The adrenaline was still thick in the air, the smell of Anya's scorched earth clinging to their clothes as they sprinted through the labyrinth of backstreets. Meko moved with a heavy, rhythmic gait, the unconscious Katarina once again strapped to his back.
"Great," Meko huffed, his eyes darting toward the rooftops to ensure no more surprises were dropping from the sky. "Apparently, we will never get to just have an easy day. One minute we're dodging cult members, the next we're being hunted by a maniac and a three-eyed freak."
Doren ran beside him, his face tight with pain as he clutched a heavy supply pack against his chest. Every breath was a struggle against his bruised ribs, but the terror of the man in the crimson robes kept his legs moving. Behind them, Anya was loaded down with the rest of their gear; she had managed to snatch their belongings from the flames just before they fled.
"Did you see his face?" Doren whispered, his voice trembling. "That giant... the way he looked at us. And that man... he treated that monster like a disobedient animal."
Anya led the way, her hands still faintly smoking from the inferno she had unleashed. She was silent, her jaw set tight. She knew the heat she'd generated wouldn't just go away; it was a beacon. She had shown her hand, and now the Architect of the Pits knew exactly what kind of power he was trying to reclaim.
"We can't head for the main gates," Anya said, banking a sharp corner into a fog-drenched alleyway. "If that man has any influence, the city guard will have our descriptions by now. We need to go somewhere even the Architect can't find us."
Meko glanced back at the glowing violet aura still faintly pulsing in the distance. The city felt smaller than it had ten minutes ago, the walls closing in like the very arena they had fought so hard to escape.
They scrambled through a gap in a rotted fence and found themselves standing before an old, abandoned temple. It wasn't much of a place. The roof was partially caved in and the pillars were crumbling, but it offered a decent area to rest up and hide from the street-level patrols and any unwanted threats.
As they stepped onto the cracked marble floor, Meko and Anya moved toward the back to set down their burdens. But as Doren followed, his boots crossed over a series of intricate runes etched deep into the stone.
Doren stopped dead. He felt a sudden, terrifying hollowness in his chest. The vibrant, humming energy of his Powerhart began to leak away as if something was sucking the life out of him.
"Meko… Anya…" Doren gasped, dropping the supply pack. The heavy bag hit the floor with a thud as he slumped against a nearby pillar. "I... I feel weak. My power... it's draining."
Meko stopped and looked back, still balancing Katarina. He was standing right on the same etched patterns, but he felt as strong as ever. Anya, too, was standing nearby, her fire-spirit still flickering brightly within her.
"What are you talking about?" Meko asked, his brow furrowing. "I don't feel anything. Come on, Doren."
Doren's hands slid down the cold marble pillar, his fingers scratching uselessly against the stone before he crumpled. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, his breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps.
"The runes..." he wheezed, his eyes wide and unfocused as he stared at the geometric carvings beneath him. "Something's... something's wrong..."
Meko immediately unstrapped Katarina, gently leaning her unconscious form against a stack of the supply packs Anya had salvaged. He hurried over to Doren, his heavy boots thumping loudly on the very symbols that were currently crippling his friend. He reached down and hoisted Doren up by his tunic, but Doren's head lolled back, his face turning a sickly, ashen grey.
"I don't get it," Meko growled, looking down at the jagged, spiraling etchings. He shifted his weight, waiting for the drain to hit him, but he felt as solid as a mountain. "I'm standing right on top of them. I feel fine. Doren, you're just exhausted. We've been running for miles."
Anya stepped closer, her brow furrowed as she looked at the way the dust seemed to vibrate within the grooves of the carvings. She held a hand out, a small flame flickering in her palm to provide better light. The fire burned steady and bright, unaffected by the cold air of the temple.
"They're ancient," Anya whispered, reaching out to touch the edge of a rune but hesitating. "I've never seen anything like this. It's not just decorative. The way the lines are cut... it looks like a trap, or a seal."
"It's the floor," Doren choked out, his voice barely a whisper. He tried to lift his arm to point, but it fell back to his side like lead. "Every time I touch... the lines... it feels like I'm fading. My Powerhart... it's going quiet."
Anya looked at Meko, then back at Doren. "Meko, I don't feel a thing. Why is it only affecting him?"
"I don't know and I don't care," Meko snapped, his protective instincts taking over. He looked around the dark, cavernous room. The silence was a relief compared to the chaos of the alleyway, and for now, the Architect and his giant were nowhere to be seen. They had a moment to breathe, but only if Doren didn't waste away first.
Meko looked at the far end of the temple where a raised stone dais stood, free of the strange etchings. "We need to get him off this part of the floor. Now."
As Meko hauled Doren's body across the floor and onto the raised stone dais, the effect was instantaneous. The grey pallor lifted from Doren's skin, and he took a sharp, gasping breath as the invisible siphon was severed. The strength returned to his limbs in a sudden, tingling rush.
He didn't waste a second. Driven by a desperate hunch, Doren hobbled back toward the pile of gear. His hands shook as he tore open his pack, pulling out a weathered, leather-bound book. It was his father's journal. He flipped through the yellowed pages, his eyes darting between the sketches in the book and the scars on the floor.
He walked back toward the edge of the circle, careful not to step back in, and began pointing at the jagged etchings with the tip of his finger.
"End," he whispered, identifying a sharp, terminal stroke. He moved his hand to a series of interlocking squares. "Trap." Meko and Anya watched in silence, the air in the temple growing heavy with the weight of the translation. "Power," Doren continued, his voice tight. "Drain. Null. Capture."
He moved his finger along a sprawling, complex line that fed into the center of the mosaic, but then he stopped. His finger hovered over a rune that looked like a weeping eye intertwined with a broken crown. He flipped through the journal again, then back again, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"I... I don't know this one," Doren muttered, his voice trailing off. "It's not in my father's notes. It's different from the others. It feels... Ancient."
Meko looked up from the floor, his gaze sweeping across the cracked pillars and the collapsed dome above them. The realization of what they were standing on began to sink in.
"If this place was built to capture power," Meko said, his voice echoing darkly through the nave, "then this isn't just an abandoned ruin. I think it might be some sort of sacrificial temple."
He looked at the strange, unrecognized rune. "And if your father didn't know about that mark, Doren, then we might be the only ones who know this place exists."
Anya wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes never leaving the unrecognized rune that looked like a weeping eye. The flickering light from the hole in the ceiling made the carvings seem to shift, as if they were squirming.
"I don't think we should investigate any further," she whispered, a visible shudder running through her shoulders. "I have a bad feeling. This place feels like it's waiting for something."
Meko sighed, his large hands resting on his knees. He looked tired, the dust of the city coating his brow. "So do I," he admitted, "but we might get some answers to help Doren out. If his power is tied to a place like this, we need to know why before the Architect finds us."
He looked back over at the gear and the still unconscious girl. "We should probably rest up while we wait for Katarina to wake. I will keep watch and then when you all wake, we will continue investigating."
Doren and Anya nodded in weary agreement. The adrenaline of the escape had finally ebbed, leaving a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. They moved away from the center of the runic circle, settling into a relatively dry corner next to the supply packs where Katarina lay.
As Doren sat down, his back against a stone pillar, he felt the lingering ache in his chest from the power drain. Almost instinctively, the unconscious Katarina shifted in her sleep. Like a magnet pulled toward a pole, she leaned her head over until it rested firmly on Doren's shoulder.
Anya watched them for a moment, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before she closed her eyes, her head nodding forward.
Meko stood by the jagged breach in the temple wall, his silhouette framed against the moonlight. He gripped a piece of debris, his eyes scanning the fog-covered ruins outside. The silence of the temple was absolute, broken only by the soft breathing of his companions. For the first time in hours, the world felt still, but in the back of his mind, Meko couldn't stop thinking about his failure to protect Katarina and all the chaos that unfolded because of it.
The damp, salty air of the city reminded him of Havenport, but the memories it stirred were far from peaceful.
He looked back at the small huddle near the altar. Katarina was still pale, her head tucked into Doren's shoulder. Seeing her like that sent a sharp, familiar pang of guilt through his chest. It was a feeling he had spent half his life trying to outrun.
He remembered the day it all changed. They were just children in a house of gold and cold stares. Meko, the son of a mother who lived in the shadows of a wealthy man's estate, and Katarina, the legitimate daughter. Despite the scandal of their shared blood, Katarina had never seen him as a half-brother or a servant, she had simply seen him as her brother.
He remembered the roar of the crowds in Havenport's central square still haunted his dreams. He had let go of her hand for just one second to look at a merchant's display. When he turned back, she was gone. For three frantic hours, Meko had sprinted through the docks, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
When she was finally found, she was shivering and tear-streaked behind a weaver's stall. His relief had been short-lived. Katarina's father had been waiting. The man didn't see a terrified boy, he saw failure. He had humiliated Meko in front of the household, his voice a lash as he blamed Meko for the "stain" on the family's reputation.
"You are nothing," the man spat. "You couldn't even guard a child in a public square. You will never be a protector and you will never be her brother."
Determined to prove him wrong, Meko had left the estate that very week and enlisted in the King's Army. Though his time was spent in endless, grueling drills, guarding palace gates and marching through rain-slicked courtyards, the lack of combat didn't make the experience any less transformative. In the barracks, he learned the cold importance of discipline, how to read a room for threats, and exactly how to react when the world turned to chaos. He turned his body into a wall of muscle and his earth-shaping into a precise, defensive shield.
When he finally returned to Havenport, he was no longer the scrawny boy who panicked in a crowd. He was a man who understood that protection wasn't just about strength, it was about never looking away. Since then, he and Katarina had been inseparable, his presence a silent promise that the market incident would never happen again.
Meko tightened his hand around his weapon, his knuckles turning white. He had almost let her slip away in the alleyway tonight. He had seen that giant and felt that old, paralyzing fear of the market square.
"Not again," he whispered into the fog, his jaw set. "I've stood my post for the King, and I'll stand it for you. I'm not letting a man with a cane take you now." His eyes remained fixed on the fog-choked entrance, his jaw tight enough to snap bone
.
"I'm sorry I let you get captured..." he gritted out, his voice a low, jagged rumble. "I will prove that old bastard wrong. I'm not that kid anymore."
Behind him, Katarina shifted. The movement was slow and painful. Her wrists and ankles were a mess of dark bruising where the Arena's shackles had bitten into her skin. She groaned, a small, pained sound that made Doren jump, and slowly picked herself up. Every movement was a struggle, her legs trembling under her weight as she limped across the stone floor toward the giant silhouette of her brother.
She reached out, resting a bruised hand on Meko's massive shoulder. Despite the exhaustion and the lingering terror of the pits, a faint, defiant spark remained in her eyes.
"I feel like I got my butt whooped," she said, her voice raspy but carrying a hint of familiar, stubborn humor. She let out a soft, silent laugh that turned into a wince.
Meko finally turned, his hard expression softening the moment he saw her upright. He reached up, his large hand gently covering hers on his shoulder being careful of the bruises that were all over her body.
"You did," Meko said, his voice thick with a mix of relief and lingering fury. "But we got you out of there before you became bear food. How's your head?"
Katarina leaned her forehead against his arm for a second, drawing strength from his steady presence. "Thumping. But I'm alive. Where are we? This place smells like... Mold and dust."
Doren stood up from the packs, watching them, though he kept a cautious eye on the runes nearby. "A temple," he said. "Or a cage. We aren't really sure right now. The only thing we're sure of is that when I stepped into the circle in the center, I felt like I was being drained."
Anya didn't waste any time once she opened her eyes. She reached into the salvaged pack, pulling out a spare linen shirt and ripping a long strip from the hem with a sharp, practiced tug. She uncorked a canteen, doused the cloth in cool water, and looked up at Katarina.
"Sit," Anya commanded, her voice grounding the frantic energy in the room. "I need to get the grit out of these cuts. If they get infected, you're just going to be a weight we have to carry."
Katarina sank onto a fallen stone block with a heavy, pained hiss. She watched the water turn dark as Anya pressed the cloth to her wrists. Nearby, Doren watched the scene with a subtle, tight-lipped pout. He looked down at his own scraped palms and the dark bruising on his ribs where the chain had caught him. He felt a sharp pang of bitterness along with a throbbing pain.
Meko stepped away from his vigil at the door. He didn't say anything at first, just stood there like a wall of shadow before kneeling in the dust. He reached out, his hand hovering near her head before he finally rested it there, his palm heavy and warm.
"I shouldn't have let you out of my sight," Meko said, his voice low and strained, still focused on her getting taken. "I spent all that time in the army learning how to be a protector, and I still let you get caught."
Katarina looked up, reaching out to steady his trembling hand with her own bruised one. "Meko, stop. It wasn't your fault. I was just doing my research and then the ground and sky just... opened up. That void swallowed me before I could even scream. I was caught off guard, that's all."
"I should have been closer," Meko grumbled, his jaw set. "I'm supposed to be your brother."
"And those shackles," she continued, trying to pull his focus away from the guilt. "The moment they clicked shut, I couldn't move. I don't know what they were made of or if they had runes on them. They were designed to keep anyone from escaping. It didn't matter how hard I tried to fight."
She winced as Anya dabbed at a particularly deep scrape on her ankle. "Aside from my head feeling like it's being used as a drum and looking like I lost a fight with a briar patch, I'm fine. Nothing else is going to happen, Meko. I'm not some porcelain doll. I just got pulled into a nightmare I didn't see coming."
Meko let out a long, slow exhale, the tension in his shoulders finally dropping an inch. "Fine. But I'm staying close. No more gaps between us. I don't care what you're doing, I'm standing right there."
Katarina gave his hand a small, reassuring squeeze. "Deal. Just... try to look less like a brooding statue when you're around me. You're making me depressed."