districts.
When Riyan resumed, he worked more carefully, heating smaller sections at a time to avoid the loud cracking. The process was agonizingly slow, each minute feeling like an hour. But gradually, the gap widened. Ten centimeters. Twenty. Thirty.
---
**Author's Note:**
Thank you for reading this chapter. I know it's intense, and I want to assure you that while this story will deal with serious themes, I'm committed to handling them thoughtfully.
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