The City Was Chasing Him
Soren ran.
The gas lamps shattered above him, raining glass onto the cobbled streets.
The masked figures were no longer standing still.
They were following him now.
Not running.
Not lunging.
Just walking.
But every time he turned a corner, every time he tried to outpace them—they were closer.
He did not hear their footsteps.
But he felt them.
The weight of their presence pressed against his spine.
The city had stopped pretending.
And now, it wanted him gone.
The Streets That Would Not Let Him Leave
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Soren turned down an alley.
It should have led to the market district.
It always had before.
But this time—
He stepped into the alleyway and came out on the same street he had just left.
His breath caught.
No.
He turned again.
Another path. Another way out.
But the moment he crossed the threshold—
He was back where he started.
The Rules Had Changed
The city had rewritten its paths.
It would no longer let him escape.
The moment he realized this, the whispering changed.
Before, it had been distant.
Like echoes curling through the fog.
But now—
Now, it was here.
Close.
Pressing against his ears.
“You cannot run from us.”
The Thing That Should Not Have Moved
Soren stopped.
His pulse pounded.
His hands trembled.
The masked figures had stopped moving, too.
They stood in a perfect circle around him.
Watching.
But they were not the worst part.
Because behind them—
At the end of the street—
Was a statue.
A tall, faceless monument, carved from pale stone.
It had never been there before.
But he had seen it before.
And the moment he looked at it—
It tilted its head.
The City Had Sent Something New
Soren staggered back.
The masked figures did not move.
But the statue—
The statue shifted.
Its neck creaked as it turned toward him.
Slow. Deliberate.
And then—
It stepped forward.
One foot. Then another.
Not stone anymore.
Not still.
It was coming toward him.
And this time, Soren knew—
This was not a correction.
This was a punishment.
The Choice He Did Not Want to Make
Soren’s breath came in sharp gasps.
He had to think.
He had to—
The statue moved again.
A single, jerking step.
And in that instant—
The gas lamps all flickered at once.
A shift. A glitch.
A doorway appeared.
Not a normal one.
Not a door that should have been there.
But a black iron gate.
And beyond it—
A building he had never entered before.
A chapel.
Old. Forgotten.
Waiting.
> The Chapel of the Nameless.
The choice was clear.
He could stay in the streets and face the thing the city had sent after him.
Or he could step into the chapel.
Into something just as unknown—but possibly worse.