The catacombs swallowed sound. Elian's footsteps, usually so careful, seemed to echo for miles in the cramped, bone-lined passage. The flashlight's beam danced over skulls stacked like bricks, empty eyes watching him pass. Mina and Marcus followed close, their breaths shallow, their nerves stretched thin.
The stone gate had closed behind them, sealing out the city's noise and light. Down here, time felt different—measured not in hours, but in heartbeats and the slow, relentless drip of water from the ceiling. The air was cold and thick with the scent of earth and decay.
Elian led the way, the mark on his spine pulsing with each step. It was a strange sensation—part pain, part guidance. He trusted it, letting it pull him deeper into the labyrinth. He tried not to think about the weight of centuries pressing down from above, or the stories he'd heard about people getting lost in these tunnels, their bones joining the walls.
Mina's voice was a whisper behind him. "How much farther?"
Elian paused, feeling the mark burn hotter. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. "Not far. There's something up ahead."
Marcus grumbled, but kept moving. "Let's just hope it's not another locked door."
The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. At the center stood a stone altar, covered in dust and strange carvings. Around it, the bones were arranged in patterns—spirals, circles, lines that seemed to point inward.
Elian approached the altar, his heart pounding. He reached out, brushing away the dust. The same symbols from the vault and the notebook were carved into the stone.
Mina joined him, her eyes wide. "Is this it?"
Elian nodded, tracing the lines with his finger. The mark on his spine throbbed in response.
Marcus circled the room, his flashlight sweeping over the walls. "There's writing here. Old—maybe Latin?"
Elian moved to the wall, studying the faded letters. He recognized a few words—gate, key, blood.
He turned to the others. "It's a ritual. The mark is the key, but… it needs something else."
Mina's face tightened. "What?"
Elian hesitated. "Blood. A sacrifice."
Marcus backed away, hands raised. "No way. We're not—"
Elian shook his head. "Not a life. Just… enough to open the way."
He pulled a pocketknife from his bag, pressing the blade to his palm. Mina grabbed his wrist. "Let me."
He looked at her, surprised. She met his gaze, steady and unafraid. "We're in this together, remember?"
He nodded, and together they pressed their palms to the stone, letting their blood mingle in the carved grooves.
The altar pulsed with light, the symbols glowing red. The mark on Elian's spine burned, and the chamber trembled.
A section of the wall slid open, revealing a narrow passage.
Marcus let out a shaky laugh. "Well, that's new."
They moved into the passage, the walls closing in around them. The air grew colder, the darkness deeper. Elian felt the mark guiding him, pulling him forward.
The passage ended in a small chamber, its walls lined with shelves. On the shelves sat scrolls, books, and strange artifacts—relics from a forgotten age.
At the center of the room was a pedestal, and on it rested a small, ornate box.
Elian approached, his hands trembling. He lifted the box, feeling the weight of history in his palms.
Mina watched, her voice barely a whisper. "What is it?"
Elian opened the box. Inside was a fragment of stone, carved with the same spiral symbol.
He felt a surge of energy, the mark on his spine blazing with heat.
Marcus stared, wide-eyed. "Is that… it?"
Elian nodded. "It's part of something bigger. A piece of the puzzle."
Mina smiled, relief and awe mingling in her eyes. "We did it."
But Elian knew it wasn't over. The Hand would come. The mark was burning brighter than ever—a beacon for anyone who knew how to follow it.
He closed the box, tucking it into his bag. "We need to go. Now."
They retraced their steps through the catacombs, the passage closing behind them as they left the chamber. The altar was dark again, the symbols faded.
They reached the stone gate, pressing their hands to the spiral. The mark on Elian's spine flared, and the door slid open.
They emerged into the cemetery, the city's night air cold and sharp. The stars were bright overhead, the city's noise distant and muted.
Elian looked at his friends—Mina, steady and brave; Marcus, grinning despite his fear. He felt a surge of gratitude, a sense of belonging he hadn't known in either of his lives.
"We did it," he said quietly.
Mina squeezed his hand. "Together."
Marcus laughed, relief loosening his shoulders. "Let's get out of here before the Hand figures out where we've been."
They slipped into the city, the box hidden in Elian's bag, the mark on his spine still burning.
He knew the danger wasn't over. The Hand would come, and there were more secrets to uncover.
But for now, they had each other. And that was enough.