Gerard hauls up the metal door. It groans open, revealing pitch blackness beyond. A stone staircase coils downward into the unknown.

  Sariah inhales deeply. “I’ll take the lead.”

  “Are you sure?” Gerard asks, concern flickering in his eyes.

  She nods with a calm smile. “Finn’s a disciple-level magician, so he should be in the middle. Sir Gerard, you’re the strongest. Best you watch our rear and cover us.”

  Finn nods at her logic. Gerard, who’s fought alongside Sariah for three years, knows she’s reliable and sharp. This is the best formation they’ve got. After a beat of hesitation, he gives a small nod of agreement.

  Sariah lifts her chin and steps into the darkness, reassured by the presence at her back.

  They descend carefully, stone steps groaning faintly beneath their weight. A soft dim flash spell lights the way, while masking stone cloaks their presence.

  Only the sound of footsteps and breathing echoes around them. No words. All focus is locked on what lies ahead.

  No traps. No ambush. The heretics seem content with their camouflage.

  Eventually, Sariah reaches a flat landing and whispers, “We’re at the bottom.”

  Ahead, light stones cast a dull glow down the tunnel. The walls are plain with no carvings, no paintings. Just the stones, spaced evenly along the corridor.

  Finn moves up beside Sariah, Gerard still one step behind.

  They pass several locked doors. Finn presses an ear to a few, trying to catch any sound within.

  “Nothing,” he whispers after each.

  One by one, they check the rooms. Some open, revealing only dried food, storage crates, and magical supplies. Everything seems oddly mundane.

  No clues. No signs of the children.

  A knot tightens in Finn’s chest. Where are they?

  Still, they press forward.

  At last, they reach a fork in the tunnel.

  “Should we split up?” Sariah asks, glancing between the paths.

  “For efficiency, yes. For safety, no,” Finn answers.

  Gerard nods. “We’ve still got time. Let’s stay together.”

  With no clear direction, they go left, guided only by instinct.

  Ten minutes in, Sariah raises a hand. “Did you hear that?”

  They halt.

  Silence.

  “What did—” Finn starts, but the light suddenly goes off.

  Sariah’s scream pierces the dark, and is cut short.

  “Sariah!” Gerard roars. Both he and Finn cast dim flash again, light bursting from their hands—but she’s gone.

  “They took her!” Gerard shouts.

  Finn grabs his arm. He keeps his voice low but firm. “If they’ve taken her, she’s likely with the children. We should stick together.”

  Gerard clutches his sword hilt. “Why would they want her?”

  “As a hostage, a bargaining chip. We’ve got to follow her magic aura before it dissipates. Together.”

  They abandon stealth. Wind wraps around their legs as they surge forward, ignoring the doors along the corridor, eyes focused ahead.

  A stone arch looms ahead, flickering light leaking through its cracks. Behind it is muffled chanting.

  They’ve found it.

  Gerard charges first, slamming his blade against the door, but a magical barrier snaps to life, hurling him backwards.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Watch out!” Finn throws up a shield just in time to absorb the brunt of the reflected magic before it slices Gerard in half.

  Gerard crashes against the wall, but immediately plants his sword and pushes himself up.

  “It’s too strong. We can’t break through… not from this side.”

  Unless…

  “Nyx! Big fireball! Aim for the door!” Finn yells. He isn’t sure if Nyx is behind it, but it's worth the risk.

  A burst of flame flashes behind the seams, followed by a heavy boom. The door twists, melted and cracked, and the barrier is shattered from within.

  “Nice one, Nyx!” Finn and Gerard break through from opposite flanks, smashing through what’s left of the door.

  They step inside and are greeted by a hush that feels almost unnatural.

  It’s a prayer hall, eerily similar to the Sanctuary. White ceilings, wood benches lining the aisle. A painting of a woman hangs above the bloodstained altar, but no one gives it more than a glance.

  It is the children who command their gaze: three small figures, chained and motionless atop the altar.

  And Nyx, standing alone among them, chains broken.

  He jumps down and runs to Finn. A heretic lunges to grab him, but misses.

  A group of black-veiled heretics step forward, blocking the way between the children and the intruders.

  “Your lair’s exposed,” Gerard says, sword raised. “Surrender the children.”

  Finn glances down at Nyx. He’s unharmed. Good. Now all attention shifts forward.

  The cultists say nothing. They only clutch the brooches on their chests, tensing and ready to strike.

  A voice cuts through the silence.

  “If I were you, I’d stay calm—your friend’s still in our hands.”

  A middle-aged man steps into the scene, robes of deep red silk flowing with each step. He looks every bit the high priest. Expensive, ceremonial.

  Behind him, two robed guards carry Sariah, who’s unconscious, arms slung over their shoulders.

  Gerard’s grip tightens. “What do you want?”

  “A simple exchange,” the priest replies smoothly. “Let us leave, and you can have your friend. And the children.”

  Gerard’s jaw clenches. “Where are the rest?”

  “That’s for you to discover. Take these three. Or lose them all.”

  Finn’s mind races. The numbers don’t match. Only three children, when more were reported missing.

  What’s more peculiar is why the priest offers to release the hostages when they obviously outnumber them?

  Unless… they’re afraid. Of Gerard?

  He scans their magic auras: most are disciple-level, like himself. The priest might be a Scribe, at best.

  Gerard lifts his chin, gaze fixed. “Put them down. Then we’ll let you go.”

  The priest smirks. “You’ve hunted us for months, Sergeant Gerard. Let’s be fair. Take the children. We’ll release your friend later—in a safe place.”

  “Where exactly?” Finn challenges.

  “That depends on your actions. “If you do something before we leave today, she won’t be coming back.”

  Gerard and Finn exchange glances.

  Gerard breathes through his nose. “Then… we accept.”

  The priest smiles and gives a signal. The guards begin to follow him out the back, Sariah dangling between them.

  Just as they reach the exit, Sariah jolts awake and drives a blade into the priest’s throat.

  “Cover me!” she shouts.

  Gerard is already moving, hurling a dagger to block a guard’s strike. Finn raises a barrier around Sariah.

  The priest collapses, blood painting the floor.

  “Father Halrick has fallen! Retreat!” a guard shouts, panic breaking over the cultists.

  The veil-wearers scatter, fleeing through the back door, abandoning their fallen leader.

  Two guards remain to stall pursuit. One a swordsman, the other a magician.

  Sariah fights desperately to hold off both attackers alone. When Gerard leaps to her side, together they drive the guards into a defensive stance.

  Finn lunges for the exit, determined to pursue the escapees, but the magician’s spell attack blocks his path, and they vanish from view. Swearing under his breath, he whirls around to help.

  With all three together, they corner and knock out the guards.

  Panting, Finn wipes sweat from his brow. “At least we’ve caught the key players. They’ll lead us to the others.”

  Sariah leans on the wall, catching her breath.

  Gerard kneels by the altar to check the children. “They’re just unconscious—no wounds.”

  “We should split up, search for the rest,” Gerard says. They secure the guards, then head off in separate directions.

  Finn turns to Nyx. “Let’s go find the other children.”

  But Nyx’s voice is distant. “Children… no more.”

  Finn pauses, kneels to listen closely. “What do you mean?”

  Nyx meets his eyes. “Children… not here.”

  Finn waits patiently as the boy searches for the right words. “Red light… shine… some children…”

  “Die?” Finn asks.

  Nyx shakes his head.

  “Hurt?” Still no.

  “Disappear?” A nod.

  “Disappear? How?” Finn’s heart pounds. “Were they taken somewhere else? Why move some and not all—unless…”

  His eyes widen.

  “They were offered… to their god.”

  He looks up at the painting above the bloodstained altar. Light glimmers off the woman’s painted face.

  Finn raises his hand, casting light over it.

  His breath catches.

  An elf. Pale skin, long hair, cold yet kind eyes. Looking down on a baby cradled gently in her arms.

  Familiar eyes.

  “Isalyn?” he whispers.

  His late wife stares back.