"MAX, YOU FUCKING SNEAK!" Van's voice was thunder, filled with fury. "Did you think you could keep that from me, too? NOW YOUR ASS IS MINE!"
Before I could even think about turning to run, Van's massive fist filled my vision.
Thwak!
The blow crashed into my jaw like a hammer striking stone. My head snapped sideways, ears ringing, and the taste of copper bloomed on my tongue.
The noise it made wasn't the satisfying crack of a proper punch but more of a slap, loud and humiliating. I staggered, knees bending under me, the world tilting for a dizzy instant.
But I didn't fall. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
I blinked away the haze, squared my stance, and locked eyes with Van. His grin widened at my resilience, the smug confidence of a man who believed fists solved everything.
Two choices presented themselves in the space of a breath: run or fight. If I ran and they caught me, they would beat me within an inch of my life. If I stood my ground, I risked the same outcome, but at least I could bloody them in return.
I inhaled sharply, steadied my legs, and raised the weapon I'd been given upon entering the ruin: a crude wooden spear tipped with a sharpened point. Hardly lethal, but enough to keep a man at bay.
I swung it up, the tip hovering at Van's chest. His eyes flicked wide for a moment, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his brutish face.
"Leave, Van," I warned, voice low and steady. "Turn around now, and we can end this without blood."
He barked a laugh. "If the guard hears you pointed that stick at me, Max, they'll throw you off the edge of Arcadia themselves."
I pressed the tip closer, letting the light from the runes glint across the wood. "Maybe. But they'd do the same to you. Don't think I'm bluffing. Walk away while you still can."
Behind him, his brothers shifted, their usual smirks muted as they watched the tension stretch. They weren't as brave as Van; they were waiting on his lead. If he retreated, so would they.
For a heartbeat, I thought he might. His brow furrowed, eyes darting between the spear and my face, as though he could sense the resolve burning in me. But thought was never Van's strong suit.
He snarled, taking a step forward. "You don't scare me, Max."
So be it.
I lunged, thrusting the spear forward with every ounce of strength in my arms. The tip drove into the flesh just above his collarbone, tearing through muscle.
"Aaaaargghhh!" Van roared, staggering back as blood welled from the shallow wound. His hand shot up to clutch the shaft, teeth bared in rage.
Knowing hesitation would doom me, I shoved harder, twisting the wood to elicit another guttural cry. Then, before he could wrench it from me, I let go, turned, and sprinted.
"GET HIM!" Van's voice cracked with pain and fury, echoing down the stone corridors.
Footsteps thundered behind me as his brothers obeyed, the slap of boots growing louder with every heartbeat. My lungs burned, but adrenaline carried me forward. I darted around a corner, breath ragged, and jammed my hand into the pouch at my side. My fingers closed around cold metal.
The mana pistol.
Pulling it free, I didn't slow. I spun, leveled the barrel behind me, and squeezed the trigger. A crackling shot of compressed mana erupted, streaking like a bolt of lightning through the corridor.
Bang!
A sharp yelp followed, one of Van's brothers howling in pain. The echo of the shot rebounded endlessly, louder than I remembered, as though the ruin itself disapproved of violence.
But my stomach dropped.
Firing the pistol had been a mistake. The guards would demand I surrender it when we left, claiming it was too dangerous for a peasant to carry. I'd lose one of my most precious artifacts.
Grinding my teeth, I forced myself onward, turning into the chamber I'd avoided earlier, the one with the faint outline of a hidden mechanism etched into the wall.
Fight them? Risk death. Flee through the ruin's entrance? The guards would confiscate my weapon and my coin, and Van would spin his tale of me as the aggressor.Or… take the hidden door, and gamble everything.
I peered back into the corridor, pulse hammering. My decision was made for me.
One of Van's brothers was striding forward with a guard in tow. The soldier's armor clinked, his face carved into a scowl. They'd wasted no time framing me. If I stayed, I'd be arrested, or worse.
I scrambled to the wall and pressed at the faint groove. My fingers found purchase, twisting a series of inlaid stones. With a grinding groan, a small trapdoor hissed open at the base of the wall, revealing a crawlspace just large enough for me.
I dropped to my hands and knees, sliding inside just as the sound of boots grew nearer. The trapdoor slammed shut behind me, the stone sealing seamlessly once again.
Darkness enveloped me.
The only light came from faint runes that glowed along the walls, guiding me as I crawled forward until the passage opened into a spiraling staircase. The air here was cooler, heavy with age. My breath echoed faintly as I began the descent, each step hollow beneath my boots.
Down and down I went, the spiral endless. Minutes stretched into fifteen, maybe more, until at last I reached the bottom. A door awaited me, its center marked by a glowing orb pulsing softly like a living heart.
I knew what it was. I'd seen its like before in another ruin.
Placing my hand upon the orb, I felt a tug as it siphoned mana straight from my core. My limbs grew heavy, the drain leaving me light-headed, but I endured. Mechanisms churned within the door: grinding gears, snapping locks, until finally a sharp click sounded.
The stone door shuddered, then slowly creaked open.
What lay beyond made me stop cold.
A vast chamber stretched out, its walls etched with luminous runes, bathing the space in silver-blue light. In its center stood a figure.
A woman.
Not just any woman, but one unlike any I had ever seen.
Her skin glowed with a dusky warmth, smooth and unblemished, as if carved from polished stone. Silvery-white hair cascaded over her shoulders in intricate braids, catching the light like strands of moonlight. Her ears tapered into elegant points, betraying unmistakable elven heritage.
Her eyes… golden, molten, alive with a fire that seemed to peer straight through me. They radiated wisdom and curiosity.
She wore black leather, its straps and buckles arranged in deliberate patterns that both concealed and revealed. The material gleamed in the rune-light, hugging her form while leaving swathes of skin bare. It was an ensemble of danger and allure, armor that looked as ready for seduction as it was for battle.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
Then, her lips parted, her voice smooth and edged like velvet over steel.
"Are you from the rescue party?"