CHAPTER 197: ESCAPE

They resumed their journey, sinking into an even narrower tunnel. The air grew even more still, more forgotten. Their steps raised thick, grey dust, like the ash of an ancient world.

It floated slowly, catching the faint glimmer of the oil lamps Julius had ordered them to cover. Only the dimmed night-lights, wrapped in leather pierced with tiny holes, projected flickering streaks of light onto the black stone walls.

Julius advanced in silence, his massive shoulders sometimes brushing against the damp walls. He seemed to navigate this labyrinth by instinct, like a fish in a known current. Dylan followed him, bare feet on the dry, icy floor, his threadbare blanket draped over his shoulders.

The anima gems, nestled against his skin in a fold of the fabric, radiated a dull warmth, a faint but constant pulsing that seemed to chase away the tunnels’ deadly cold. His aching muscles responded a little better, the extreme weakness receding before this energy stolen from corpses.

The three soldiers brought up the rear, their weapons now held firmly, their eyes constantly scanning the darkness behind and to the sides. The silence was a tangible weight, crushing. Only the rustle of their clothes, the occasional scrape of a foot on stone, or the muffled clatter of a weapon hitting a wall broke it. And always, that sensation of being watched by something that did not belong to the world above.

Suddenly, Julius stopped before a crack in the wall, barely wider than a man. It seemed natural, a tear in the rock. He turned to the group, his weathered face etched with shadows in the faint light.

"Here," he murmured, his voice a barely audible rasp. "The Memory Hole. Passage used by the guards in case of... complications." A brief grimace twisted his lips. "Forty-three years of dust. Watch your step."

He slipped into the opening with surprising agility for his build. Dylan took a breath, feeling the warm gems against his chest. Just a little more, he thought, just enough to hold on. He slipped through after him. The crack opened onto a larger space, but one of absolute blackness. The air here was different: drier, but charged with an indefinable smell, acrid and mineral, like stone crushed for centuries. A smell of void.

Julius had pulled out a small dimmed lamp, revealing barely the immediate outline of their feet. The floor was littered with indistinct debris – pieces of rotten wood, shards of pottery, fragments of rusted metal. Giant spiderwebs, thick as grey silk, hung from invisible heights, forming ghostly veils. They advanced with extreme slowness, skirting obstacles, holding their breath. The dust here was so thick it almost muffled the sound of their footsteps.

"Not a word," Julius reminded them, his voice muffled by the darkness. "Not even a louder breath."

They progressed like this for what felt like an eternity, in a tomb-like silence. Only the beating of their own hearts reminded them they were alive. Dylan felt sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold, his senses heightened by the tension and the gems’ energy. Every shadow moving at the edge of their meager halo of light seemed to take on a menacing shape.

Then, Julius raised his hand again. A sharp halt. He strained his ears, his eyes piercing the darkness as if he could truly see through it. Dylan held his breath. Yet nothing... nothing but the silence, total and crushing.

Suddenly, a scratching sound. Light, distant, coming from somewhere ahead of them. Like nails lightly brushing stone. Then another, more to the right. And a sigh. Not human. A long, hoarse, drawn-out breath, like that of a beast asleep but ready to awaken in a nightmare.

The youngest soldier tightened his grip on his crossbow, his knuckles whitening. Julius slowly turned his head towards Dylan, his gaze in the half-light expressing neither fear nor surprise, but intense concentration. He gestured with his chin towards a low passage, almost a crevice, on their left.

"There," he mimed silently. "Quick. And put out that light."

In the total darkness that followed, the hoarse breath suddenly seemed much closer. Dylan clenched the anima gems in his hand. The warmth radiated stronger, like a call in the night. He followed Julius’s dark mass towards the crevice, his heart pounding wildly, knowing that the darkness around them was no longer just empty. Something *breathed*. And it might have sensed the dying light... or the pulsing echo of the energy he carried within him.

They crawled one by one into the fissure, without a word, swallowed by the rock.

Dylan slipped in after Julius, his back scraped by the edges, his knees screaming with every push forward. The space was so tight he couldn’t turn his head, only advance, breathing shallowly. The smell of the stone, ancient, dry, and dusty, infiltrated his throat.

Behind him, he heard a breath that was too loud, then a metallic grating sound. One of the soldiers had gotten stuck. His armor scraped against the wall in a brief, sharp noise. Nothing in itself. A mundane accident. But here, in this tomb of echoes, it rang like an alarm bell.

They froze. All of them. And at that moment, even their fear held its breath.

And then... a sound. First dull, like a weight being lifted cautiously. Then a scraping sound. Somewhere, behind. Like claws dragging slowly over stone.

Dylan felt his stomach clench.

A hoarse breath echoed, followed by a long growl that belonged to nothing known. It was deep, cracked, as if coming from too far within a body too vast. And it was getting closer.

"Quick," Julius whispered. More an order than a word.

They were crawling again, this time without grace. The silence was broken — what use in preserving it now? Dylan wasn’t advancing anymore: he was fleeing. He clawed at the stone, pushed with his feet, bruised his ribs, felt his breath catching in his throat.

The tunnel opened onto a low, irregular cavity. Bare stone, rusted pipes, a staircase carved into the rock. Julius didn’t wait. He climbed immediately, hands and feet, muscles taut like cords.

Dylan followed, his heart pounding against his temples. The thing, behind, was advancing. It didn’t run. It walked. Confident. Too massive to hurry.

A cry suddenly erupted in the panic, likely from one of the soldiers lagging behind.

But the others didn’t have the luxury of turning back.

The staircase twisted, groaned, threatened to give way. Dylan climbed without thinking, without stopping. His bare feet sometimes slipped on the damp steps.

They reached an old iron door, covered in moss and rust.

Julius shoved it open with his shoulder. A grating screech. Dylan rushed through after him. One by one, the soldiers passed. The last one slammed the door and shot the bolt with a dull clunk.

The noise vanished abruptly, replaced by an almost suspicious silence.

But it wasn’t the same. This one didn’t crush. It allowed breathing, a little. Allowed hearing the heart pounding in the chest and the drops of sweat falling to the floor.

Julius leaned against the wall, panting. He let out a long breath, almost a laugh.

"Damn..." he grunted, between breaths. "We woke her up."

Dylan sat down slowly, his back against the wall, arms wrapped around himself. He felt his muscles trembling. Not from fear. Not only. From exhaustion. And from something else, deeper: an anger. Silent. Slow. Persistent.

Something down below had sensed them. Perhaps not seen, nor heard... But sensed. And it wouldn’t forget them. At least, not anytime soon.

The escape, however, was only a reprieve.