Thorne awoke to the sight of Ben’s frantic gestures, the boy’s hands moving urgently, silently pleading for him to wake up. His eyes cracked open, and notifications blinked insistently in his vision, a reminder that he’d leveled up, though he barely registered them over the pounding in his head. He felt sore, hollow, and yet somehow heavier than before. But what truly seized his attention was the lifeless face of the gravedigger staring blankly at the ceiling.
Character Level Up: Level 18!
Skill Level Up: Aether Surge!
Skill Level Up: Resilience!
Ben shook him harder, his wide eyes brimming with fear as he tried to pull Thorne back to the present. Thorne caught the haunted look in Ben’s gaze, a look that held relief, worry, and—unsettlingly—a flicker of something else: apprehension. Ben’s expression had changed, as if he was seeing Thorne for the first time, and not entirely sure what he was looking at.
But Thorne could barely hold Ben’s gaze. His attention kept drifting back to the corpse on the floor, to the gravedigger’s vacant eyes staring up into nothingness. His heart pounded heavily as he tried to process what he had done. Killing a beast to survive was one thing; he’d come to terms with that long ago. But this? Killing a man was different, painfully so. He felt the weight of it pressing down on him, a realization that sent a sick feeling curling in his stomach.
The blinking notification for his level-up seemed to mock him, a grim reminder that his newfound strength had been earned at the cost of another’s life. He’d become stronger—but the man’s dead eyes seemed to ask: at what cost?
He could still feel the chilling sensation of his spectral hands gripping the gravedigger’s body, could almost hear the terrible grinding of bone, the bone-deep crack that had echoed through the room. The image replayed in his mind, vivid and raw, the sensation of power surging through him, of his own hands closing around the man’s life and snuffing it out. His hand shook slightly, as though the energy of that terrible moment still lingered in his fingertips.
And for what? The cold efficiency of the skill, that inhuman detachment, had felt as alien as it had powerful. The rush he’d felt at that moment twisted now, leaving only guilt and a hollow sense of dread.
Somewhere in the haze of thoughts, he remembered his mother’s words, her voice grave as she’d warned him about the elder races, those who had embraced conflict and strife to become stronger, to gain power at any cost. They abandoned peace for strength, she’d said. They saw strength as worth the price of endless violence. He’d brushed her words off then, thinking he was different, but now... he understood her grief more deeply than he ever had.
Was he walking that path now, too?
“Thorne!” Ben’s hands gripped his shoulders tighter, shaking him just slightly, trying to ground him, to draw him back. Thorne blinked, his gaze meeting Ben’s, and felt a pang of shame at the worry etched across his friend’s face. He had done this to protect Ben, to keep him safe. But the price of it weighed down on him like a stone. And now he’d seen the fear in his friend’s eyes—the same eyes that had once looked at him with complete trust. The hollow feeling gnawing at him had to wait. For now, Ben needed him.
A low groan sounded in the room, a noise that jolted him fully awake. Thorne’s gaze darted over to the first gravedigger, the one he had wounded. The man was stirring, his face twisted in pain but alive, his fingers twitching as he fought off the effects of the poison. The sight snapped Thorne into action. If they didn’t move now, the chance of escape would slip through their fingers.
“Ben,” he whispered urgently, gathering his strength. He rose shakily to his feet, adrenaline overriding the numbness in his limbs. There would be time to confront what he’d done, to face the weight of his actions—but only if they made it out alive.
Thorne sat there for a moment longer, his heart pounding in his chest. The gravedigger's lifeless eyes seemed to bore into him, a silent accusation that he couldn't escape. He had done this. He had taken a life. The revulsion in his mother's voice echoed in his mind, and he felt a deep sense of shame. He had become what she had warned him about—a pawn in the cycle of strife and conflict.
A tug at his sleeve brought him back. Ben’s eyes were wide, pleading with urgency, snapping Thorne out of the spiral that threatened to consume him. He swallowed, trying to shove down the gnawing guilt. Focus, he reminded himself. He had to focus. He had to get Ben out of here, keep them both alive. But the darkness of what he’d done would linger, a shadow clinging to him with every step he took.
He stood, but his vision swam, a harsh reminder of his own weakened state. Exhaustion, blood loss, the raw, aching weight of too much aether—all of it pressed down on him like lead. He steadied himself, forcing his focus back to the present. Falling apart could wait; survival couldn’t.
Ben staggered when Thorne helped him up, clearly still reeling from his own ordeal. They moved slowly toward the door, but Thorne couldn’t stop his gaze from slipping back one last time to the gravedigger’s body. The finality of it hit him, and he knew it would haunt him—a reminder of what this power had cost him, a debt that couldn’t be repaid. He felt sick, but there was no time to dwell on it.
Their footsteps echoed faintly as Thorne retraced the path he had taken earlier, his body protesting with every step. Each jolt of pain was a fresh reminder of how close he’d come to the edge, but he gritted his teeth and pushed on. They had to escape.
But as they shuffled forward, Thorne began to notice the way Ben glanced at him, cautious and wary. Every time Thorne moved too quickly, Ben flinched, shrinking back as though he feared Thorne might turn on him next. Thorne felt a pang—a raw, unspoken ache. Ben was afraid of him. He could see it in the way Ben never got too close, in the way his gaze darted nervously from Thorne to the shadows, expecting danger from every side. The bitterness settled in Thorne’s chest, cutting deeper than any wound. He wanted to reassure Ben, but right now, all that mattered was keeping them both alive.
They hurried along, the once-silent base now alive with sounds—voices and hurried footsteps echoing through the dark corridors. Thorne’s anxiety spiked, his ears straining as he picked up a familiar sound: the ebony door they had just left creaked open. The gravedigger they had left behind was back on their trail.
Desperation clawed at Thorne. They couldn’t fight again; his body was spent, his reserves of aether drained. Another battle would end them both. He looked around wildly, searching for any way to stall their pursuer. His eyes landed on a flickering lantern nearby, resting on a stack of crates. A shaky plan formed in his mind.
“Go,” he whispered urgently to Ben, urging him forward. Ben hesitated for a moment, then nodded and shuffled ahead. Thorne grabbed the lantern, lifting it with trembling hands, and hurled it onto the crates. The flames sparked and licked at the wood, faint embers flickering as he held his breath, hoping they would be enough to ignite.
Gritting his teeth, Thorne felt a surge of dread—using aether manipulation again was a gamble he couldn't afford. His reserves were all but gone, leaving his body barely able to sustain itself. The idea of tapping further into that well sent a deep ache through him, a warning that he was at the edge of what he could endure. But he had no choice. This was the only chance they had.
With trembling hands and a mind fogged by exhaustion, he focused, reaching out to catch the few remaining motes of red and orange aether dancing faintly in the air. Each mote felt like a grain of sand slipping through his fingers, elusive and stubborn. Gritting his teeth, he forced his will into them, channeling the dregs of his energy into the flickering flames.
The corridor erupted in a fiery blaze, the sudden surge of heat and light momentarily blinding him. The explosion seared the walls, licking up the wooden crates and igniting anything flammable within reach. The intense heat rippled through the air, making it feel like the whole space was warping, bending under the force of the fire. Acrid smoke filled the air, stinging Thorne’s eyes and making it hard to breathe.
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A muffled sound of retreat—half a gasp, half a curse—drifted from behind the wall of fire. Thorne glanced back to find Ben staring at him, eyes wide and face ashen. He looked at Thorne like he was a ghost, something half-formed and monstrous.
“Move!” Thorne barked, barely able to keep the urgency from his voice. There was no time to explain. They staggered forward, Thorne’s legs a mess of burning aches, every step rattling his battered body.
Each time they came upon a lantern, he grabbed it, tossing it onto the closest pile of flammable debris. The fires trailed behind them, merging into a growing blaze that hungrily devoured everything in its path, turning the corridors into a fiery maze. The flickering flames cast frantic shadows across the walls, filling the air with a hellish glow as they fled. Thorne’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his lungs struggling against the heavy smoke, but he pushed on, spurred by sheer survival instinct.
Ben trailed him, half stumbling, half running, and Thorne could see the terror etched into the boy’s face. The flames, the collapsing stone, and the impossible intensity in Thorne’s eyes kept Ben in motion, overriding his exhaustion with raw fear. Ben kept looking back, his gaze flicking from the spreading flames consuming the base behind them.
But as they ventured deeper into the hideout, the sounds around them changed. The distant murmurs turned to hurried, panicked shouts, and Thorne's chest tightened. Shouts, hurried commands, the clang of weapons—all of it reverberated down the corridors, a brutal symphony that chilled him more than the flames could warm him. They hadn’t encountered anyone directly, but the sounds told a story of their own.
Finally, they reached the archway leading to the common area, the one Thorne had glimpsed earlier—the chamber filled with decaying bookshelves and splintered tables. But now, that quiet space had transformed into a chaotic battlefield.
The cousins were there, faces set in grim determination as they clashed with the gravediggers, who had rallied against the unexpected invasion. The dusty shelves had become makeshift cover, tables flipped to form barricades, and the flickering lanterns threw erratic shadows over the scene, creating a hellish backdrop of struggle and desperation.
Thorne and Ben crouched at the edge of the archway, watching as the cousins, armed with whatever weapons they could find, fought against the gravediggers with raw, fierce intensity. There were flashes of familiar faces, kids they knew, brothers and sisters from the streets. They fought with a ferocity born of desperation, knowing that if they failed, they would have no escape.
Thorne huddled behind the column, pulling Ben in close as he took in the scene before them. The room was a battlefield, every corner filled with the clash of blades and bodies. The overturned tables and shattered glass glistened in the firelight, adding a sinister gleam to the debris strewn across the floor. Near the far wall, the bar was fully engulfed in flames, the fire casting wild shadows over the fighters and creating an oppressive heat that only added to the frenzy.
As he watched, Thorne felt a surge of pride—and a pang of guilt—seeing the cousins fight with a unity and ferocity he hadn’t expected. They moved together like a pack, covering each other’s blind spots, using every dirty trick and evasive maneuver they knew. Despite their ragged appearance and lack of formal training, they attacked with a fierce desperation that even the gravediggers seemed unprepared for.
These kids, most of them hardly more than street urchins, were holding their ground against trained killers. The gravediggers, thrown off by the onslaught, staggered under the unexpected resistance, their moves lacking the usual precision as they fought to regain control.
Thorne’s gaze swept over the familiar faces, catching sight of some of the older cousins he had grown up with. Their expressions were hardened, eyes steely with determination and a glint of something darker—vengeance, perhaps, or the grim knowledge that they were fighting not just for victory, but for survival. Each cousin fought like they had nothing left to lose, a brutal reflection of the life they'd all led.
He scanned the chamber, his mind racing through possible escape routes. Amid the chaos, he spotted a narrow, partially hidden passageway on the far side of the room. It led away from the raging fire, and it looked like it might open out onto the alleyway beyond the base. Thorne nudged Ben, pointing urgently. “We need to make for that exit. Stay close, and keep your head down. Move when I do.”
Ben’s wide, frightened eyes met Thorne’s, but he nodded, his lips pressed together in a line of fierce determination. Despite his exhaustion and fear, Ben seemed resolved to stick close, trusting Thorne to lead the way.
Thorne shifted his attention back to the fray, studying the erratic pattern of the fight, waiting for an opening. Amidst the chaos, he spotted flashes of rogue skills—skills he had only seen bits of during training. One cousin vanished in a swirl of smoke, only to reappear behind a gravedigger, driving a blade into the man’s side with deadly precision. Another cousin fought with a flurry of swift jabs, darting in and out, just barely avoiding the blindingly fast slashes of a gravedigger’s twin blades. It was a brutal, intricate dance, one that could end fatally for either side with a single misstep.
The spreading fire intensified, the thick smoke curling up to the rafters and stinging Thorne’s eyes. He stifled a cough, feeling the acrid burn claw at his throat. His body screamed for rest, for air, for anything but this relentless drive forward. He knew he was at his limit, but there was no turning back now. The fire was closing in, and the chaotic battle in the center of the room was only going to get worse.
They moved carefully, staying as low as possible to avoid drawing attention. The sounds of the battle grew louder with every step, a cacophony of metal against metal, shouted curses, and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. The fire had spread viciously, licking at the stone walls, throwing long, distorted shadows across the room, and filling the air with thick, acrid smoke that burned Thorne’s eyes and clogged his throat.
Thorne’s Stealth skill was pushed to its very limit as they navigated through the melee, dodging combatants and slipping from shadow to shadow. His aether reserves were nearly drained, a hollow ache pulsing through him, but he ignored it, knowing that stopping meant death. They were so close to the exit, to freedom, he could almost taste the fresh air waiting beyond the flames and chaos.
Just as they neared the edge of the room, a gravedigger’s gaze snapped to them, his eyes narrowing with deadly intent. The man’s dagger gleamed in the firelight as he lunged toward Thorne and Ben, his movements quick and brutal. Thorne’s heart dropped—he was beyond exhausted, his body at its breaking point, and he knew he had no strength left to fight.
But in the flash of a moment, just before the gravedigger reached them, a blur sliced through the air, intercepting the attack. Sid appeared from the shadows, a look of cold, calculated fury on his face. His blade moved with swift, lethal precision, parrying the gravedigger’s strike and countering with a blow so fast Thorne barely saw it. The gravedigger stumbled back, his hands flying to his throat as blood poured between his fingers, and collapsed, his eyes already empty.
Sid shot a glare at Thorne and Ben. “Hide!” he barked, his gaze hard. “Now.”
Without hesitation, Thorne grabbed Ben’s arm and pulled him behind a stack of overturned tables and broken chairs, forming a rough barricade between them and the chaos. They huddled together, breaths shallow, muscles tense, as they watched Sid wade back into the fray.
Sid moved like a predator unleashed, his attacks a brutal dance of speed and deadly intent. A young gravedigger tried to counter, but Sid was always one step ahead, his rogue abilities giving him the upper hand.
Thorne had seen him fight before, but never like this. Every step, every swing of his blade was ruthless and flawless, a testament to his years of training and experience. Thorne felt a mixture of awe and fear watching him, realizing just how far he still had to go. This wasn’t just skill—this was survival, honed to a deadly edge.
The fire Thorne had started earlier had reached the common area, joining the pockets of flames already there and consuming everything in their path. Smoke billowed thick and black, swallowing the air and driving combatants on both sides to retreat from the inferno, their focus shifting from the battle to simply staying alive. The heat was unbearable now, pressing in from all sides, and the air had become a choking haze. Thorne’s own vision began to blur, his lungs desperate for clean air.
Sid’s blade flashed one final time, and the last gravedigger in his path fell, slumping to the ground without a sound. Sid didn’t hesitate, spinning toward Thorne and Ben, his voice ringing with authority even through the roar of the flames. “Stay hidden until it’s safe,” he ordered, before plunging back into the mayhem, a storm of deadly precision.
Thorne held his breath, clutching Ben as they crouched together in silence, the sounds of battle mixing with the crackle of burning wood and stone. Each second stretched into an eternity. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, and he could feel Ben trembling beside him. The heat was reaching intolerable levels, and he knew they couldn’t afford to wait much longer. The entire chamber was turning into an inferno, the fire consuming even the grand elven architecture with merciless abandon, reducing ancient wood and stone to smoke and ash.
He risked a quick glance over the edge of their hiding spot, scanning the room for any potential escape route. The fire had created small pockets of emptiness, forcing combatants to withdraw from certain areas. His mind raced as his Escape Artist skill nudged him forward, and he tried to piece together a path that might get them out of this hell.
“We need to move,” he whispered to Ben, barely able to hear his own voice over the roaring flames. “Stay close to me and follow my lead.”
Ben’s face was ashen, but he nodded, swallowing hard as he looked at the blazing destruction around them. Despite the fear in his eyes, there was a determined set to his jaw.
With one last glance at the chaos unfolding around them, Thorne took a deep breath, bracing himself against the searing heat. Then, clutching Ben’s arm, he led them out of their hiding spot, weaving through the obstacles in their path, the flickering flames lighting their way as they made a desperate run for the exit.