They didn't stop running until the air felt warmer and the sound of the Keeper's hunt had faded into the depths.
Rondan leaned against the damp wall, catching his breath. The stairwell had led them to a forgotten part of the arena's underbelly—a place untouched by torchlight, where cobwebs hung like funeral drapes and the smell of rusted iron lingered.
Leina crouched, tracing her fingers along a crack in the stone. "He should be here."
Rondan's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
A faint shuffle echoed from the darkness ahead, followed by a slow, deliberate clap. From the shadows emerged a tall man wrapped in layered robes the color of midnight. His face was hidden behind a porcelain mask painted with a crooked, unblinking eye.
"Leina," the man said, his voice smooth, almost mocking. "You bring me the marked one."
Rondan's hand instinctively moved to his sword, but the man raised a single hand. "No need for that. If I wanted you dead, you'd have never seen me."
Leina stood. "He needs to know the truth about the tournament—and the rune."
The masked figure stepped closer, the faint light glinting off his mask's single painted eye. "The mark you carry, boy… it's older than the arena, older than this city. It's a shard of a binding oath—one that ties you to powers far beyond mortal reach."
Rondan's jaw tightened. "Then remove it."
A dry laugh escaped the mask. "You think I haven't tried? The only way to break it is to confront the one who branded you. And he… is not of this world."
Leina shot him a warning look. "Don't tell him more than he needs to know."
The man tilted his head. "Needs to know? He needs everything. Because the finals are not about who wins—they are about who survives the Offering."
Before Rondan could speak, the sound of distant horns echoed through the tunnels.
The masked man's posture stiffened. "They're moving sooner than I expected. Go, both of you. And if you value your lives, don't trust anyone in the light."
With that, he turned and vanished into the darkness, leaving only the faint smell of incense behind.
Rondan glanced at Leina. "What's the Offering?"
She met his gaze, silver eyes dim in the shadow. "Something you can't refuse… and can't win."