The massive hall felt as though it had turned to lead, pressing down on everyone's lungs.
The four guards, who had previously carried themselves with the arrogance of conquerors, were now reduced to trembling shadows of men.
The lead guard, his face slick with a cold sweat that glistened under the sickly yellow torchlight, kept darting his eyes toward the darkened corner where the royal girl sat.
He shifted his heavy shield upward—a desperate, instinctive gesture to create a barrier between himself and her unmoving gaze.
"Not this way!"
The lead guard's voice broke, coming out as a jagged, frantic rasp that sliced through the heavy silence.
"Abandon the main gate. We take the old servant's passage. Now! Turn them around!"
The sudden command sent a ripple of confusion through the other soldiers, but not one of them dared to question it. They were so consumed by the girl's presence that any path leading away from her felt like a path toward salvation.
They began to herd the children with a newfound, frantic urgency, though none of them possessed the courage to actually lay a hand on Lane.
Instead, they used the tips of their scabbards to prod the air, keeping a respectful and terrified distance.
Luka felt the rough, weeping stone of the corridor walls scrape against his shoulder as they were forced into a narrow, soot-stained passage.
He tightened his grip on Lane's hand, his knuckles white with tension. As they descended further into the dim gallery, Luka leaned in, his voice a frantic whisper.
"Lane, what have you done? Why did you go to her like that?"
Luka's heart was drumming against his ribs. "Can't you see these guards are half-dead with fear just by looking at her? Because of what you did, they're shoving us into this foul, forgotten tunnel. You're making things worse!"
Lane didn't slow his pace, nor did he seem bothered by the oppressive atmosphere. He tilted his head slightly, his vast, dark pupils reflecting the flickering torchlight like two obsidian mirrors.
"She looked quite lonely to me, Luka," Lane replied with a terrifying level of nonchalance, as if he were merely commenting on the evening breeze.
"That is why I went to her. It isn't right for someone to be that alone in such a large palace, is it?"
The sheer simplicity of Lane's answer left Luka spiraling in confusion. He couldn't reconcile the boy who had just worn the smile of a predator with this child who spoke of loneliness and empathy.
"She wasn't just lonely, Lane—she was dangerous!" Luka hissed, his voice trembling.
"Look at these guards! They are fleeing for their lives. You're putting us both in the middle of something we can't survive."
Suddenly, the guard bringing up the rear slammed his shield against the stone wall, the metallic clang echoing like a gunshot through the narrow space.
"Quiet, you little demons!" he barked.
But the authority in his voice was hollow, replaced by a thin veil of terror. He kept glancing over his shoulder, checking the darkness they had left behind.
When his eyes accidentally met Lane's, he recoiled, pressing his back against the opposite wall.
"You... you walked right up to her and came back alive? What kind of monster are you?"
Lane turned his head toward the soldier. A slow, faint, and utterly enigmatic smile touched his lips—a look that caused the guard's breath to hitch in his throat.
Lane didn't utter a word, but his silent, piercing gaze was enough to strip away the man's remaining bravado.
"Don't worry, Luka," Lane said, returning to that sweet, melodic tone that always seemed to soothe and terrify Luka at the same time.
"They aren't afraid of us. They are afraid of the truths they cannot see. The girl was lonely, and these men are cowards. The truth is always very simple."
Luka took a long, shaky breath, staring into the yawning darkness ahead. He knew deep down that nothing involving Lane was ever 'simple.'
As they descended deeper into the secret path, the air grew colder and heavier with the scent of damp earth and ancient rot.
The corridor had narrowed so significantly that the cold, weeping water seeping from the stones began to soak into Luka's clothes. Suddenly, the lead guard halted.
Before them stood a massive, rusted iron door, its surface etched with strange, distorted symbols that seemed to writhe in the flickering light.
"This is the place," the lead guard whispered.
His voice held a bizarre mixture of relief and profound dread. He reached for a heavy ring of keys at his belt, his fingers fumbling.
With a sharp twist of the key, the door groaned open on its hinges, a long, agonizing screech that sounded like a dying animal.
The guards didn't waste a second. They shoved the children inside with a frantic haste.
As Lane crossed the threshold, he paused for a fraction of a heartbeat and looked back at the lead guard. There was a specific glint in Lane's eyes—a flash of something cold and knowing.
"You chose the right path," Lane said in a voice so low it was meant only for the man's ears. "No one will be able to see us here."
The guard slammed the door shut, and the heavy thud of the iron bolt falling into place announced their absolute isolation. Complete, suffocating darkness swallowed the room.
"Lane?" Luka's voice was a fragile thread. "Where are we? And what did you say to that guard?"
In the darkness, the whites of Lane's eyes seemed to catch a stray, impossible light. He took Luka's hand—his grip was firm and possessive.
"We are in a place where no rules apply, Luka," Lane replied, his voice remarkably calm.
"There is no royal girl here, and there are no cowardly guards to interfere. Here, there is only us... and the dark."
Just as the words left his lips, the faint, rhythmic clinking of heavy chains drifted from the far corner of the vault.
Luka's blood turned to ice. They were not alone in the dark.