“D-don’t know … hidden network … inside...” His hand grabs my wrist with surprising strength. “Everywhere...”
Lord Evander moves toward the centre of the room, his analytical mind already working through implications. He looks at the drag marks again. “They let specific people escape while ensuring others died.”
The Cardinal tries to speak again, but his eyes go wide with sudden terror.
He’s looking past me. At something behind us.
“MOVE!” Zevran shouts.
An explosion tears through the chamber with devastating force.
The world becomes thunder and flying stone. I’m thrown backward by the blast wave, my ears ringing, my vision filled with smoke and debris. Heat washes over me, singeing hair and exposed skin. The ancient walls shake, massive cracks spider-webbing up toward the vaulted ceiling.
Through the chaos and dust, I see Lord Evander.
He’d been standing closest to wherever the device was hidden. The blast caught him full-on, and now he’s lying motionless ten feet away. A massive piece of the ceiling has fallen on his upper body, crushing his chest and head. Blood spreads in a dark pool beneath the rubble.
“EVANDER!” Lady Tavia screams, her voice distant and muffled through my damaged hearing. She runs toward him, but Zevran catches her arm. Lady Tavia collapses, her diplomatic composure shattering into raw grief.
That’s when the alarms begin.
Ancient technology awakens with a sound like the world ending – a deep, resonant vibration that I feel in my bones. Suddenly I understand why the arena’s walls always hummed with hidden energy. They’re not just stone and metal, not just holographic screens and decorative panels.
They’re massive mechanisms designed to protect the structure during crisis.
The floor vibrates beneath our feet as sections of wall begin to move. Stone panels that I’d always assumed were fixed rotate on hidden axes, sliding and reconfiguring. Emergency protocols that have been dormant for centuries activate all at once, transforming the static architecture into something fluid and alive.
“What’s happening?” Commander Kaelix shouts over the mechanical grinding.
“Lockdown,” Zevran says, his military experience recognizing emergency procedures even if he’s never seen them activated. “The arena’s sealing itself. Isolating sections to contain the threat.”
The moving walls create new corridors while closing others, herding us like livestock into predetermined safe zones. I see Lord Castor and Lady Tavia being pushed toward one passage by the encroaching barriers. Lady Nerida and Commander Kaelix disappear behind sliding stone panels in another direction, Lady Nerida’s scream of protest cut off mid-sound.
“Cyra!” Zevran lunges toward me as a massive wall section begins descending between us.
I run for him desperately, our hands reaching across the narrowing gap. Our fingertips brush – so close I can feel the warmth of his skin – before the stone barrier slams down with finality.
“Zevran!” I pound against the wall where he was just standing, but there’s no response. The stone is seamlessly joined now, soundproof and impenetrable. No gap, no seam, nothing to indicate there was ever an opening.
The withdrawal symptoms spike with my panic, making my vision blur and my stomach clench with nausea. The healing I did for the Cardinal, the stress, the trauma, the hours since my last session with Zevran – it all compounds into a perfect storm of physical weakness.
I hear grinding stone above me.
Looking up, I see another wall section beginning to descend from the ceiling. In seconds, it will crush me flat against the floor.
Strong hands grab my arms and yank me backward just as tons of stone crash down where I’d been standing. The impact sends vibrations through the floor hard enough to knock me off balance. I stumble into someone’s chest, breathing hard from terror and adrenaline.
“I’ve got you, darling,” Isolde’s voice says, warm and reassuring in my ear. “You’re safe.”
I turn in her arms, noting how calm she seems despite the chaos. Her amber robes are somehow still pristine, not a speck of blood or dust on the flowing fabric. Her dark hair remains perfectly arranged. Even her breathing is steady, controlled.
“Thank you,” I gasp, my own breath coming in ragged bursts.
“Come on.” She guides me toward what appears to be a small safe room carved into the wall. “We need to get somewhere secure until this is over.”
The space is clearly designed as an emergency shelter. Reinforced walls curve in a perfect arc, carved with the same ancient symbols as the main chamber. There are basic supplies stacked in alcoves – water containers, preserved food, even medical supplies. A small air vent high in the ceiling ensures we won’t suffocate.
As the final barriers slide into place, sealing us in, the mechanical grinding finally stops.
