Vael ran. Cold wind cut against his face as broken walls rushed past.
Behind him, boots hit stone—fast, heavy. More than five. Armed. Closing in.
Lira moved beside him, bow ready. The wounded man led the way, steady despite his limp.
"They're gaining," Lira muttered.
Vael heard it too—the metal clank of armor. Then a sharp whistle.
Arrows.
He turned. Shadows burst up from the ground. The arrows vanished into the dark.
The stranger glanced back. His voice was flat. "You really are cursed."
Vael didn't respond. "Who are they?"
The man didn't answer. He pointed ahead. "There. Tunnel. Go."
A broken arch rose in the ruins. A narrow path led underground.
Lira slowed. "You trust this?"
"No time," Vael said.
They ran in.