A heavy silence reigned in the cell. Only the sobs of a young child and Hati’s panting disturbed the stillness. The metallic scent of blood still hung in the air. Rilian clutched the ring of keys in his hand, his eyes moving from face to face. They were free… but it wasn’t enough.

“We have to go get Alice,” he said, his voice tense. “Now.”

“Wait a second,” Osim replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t even know where she is, or how many enemies are left here. We might be talking about an archmage capable of burning us all to ashes. You want us to just rush in blindly?”

“And what do you suggest?” Shaeka spat, her eyes blazing. “That we run away without her?”

“I’m saying we should get these people to safety first, then come back with reinforcements. That would be more reasonable. I’ve got nothing against her, but… we can’t risk all our lives, not with so many civilians to protect.”

Yeoman, silent since their awakening, cleared his throat. His gaze avoided theirs, but he finally spoke.

“I agree with him. And Alice… lied to us. A vampire, seriously? Do you realize what that means? Traitors to the crown… we can’t trust them. She could have killed us all in our sleep. Maybe she was planning to. It’s definitely safer for us to leave her to her fate and get out while we still can!”

A low growl rose. Hati, baring his teeth, stared at Yeoman with icy menace. The latter stepped back.

Shaeka didn’t hold back. She grabbed Yeoman by the collar, her gaze burning.

“You bastard,” she growled. “You compare her to those monsters who brand my people like cattle? You put her in the same bag? You’re no better than them.”

Rilian gently placed his hand on the Faërenne’s shoulder to calm her.

“Calm down. I’m sure he didn’t really mean it.” Then, turning to Yeoman: “And you, you can’t be serious. She hid her identity? So what? What did you expect, with the hunt against her kind? And a traitor? She was what, six years old when the Empress died? Do you plot conspiracies at that age?”

Yeoman just shrugged, not replying.

Griak, sitting cross-legged, cut the discussion short.

“I’m for saving her. Vampire or not, I like the kid. And I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror if we let her die.”

Osim sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead.

“I guess the majority wins… Let’s free our young friend.”

Rilian nodded.

“Thank you, Osim. Let’s hurry.”

They freed the remaining prisoners with the keys. Most were too weak or terrified to fight. Only two men, civilians, grabbed the staffs left by the dead slavers. A young boy with a frail look, black eyes and dark hair, stepped forward cautiously. Rilian noticed the fresh slave brand still seeping on his shoulder.

“My name is Seth. I can fight, and I can guide you with my sense of smell. Let me help you find the girl of my kind.”

Rilian nodded.

“Good. Stay close to Griak.”

They re-equipped quickly. Rilian’s armor glimmered faintly in the torchlight. Shaeka strung her bow, silent, focused. Osim retrieved his staff, his eyes still worried. Yeoman picked up his daggers again, careful to keep his distance from Hati.

They left the cell. A roughly hewn tunnel stretched before them. At each fork, Seth listened, sniffed the air.

“There. Left. Three men. The smell of iron and sweat.”

They advanced in silence, dispatching isolated guards swiftly and precisely. Blood added to blood, tension to tension. Seth avoided some doors, saying they were dormitories full of men. As they progressed, the passage widened, then suddenly the young vampire halted.

“…a beauty! This might hurt, hehe!”

“It’s her, your friend,” he whispered. “I can smell her.”

“Hurry! And stay sharp, we don’t know what’s waiting for us,” Rilian replied.

At last, they reached a wide alcove carved into the rock. Alice was chained there, on her knees. In front of her, one of Odette’s slavers approached slowly, a glowing iron in hand. By chance, he seemed alone.

Rilian leapt forward.

“Alice!”

The man turned, stunned.

“What? How… You… you escaped? And the guards?”

“We took care of your guards! Surrender and you’ll live.”

The slaver whistled between his fingers, alarmed cries soon echoing through the tunnels.

“He just called his men!” Griak growled.

“Be careful,” Alice whispered. “He’s level 38. But more importantly… someone worse is coming!”

“Shaeka! Free Alice!” Rilian shouted, throwing her the keys. “Then join me. I’ll handle him with Yeoman and Seth. Griak, Osim, Hati and you two civilians! Hold the entrance line!”

Rilian, Yeoman, and Seth charged the slaver. Shaeka rushed to Alice, tried to open the shackles, but the lock refused to yield.

“It’s not working! We need another key!”

The man sneered.

“I have them. And you’ll never leave here alive.”

The fight erupted in a brutal clash.

Rilian struck first, his blade barely blocking a lightning-fast thrust. The impact resonated through his arms, but he held firm. Just behind, Seth leapt like a predator, vaulting over his shoulder. With a sharp crack, lightning burst from his fists, slamming into the slaver’s chest, tearing a scream of pain and scattering sparks across the stone floor.

The enemy staggered back a step, smoke rising from his scorched tunic, but he did not falter. Despite his stocky build, he was surprisingly fast, sidestepping Seth’s second strike with a half-pivot. In a smooth motion, he spread his arms, summoning ice spikes that burst from the ground, forcing his foes to scatter.

Yeoman, lingering at the edge, tried to slip into the shadows. He raised his daggers, hesitated, then launched a clumsy attack that was easily deflected. He retreated immediately, breathless, clearly outmatched.

Rilian did his best to hold the enemy’s attention. Each of the slaver’s blows, reinforced by magic, struck with the force of a battering ram. His blade absorbed, slid, blocked. He gave ground slowly, but held firm.

Seth was everywhere at once. Lightning in each hand, precise, violent strikes alternating between magical bursts and physical blows. He slid under a frost spell, spun, and went for a punch to the gut, but was pushed back by a wall of ice conjured on the spot.

Shaeka, unable to break Alice’s shackles, had turned to the fight. Hiding in a recess, she drew an arrow, her eyes sharpening as she searched for an opening. When a blind spot appeared, she loosed without hesitation.

The arrow pierced the slaver’s shoulder, forcing him to drop his spell for a heartbeat. He growled furiously and hurled an ice dart back at her, missing her by inches.

“Well done!” Rilian shouted, seizing the opening to slash his thigh.

The blade sank in, not deep, but enough to slow him.

And Alice, still chained, watched helplessly, her heart pounding. She saw the timer appear.

[Main Quest: Time remaining: 30:00]

[...]

In the distance, footsteps. First muffled. Then hurried. Then… screams. Shouts.

Griak, who had ventured into the dark passage, turned sharply, his eyes narrowing with ancient instinct. At his side, Osim tightened his grip on his staff. The two civilians behind them trembled, but stood firm. Suddenly, the air filled with the clamor of boots, steel and hateful voices.

About fifteen slavers burst from a gallery. The tunnel exploded in chaos, steel and magic.

“Hold the line!” Griak roared, leaping forward.

His axe traced a bloody arc, smashing into an enemy’s knee. The joint shattered with a sickening crack, sending the man sprawling. Without pause, he pivoted and cleaved the arm off another who had tried a side strike. Blood gushed like a fountain.

“For Morgron!” he bellowed, enraged.

Osim invoked a flurry of runic circles with unusual speed. Three fireballs shot forth, slamming into a group of assailants. Two collapsed, aflame, screaming, while the others scattered, cursing. The heat briefly forced the wave back… but it was only a reprieve.

“Hold yourselves! Don’t let them through!” the mage cried, breathless.

The younger of the two civilians, barely a man, charged blindly, a crude spear in hand. He drove it into an enemy’s shoulder… but failed to pull it free in time. A saber whistled, and the boy was pierced clean through, the blade jutting from between his ribs. He collapsed, coughing blood, eyes wide, body convulsing.

“No!” screamed the other civilian, trying to reach him, but another attacker forced him back.

Osim shielded him just in time with a blast of flames that drove the assailant off, but the damage was done. The dying boy’s scream echoed for a second before being swallowed by the chaos.

“Damn it…” Osim muttered. “That kid had his whole life ahead of him.”

Meanwhile, Hati had vanished into the mist.

Invisible, silent, he slid between the tunnel’s shadows. A brief howl, then the snap of bone: the fenrir wolf had torn out the throat of a distracted enemy, appearing behind him like a vengeful specter. Panic spread among the slavers.

“There’s something in the fog! It’s not normal, I can’t see a thing!” one cried before Hati ripped into the back of his leg.

Minutes passed.

“20:00”

[...]

Little by little, the combined assault of Rilian and Seth took its toll. Burns blackened the mage’s skin, his breath grew harsher. But he still fought with deadly precision, each blow threatening to break the fragile balance.

“He’s taking all this like it’s nothing…” Rilian growled, muscles trembling.

“It’s his level…” Seth spat blood. “We’re wearing him down… but it’s slow. Too slow.”

The ground was littered with shards of ice, scorch marks, and mingled blood. Each fighter panted, sweating, exhausted. Yet they held. Together, they slowly forced him back.

But none could ignore what their bodies told them: if this fight dragged on, it would turn against them.

“15:00”

[...]

Griak, drenched in blood, fought like a demon. A blow struck his shoulder, another his thigh, but he didn’t falter. His breathing grew ragged, his swings heavier, yet each fallen foe seemed to fuel him with fresh rage.

Osim staggered. An arrow had struck his side, and he bled profusely. He still managed to raise a wall of flames, cutting off part of the corridor to slow a group. But his lips were pale, his fingers shaking.

The last civilian, face twisted with rage and grief, rammed a crude stake into a slaver’s throat with bare hands, only to be knocked out by a pommel strike. He collapsed silently, alive, but unconscious.

The ground was strewn with bodies, ashes, twisted blades and cries.

“We… we won’t hold much longer,” Griak groaned, shoving back another assailant.

Then finally, as he staggered, a relative calm set in. They had pushed the wave back. Silence, heavy with groans of agony and ragged breaths, filled the bloodstained tunnel.

Osim leaned against the wall, sweat streaming down his face, and nodded to Griak, his breath short.

“Hurry… let’s rejoin the others.”

And they rushed, staggering, toward the fight with the chief, their steps heavy with wounds, but their eyes burning with determination.

“5:00”

Alice clenched her teeth, her breath short. Around her, the sounds of battle hammered her skull.

At last, panting and bloodied, the survivors of Griak’s group burst into the chamber where Rilian and the others still fought. The clash, the shouts, the grating of blades abruptly shifted into a heavier tension: the slaver, cornered, slowly backed away as he saw the reinforcements arrive. His gaze darted from face to face, reading anger, exhaustion… and resolve.

He knew he was alone.

The group instinctively formed a circle around him. Shaeka, her face streaked with sweat and blood, loosed an arrow that grazed his side, forcing him back toward the chamber’s center. Hati growled low, lips curled, ready to pounce. Griak staggered, clutching his wounded thigh, but still gripped his axe.

“Surrender, bastard,” Rilian said coldly.

The slaver roared and launched one last desperate charge.

But Rilian pivoted half a step, sidestepped the strike, and drove his blade into the man’s leg with ruthless precision. Steel pierced flesh and bone, and the man collapsed with a hoarse cry, unbalanced.

“For my people,” Seth growled.

He lunged at the prisoner, fist wrapped in sparks. The blow smashed into his gut with such force that the man lost his breath, eyes rolling back in pain.

“00:05”
“00:04”

Shaeka approached in grim silence. She drew one of her daggers, gripping it tightly. Without a word, she knelt by the slaver’s throat, ready to drive the blade in.

“00:03”
“00:02”

“We’re out of time! The keys, quickly!” Alice cried, frantic at the danger the others could not see.

“00:01”
“00:00”

Ding!

[Quest failed: Escape before Mirabelle’s arrival.]
[New Quest: Fight Mirabelle – Reward: XP]

“…Shit.”