Prick.
But what had she expected? Because he’d helped her once—years ago, when they were children—didn’t mean he cared now. Didn’t mean he’d ever help her again.
Elara drew on what little strength remained, forcing her feet forward, one step at a time. She wouldn’t stumble. Not here. Though she wondered why she still clung to scraps of pride. In the Pit, what use was dignity?
The narrow corridor widened with each reluctant step. Cells yawned from the stone on either side, the air growing colder, heavier—saturated with the quiet despair trapped behind iron-latched doors.
Wards etched into the metal pulsed with dim ether, their low hum brushing her senses as she glanced inside. Most cells stood empty. A few held figures huddled against the far walls—silent remnants of what they’d been.
Traitors. Like her.
A bitter taste filled her mouth as she glared at the Hunter’s back, silently willing him to burn beneath her stare. He was the reason she—and countless others—were trapped in this place. She couldn’t help wondering what the world might look like without him in it. If Osin hadn’t chosen him as his ward, would any of this have happened? Would they have fared better?
The corridor ended at a massive gate of stone and iron, its shadow swallowing what little light remained. It reminded her of the barrier Osin had raised around the Sanct—but where that one had been gossamer-thin, this was brocade: dense, tightly woven, and utterly unyielding.
The Hunter lifted a hand. Ether sparked, and the wards fizzled out one by one, their light bleeding into the air, leaving a whisper of power that prickled across her skin. When he seized the handle and hauled the door open, a rush of blinding light poured through.
She raised a hand to shield her eyes as the glare burned through her fingers. When her vision cleared, a vast cavern unfurled before her—thousands of floating orbs casting a rich, buttery light across the expanse.
It sprawled like the roots of an ancient tree, pathways branching into countless tunnels that webbed outward in every direction. Cells lined each path, hundreds of them, their sheer number staggering even from a distance. Between them stood guards—towering figures in black armor that ran to their wrists, swords hanging at their sides.
One of them rushed to attention. “My Lord. Four shades have been seized and await your questioning, though—” The guards’ voice halted abruptly as he noticed Elara.
“That will be all, Theron,” the Hunter said, his tone clipped. “Report to the warden—tell him the Hallowed is secured and intended to stay here indefinitely.”
A shudder coursed through Elara, pulling an unwelcome glance from the Hunter. “Ensure she is seen by a healer. She has a wound on her wrist that requires an anti-venom.” His eyes roved over her once more. “And perhaps,” he paused, considering, “a dose of Pyrewarmth to stabilize her body temperature.”
The guard’s expression flickered with confusion, his mouth opening, and then snapping shut.
The Hunter's gaze narrowed. “Is there a problem?”
“No...no, sir. No problem?—”
“She may be in custody, but she's still the Hallowed and will be accorded the respect due her status.”
The guard bowed, a quick dip of his head. “Of course.”
The Hunter’s hand clenched into a fist at his side. “Good. See to it.”
With another quick bow, the guard turned away, leaving space for the Hunter's lingering gaze to settle on her once more.There was a weight in that look, something unreadable yet intensely focused, before he finally turned, and strode away.
As his footsteps faded, two guards closed in, iron grips clamping onto her arms and hauling her forward.
“I can walk on my own,” she snapped, struggling against them.
The taller guard snorted, a cruel smirk curling his mouth. “Like we’d trust a mutt like you off its leash.”
Elara set her jaw as they dragged her deeper into the cavern, down another stone corridor, stopping at a cell that stood apart from the rest. It was marginally larger—a bare rectangle with nothing but a cot shoved into one corner. The mattress was thin atop a rickety frame, its sheets crumpled and worn nearly to threads.
To the far right, iron bars ran from floor to ceiling. A single torch cast long shadows across the cell, and Elara squinted through the dim light, searching for any sign of life beyond them.
One guard shoved the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. As it swung inward, the wards flared, sparks of light skittering across the stone.
“Get in,” he grunted, thrusting her forward.
She stumbled, wincing. “Was that really necessary?” Her legs were frighteningly numb, barely holding her upright.
“Aye, that it was, girlie.”
