The ceiling collapsed behind them.
Steve didn't look back.
There was no time.
The entire corridor was collapsing — stones falling like deadly rain, the ground cracking under each step, the air filling with dust so dense that breathing became an act of pure will.
— KEEP GOING! — Dagon shouted from somewhere ahead.
Steve tried.
His legs burned. His lungs ached. Each breath brought more dust than air, scraping his throat like ground glass.
Around him, others ran too.
The prisoners who had been freed — those who could still walk. Some staggered, supporting each other. Others ran with strength born of pure panic.
A deafening roar came from behind.
Steve turned his head by instinct — fatal mistake.
His foot caught on a loose stone.
The world spun.
Then hands grabbed him, pulling him back up with force that almost tore his arm from its socket.
Keara. Face covered in dirt and blood that wasn't all hers.
— MOVE! — she shouted, dragging him.
Behind them, the sound got worse.
It wasn't just falling stones.
It was total collapse. As if the world itself were being sucked into that cursed hole, reality folding in on itself.
One of the prisoners — a middle-aged woman Steve didn't know — stumbled.
Fell hard.
Tried to get up, but her legs didn't respond. She looked back, saw the wave of debris coming, and opened her mouth to scream.
The sound never came.
An entire column collapsed on her.
The body disappeared under tons of ancient stone in an instant. No chance. No time. Just... end.
Steve felt bile rise but didn't stop running.
Don't look. Don't think. Just run.
Another scream to the left.
A man — prisoner who had been freed — was trapped under a block that fell sideways. Leg crushed, stuck, while more debris fell around.
He extended his hand, begging.
— HELP ME! PLEASE—
The ceiling came down.
The scream cut off.
More bodies. More sounds of wet and horrible impact.
Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.
Light ahead — small, distant, but REAL.
The exit.
That's when he heard the different scream.
Recognizable.
One of Finn's sisters.
Steve turned his head, still running.
Saw her on the ground, holding her ankle, face contorted in pain. She had tripped. Foot twisted at a wrong angle, already swelling.
She tried to get up.
Fell again, screaming.
Finn was far ahead, carrying Diana, not seeing.
— DAGON! — Steve shouted, pointing.
The man had already seen.
He didn't hesitate for even a second.
He turned and ran back, against the flow of desperate people trying to escape.
He reached Finn's sister.
— Sorry, girl — he said.
He picked her up in his arms in a fluid movement, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, ignoring her screams of pain.
And ran.
But now he was slower. Carrying extra weight. And the debris was coming faster.
A stone the size of a human head passed centimeters from Dagon's head.
Another hit his shoulder. He staggered but didn't fall.
— DAGON! — Steve shouted, seeing the man fall behind.
He's going to die. He's going to die carrying her.
Fog appeared from nowhere.
He struck his hands on the ground while running, shouting words in a language Steve didn't understand.
The earth responded.
An irregular wall of stone and compacted earth exploded from the ground behind Dagon, temporarily blocking the wave of debris pursuing him.
Not for long.
But enough.
Dagon crossed the opening ahead, with Finn's sister still in his arms, and rolled across the floor of the outer ruins.
Fog crossed right after.
Then Jelím, dragging another wounded prisoner.
Then Keara, supporting Steve who could barely stand.
Then Finn, carrying Diana as if she were made of glass.
And then more prisoners — those who had managed to keep up, those who had been lucky, those who had been fast enough.
Not even half of those who had started running.
The underground entrance disappeared completely behind them, buried under a mountain of ancient stone that collapsed with a final and definitive roar.
And then...
Silence.
---
No one moved for entire minutes.
Just lying or sitting where they had fallen, breathing, bleeding, existing through pure stubbornness.
Steve looked at the sky.
It was dawning. When they had entered the temple, it was daytime. Then they descended, fought, almost died, fled...
How much time had passed?
He didn't know.
It didn't matter.
He was alive.
Somehow impossible, he was still alive.
Beside him, Fog coughed violently, spitting black dust mixed with blood. Jelím floated a few centimeters from the ground, completely motionless, the cracked mask revealing part of the pale cheek underneath.
Dagon sat, sword stuck in the ground beside him, hands trembling slightly. Finn's sister whom he had carried lay nearby, conscious but clearly in pain, holding her swollen ankle.
The other prisoners who had survived — maybe ten, maybe twelve — were scattered around in various states of shock and injury.
Finn...
Finn was kneeling beside Diana.
She lay on the ground, eyes open but empty, body trembling in small constant spasms that didn't stop.
Finn's other sister was hugging the healer who had saved Steve — both crying silently, clinging to each other as if they would disappear if they let go.
Keara tried to stand to go to Diana.
She took three steps.
Fell.
Simply... fell.
As if her legs had forgotten how to work, as if her body had decided it had done enough and now it was time to give up.
Steve saw Dagon move to help her, but the man could barely stand, staggering before leaning on the stuck sword.
Everyone was at their limit.
Beyond their limit.
Functioning only because stopping meant accepting what they had just survived.
And none of them were ready for that yet.
The sun kept rising, indifferent.
Birds returned to sing in the surrounding forest.
The world continued.
Even when it seemed it should have stopped.
Time passed.
Maybe half an hour. Maybe an hour. Steve wasn't sure.
Eventually, Keara managed to stand for real. She dragged herself to Diana with determination born of pure necessity — someone needed to care, so it would be her, broken body or not.
Finn finally got Diana to sit, leaning against a stone.
He held her hands — cold, trembling, too small in his.
— Diana — he whispered, voice hoarse. — It's me. I'm here. You're safe now.
She blinked.
Slowly.
As if the act of processing words required impossible effort, as if each second took an eternity to happen.
Her eyes moved until they found his face.
For a second, Finn saw recognition.
For a second, he thought it had worked, that she was coming back, that everything would be okay.
Then she began to scream.
It wasn't a loud scream.
It was something worse.
It was a scream from a destroyed throat, hoarse, broken — as if she had screamed so much in that temple that no voice remained, only torn and horrible sound.
She tried to get away from him, hands pushing Finn's chest with surprising force, eyes wide with absolute terror.
— NO! DON'T TOUCH! DON'T TOUCH!
Finn instinctively backed away, hands raised, confusion and pain crossing his face.
— Diana, it's me! It's Finn! Your... — his voice failed — ...I'm your fiancé.
But she didn't hear.
Just backed away, dragging herself across the ground, back hitting a stone, nowhere to go, but still trying to flee from something only she saw.
Her nails scraped on the stone. Her eyes didn't focus on anything real.
Keara dragged herself to her, ignoring her own exhaustion, her own injuries.
— Diana, dear... — she said, voice too gentle for someone covered in blood, making no sudden movements. — No one's going to hurt you. You're safe. I promise.
But Diana just shook her head violently, blonde hair stuck to her sweaty face.
— They said... — the voice came out broken, barely audible — ...they said they were going to... with the baby...
Her hand went instinctively to her belly.
— They said they would use... when it was born... for the Goddess...
Her voice broke completely, dissolving into dry sobs that shook her entire body.
Finn felt something break inside his chest.
It wasn't physical.
It was something deeper, more fundamental.
The slow and brutal understanding that he had arrived in time to save her body...
But too late to save who she was.
The woman he knew — who laughed at the way he stumbled over his own words, who sang while cooking, who touched her belly every night and whispered promises to the baby —
That woman had stayed in that temple.
What remained was just... fragments.
Steve watched everything from afar, feeling like an intruder in a moment that didn't belong to him.
Around them, the other prisoners also processed in different ways.
Some cried. Others stayed in absolute silence, staring at nothing. An older woman laughed — high-pitched, broken sound that had nothing joyful.
All dealing with traumas that would take years to heal.
If they healed.
More time passed.
The sun was already high when Dagon finally stood up completely.
He walked to Steve, who sat away from the group, looking at his own hands.
He sat on a nearby stone, leaving respectful distance between them.
Silence for a full minute.
Then:
— What did you do down there?
The voice came without accusation. Just... curiosity. Concern, perhaps.
Steve didn't look at him.
— I don't know what you're talking about.
— Steve.
The tone made him finally turn his head.
Dagon stared at him with eyes too tired, but firm.
— Those three. The cultists that you... — pause — ...do you remember killing them?
Steve's stomach tightened.
— I...
The words died in his throat.
Because the truth was he didn't.
Not completely.
He remembered entering the room. He remembered seeing the prisoners' bodies. He remembered the rage — pure, burning, consuming everything.
And then...
Then it was blood on his hands and three bodies on the ground.
— No — he finally admitted, voice coming out small. — I don't remember it right.
Dagon nodded slowly, as if that confirmed something he already suspected.
— You were different. For seconds. Your eyes... — he gestured vaguely — ...weren't yours.
Steve looked at his own hands again.
He could still feel the blood there, even after cleaning. As if it had entered his pores, become part of him.
— Am I turning into a monster? — he asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice.
Dagon didn't respond immediately.
He stared at the horizon, at the forest stretching infinite around them.
When he finally spoke, his voice came out heavy.
— I don't know, Steve. I don't know what you are. I don't know what any of us are in this cursed place.
Pause.
— But I know what happened down there... wasn't normal. And I think you know that too.
Steve swallowed hard.
He wanted to deny it. Wanted to say it had been just adrenaline, fear, survival.
But it would be a lie.
And they both knew it.
— What do I do? — he asked, voice breaking at the end.
Dagon finally looked at him directly.
— Survive. — He said simply. — And try to figure out what the hell is happening to you before it's too late.
— And if I don't figure it out in time?
Dagon didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
The answer was clear in his eyes, in the way he looked away, in the hand that unconsciously moved closer to the sword.
If Steve lost control completely...
Dagon would do what was necessary.
The rest of the day passed in a heavy fog of exhaustion and shock.
No one had energy for anything beyond existing.
Keara cared for Diana as she could, murmuring gentle words that didn't seem to reach the woman lost in her own terror. Finn remained close, but each time he tried to approach, Diana backed away again, fear renewing in her empty eyes.
Eventually, he gave up.
He sat a few meters away, just watching, hands clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.
His sisters huddled together, the one with the twisted ankle moaning softly whenever she changed position. The healer did what she could with limited resources — chewed herbs, improvised bandages, words murmured in ancient language that might be prayers.
The other prisoners spread out in small groups, some sleeping from pure exhaustion, others awake but absent, staring at nothing.
Fog and Jelím stayed apart, talking in voices too low for Steve to hear. Occasionally, Fog looked in his direction with an expression Steve couldn't decipher.
Worry? Fear? Both?
Dagon remained sitting where he was, sword across his lap, eyes half-closed but never completely.
Always alert.
Always ready.
Steve didn't move from the stone where he sat.
Just stayed there, processing, trying to understand what was happening to him.
Trying to remember those lost moments in the temple.
But the more he tried, the more the memory slipped away, like trying to hold water in his hands.
He knew he had killed.
He knew it had been brutal.
He knew something inside him had... awakened.
And that was the most frightening part.
It wasn't that he had killed.
It was that a part of him — small, whispering, horrible — had liked it.
The sun began to decline.
Keara finally stood up, staggering, and walked to the center of what remained of the group.
— We need to move — she said, voice hoarse. — Diana and the others need real care. Clean water. Food. Safe place to rest.
Finn raised his head.
— Where to?
— West. Three days' walk, maybe four in the state we're in. There should be a village. People who can help.
She looked around, finding each face.
— We can't all stay together. We're too many, too weak, too slow. If those... things... come after us, we won't be able to fight.
No one disagreed.
The logic was cruel but undeniable.
Fog stood up, leaning on Jelím.
— Then the rest of the prisoners and I will go west with Finn.
Dagon looked at Steve.
— North.
One word. But loaded with meaning.
Steve understood.
It was an invitation. And a test.
Dagon wanted to keep him close. Watch him. Understand what was happening.
And be ready to act if necessary.
Steve nodded slowly.
He had no choice anyway.
He didn't know where else to go.
It took the rest of the afternoon and the beginning of the night to organize themselves.
The prisoners were divided. All would go west with Finn, Fog and Diana. And the others Jelím, Keara, Dagon and Steve.
They shared supplies in silence.
Water. Dry food. Bandages. Weapons for those who didn't have them.
It wasn't enough.
But it was what they had.
Steve spent the final minutes checking his own backpack, avoiding looking at the others.
He knew that if he did, if he saw the faces one last time...
No.
He couldn't think like that.
One month. City of Valdris. They'll be there.
He had to believe that.
Finn approached him when it was almost dark.
— Steve.
He turned.
The big man extended his hand.
— Thank you. For everything. For helping us find her.
His voice failed at the end, eyes drifting to where Diana lay, curled in on herself, the healer beside her.
Steve shook his hand.
— She'll get better, Finn.
Gentle lie.
They both knew.
But sometimes gentle lies were all that remained.
Finn nodded, not trusting his own voice, and walked away.
Night fell completely.
They lit a small fire — enough for some warmth, not enough to attract unwanted attention.
They sat around it in silence.
No one really slept.
Just dozed in shifts, always someone awake, always alert.
Steve stared at the flames.
They danced and crackled, hypnotic, slowly consuming the wood. As he dove into a thousand thoughts.
Dawn came gray and cold.
They put out the fire.
Grabbed their things.
Checked weapons, adjusted backpacks, tied boots.
Mechanical movements. Automatic.
Finn carried Diana in his arms — she didn't resist, just stayed there, inert like a doll.
His sisters supported each other, the healer following behind, along with Fog and all the prisoners.
Then Finn with a smile looked at Steve and his group, clearly of farewell and then waved to them.
Steve with a smile on his face, happy for the short time they had spent also waved back.
And then they disappeared going to the western lands of the central continent.
Silence.
Just wind in the leaves. Distant birds. The indifferent world.
— Ready? — Dagon asked.
Steve looked at him, Jelím and Keara.
Then to the north.
To the forest they still needed to cross.
To the unknown that awaited.
— No — he admitted. — But let's go anyway.
Dagon nodded.
— Then let's go.
And they began to walk.
Steve adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, feeling the weight of the few supplies he carried.
He looked back one last time, along with Keara.
The temple ruins were hidden by the dense forest. Invisible. But Steve knew they were there.
They always would be.
Buried. But not forgotten.
Never forgotten.
He turned forward.
Dagon was already a few meters ahead with Keara and Jelím, walking with firm pace despite the obvious exhaustion.
Steve took a deep breath.
One step. Then another.
Keep walking.
Keep surviving.
And he plunged into the forest behind Dagon and the others, leaving the ruins behind.
The Great Forest closed around them again.
Ancient. Silent. Waiting.
Always waiting.