A wet plop on my face. Then another. Rain.
Sudden thunderous grinding fills the air, but it’s not a storm.
“No!” I bellow, refusing to acknowledge what it means. But walls close ahead of me, narrowing the passage. The sky opens up and unleashes a torrent of rain. I fist the hair of the short mercenary in my way and smash his head against the stone. His body falls but reveals a grim sight—through the shadowed shrinking gap, the Baron smirks at me as he shoves Flori around a corner.
“Drayven, wait—” Demaya hisses, but I’m already leaping over the fresh corpse, slipping on wet flagstones. I sprint toward the diminishing space, knowing I’ll be crushed if I try to run through it.
Already looking for an alternative route, I focus left—the direction he took Flori—to where the walls still grind and jut out jagged stone blocks. The Labyrinth comes alive, shifting around me, thorny vines reaching out to snag my clothes, roots rising to trip my feet.
But nothing can stop me now.
I twist and evade, light on my feet. As if Amara herself steadies my climb, I launch up the blocks, bounce deftly between surfaces, and I’m back atop the wall before it can stop me.
Ready and calm like death, I pull my hood up to shield my vision through the rain. Lungs heaving, I creep toward two figures walking on the ground below. The problem is they head through a giant archway, disappearing into the shadows.
A building.
FUCK.
Using my scimitar to anchor me, I rappel down the wall to the ground, cutting through vines and thorns. The impact jars through my body, the wetness pulling my feet from under me. I careen, land hard, but ignore the pain. Only one thing matters now.
Flori.
I sprint toward the archway, heart pounding. Nothing here grows. Even the rain seems to avoid the temple walls. The darkness beyond seems to pulse, alive with malevolent energy.
Only one name springs to mind—Kasaros. This temple is undoubtedly his if the overgrown, lush courtyard belonged to Amara. But I don’t hesitate. I step across the threshold into the inky blackness.
For a moment, I’m blind. Then my eyes adjust.
I’m standing at the entrance of a vast circular, stone chamber ringed with flickering blue torches. Deep cracks split the foundation as if the God’s own laughter shattered his sanctuary. Rain drips through cracks in the ceiling, slithering down the walls like veins splitting open, pooling in hollows where bones—human and beast—lie in tangled offerings. War drums hang limp, their rotted skins sagging. An obsidian throne on a raised dais looms at the far end, slick with rain. Tally marks gouge its arms, perhaps a record of Kasaros’s victories.
But closer, on the smooth floor at the center of the chamber surrounded by skeletons strangled by thorns, Flori lays herself down, her blue hair fanned out around her head like a halo. A moonbeam shines from a hole in the roof, painting her white borrowed shirt red.
The Baron’s meaty hand closes around Flori’s ankle, yanking her towards him where he kneels at her feet. His face is flushed with lust and triumph. She doesn’t resist, her eyes dull and lifeless. She simply does as she promised and parts her thighs for him. My heart clenches. This is my fault.
I should have listened to her. Should have ignored my doubts and fears. Should have fought harder. Mocking laughter fills the cavern, echoing around me.
“Yes, you should have,” Kasaros mocks in my head. “You had your chance, and you blew it.”
And then those thorny vines are back, snapping and moaning as they grow from the cracks within the walls and latch around my arms, wrists, and body.
“Flori!” I shout.
But she doesn’t turn. She’s only yards away, yet she can’t hear me. The Baron jerks her closer to him. The slide dislodges her tiara. I watch it fall beside her open palm, where it remains untouched. The laughter grows louder.
Fuck you, Kasaros. You won’t take her from me. Not this time.
Filling my lungs to the brink, I say a silent prayer to the Goddess I know is somewhere listening. For if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have put this beautiful, strong woman in my path.
“Fight, Flori!” I roar, bucking against my sharp restraints. “Fight like hell!”
Flori’s gaze snaps to mine, her eyes widening. For a moment, hope flares in those azure depths. Then her gaze slides past me, landing on Demaya, just arriving and collecting my fallen scimitar. She starts hacking at my prison.
Surprise flickers across Florienne’s face.
The Baron doesn’t notice me or is too consumed with ripping at Flori’s top, freeing a path to his prize, to care. She doesn’t resist, but the muscles in her jaw tighten. Her fingers twitch toward the discarded tiara.
“That’s it,” I growl. “Take your crown.”
