After what felt like hours of restless silence, the heavy door at the end of the hall creaked open again.
Evan sat upright as footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. The torchlight revealed Andra—stern as ever—this time accompanied by a familiar face.
"Jogg?" Evan murmured.
The elven prisoner was flanked by two guards, his hands bound but his expression calm. He met Evan's gaze with a short nod.
Andra turned to Jogg. "Tell me again—did the person causing the recent rift and deception use your brother Silas's face?"
Jogg's eyes narrowed. "He did. Same grin, same hair. But that bastard wasn't my brother."
A tense silence followed.
Andra gritted his teeth, fists clenching. "I knew it…"
Jogg's voice dropped. "Is it Lodach?"
Andra didn't respond. He only turned on his heel and barked at the guards. "Take them back."
Without another word, Andra vanished into a side passage, disappearing behind a heavy iron door.
The guards shoved Evan and Jogg back into their separate cells. The doors clanged shut, locking once more. Evan leaned against the cold wall, exhaustion pulling at his limbs.
He had no idea how much time passed before the world changed.
A deep, thunderous boom cracked through the prison halls, the stones trembling beneath it. A second blast followed, this one even closer. Dust fell from the ceiling. Torch brackets rattled. From somewhere above, a shrill horn echoed—one Evan didn't recognize.
Jogg jumped up. "That wasn't thunder."
The ground shook again. BOOM.
Screams rang faintly from far away. Then more explosions—rapid and continuous, like a siege had begun.
"Evan!" Jogg shouted, already at the bars. "We may need to get out of here now!"
Evan pulled himself upright, gripping the bars. "Any ideas?"
Jogg grinned faintly. "Cover your eyes."
BOOM.
An explosion tore through part of the outer wall with a violent shockwave. The tremor shattered the lock mechanisms. The iron bars groaned—and broke.
Jogg's cell door clanged open. He stumbled out, coughing from the smoke and dust.
"Hang on!" he called, forcing Evan's door open with his shoulder.
Evan nearly collapsed into him. His legs were weak from days without food, his muscles aching from strain and dehydration. Jogg slung Evan's arm over his shoulder, supporting him.
"You've held on this long. You'll survive this too," Jogg said gruffly.
The two limped through the crumbling corridor as more tremors shook the building. Faint red light pulsed through the upper stairwells. When they finally breached the outer doors, Evan could hardly believe his eyes.
The city of Clares was burning.
Flames reached into the skies, painting them crimson. Smoke choked the streets. Civilians fled in every direction, screams echoing through alleys and avenues. Collapsed towers lay scattered like broken spines.
And among it all—Orcs.
Dozens, maybe thousands. Clad in jagged iron, wielding massive axes, they rampaged through the city. Elven soldiers fought back, but many had already fallen. It was chaos. An invasion.
At the city's center, hovering above the ruined skyline, a massive portal swirled like a bleeding wound. Evan's eyes widened.
"That… that's a rift portal."
Jogg's face went pale. "A rift portsl that size—only a high-rank spellcaster could cast that. No ordinary mage opens something like that."
He turned to Evan. "Listen. I need to help my people. You—you need to escape. Get out of this mess before they blame you for this too."
Evan shook his head, still reeling. "But how—?"
"There's a bar near the outer gate," Jogg interrupted, already backing away. "Red-colored. Looks abandoned. Go to the basement. There's a hidden passage that leads out of Clares. Use it."
Evan blinked, dazed. "Why are you helping me?"
Jogg gave him a strained smile. "Because you treated my brother's body with respect. That… and you're not the one who started this war."
Then he turned and sprinted into the fire and blood.
Evan gritted his teeth and limped toward the red bar Jogg had mentioned. The air was thick with smoke and ash. Fires raged on rooftops. He ducked behind wagons, stumbled through side streets, nearly collapsing more than once. His body screamed for rest.
When he reached the tavern, the outer door was half-collapsed. But something else caught his eye first.
An elf—wounded—was cornered outside the entrance. A massive orc raised its axe to strike.
Without thinking, Evan surged forward.
His weakened legs barely carried him, but the momentum was enough. He crashed into the orc's side, knocking it off balance. The axe whiffed, burying itself in the wooden wall behind.
Evan seized the opening. He delivered a hard kick to the orc's face—right in the eye. The beast roared in pain, blood spilling down its cheek.
Another strike—his fist to the throat.
The orc collapsed, gasping.
Evan fell to one knee, breath ragged. His vision swam, his limbs barely responding. Before more could arrive, he ripped the orc's war axe from its grip and stumbled inside.
The red bar was a ruin. Shattered furniture, spilled wine, and bodies—elves and orcs alike.
Two orcs remained, feasting on the bloodshed.
Evan didn't wait.
He vaulted over a broken table, the axe raised. The first orc turned too late—Evan's blade severed its neck cleanly.
The second roared and swung.
Evan shoved the corpse into its path, blocking the axe. He dove low, striking the orc's leg. It screamed, staggering back. Evan rose with a final, exhausted cry—and drove the blade upward, from belly to brow.
The orc fell. Dead.
Evan stood panting over the bodies, blood soaking his clothes. His hands trembled. His knees buckled—but he pushed himself to move.
He found the basement door and descended.
Just as Jogg had said, there was a concealed passage behind the shelves. Dusty. Narrow. Lit faintly by enchantments.
Before slipping inside, Evan paused. Supplies—bread, a canteen, cloth—had been stacked neatly by the entrance.
Jogg prepared this.
He grabbed what he could, then stepped into the tunnel, letting the darkness swallow him.
Behind him, the city burned. Ahead—only the unknown.