They kept running.
Stone blurred underfoot. Heat pressed closer with every step.
Magnolia broke the silence. "Baron. What do you know about Ahn."
Baron did not answer at once. Lightning crawled faint along his forearms, restless memory rather than threat.
"He was never only Egypt," Baron said. "He crossed borders early."
Valerie spoke next, calm, precise. Vines slid along her fingers as if remembering blood. "He reached Greece ten years ago. No banners. No warning. He moved city to city."
Calix nodded once. "He hunted one thing."
Magnolia's jaw set. "The stone."
"The Stone of Poseidon," Calix said. "He believed it could answer gods. Or bind them."
Poison muttered, "That explains the bodies."
Baron's voice hardened. "Hundreds died. Temples. Ports. Entire coastal districts erased. He carved through Greece with a smile."
Ren looked up sharply. "Did he get it?"
For a breath, no one answered.
Chloe turned her head slightly, eyes distant, calculating, like she was watching an old board reset itself.
"He's Ahn," she said. "Of course he did."
The weight of that landed harder than Sekhmet's pressure.
Emma swallowed. "If he has a sea god's stone and a war goddess."
"Then he's building something," Abraham said quietly. "Not chaos. Structure."
Magnolia clenched his fists. Fire flared, then steadied.
"Then we stop him here," he said. "Before he finishes the set."
Ahead, the air screamed.
Sekhmet was close now.
And somewhere behind her rage, laughter echoed.
The gates of the Pharaoh's arena stood open, scarred stone still warm from what had passed through.
Saijew's pact remained behind.
Sous sat on the steps near the inner wall, knees pulled in, eyes closed. He looked idle. He was not. Symbols traced themselves faintly across his palms, then vanished. He breathed once, slow, measured, like he was listening to something buried under the city.
Isamu paced.
His steps never strayed far from the gates. He stopped. Turned. Stopped again. His hands kept clenching, releasing, like he expected to feel ash where his son should be.
"I sent him out again," Isamu said quietly. "I felt him leave."
Kahn leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, blade resting point-down in the sand. "You didn't lose him."
Isamu looked at him. "You don't know that."
Kahn finally met his eyes. "I do. That boy has more will than everyone in this room combined. He doesn't break. He burns forward."
Asam joined them, resting a hand on Isamu's shoulder. His voice carried no heat, only certainty. "Magnolia chose to go. That matters. Gods notice choice."
Isamu exhaled, sharp, but nodded.
Nearby, the others tended to Saijew's injuries. The torn tendon had been bound. The wing that had shattered earlier rested folded, faint white light threading through it as it rebuilt itself piece by piece. Pain still lived there. So did patience.
Sous opened his eyes.
"They're moving," he said.
Kahn looked over. "You feel Sekhmet?"
Sous shook his head. "No. I feel the space around her changing. Like something rearranging pieces."
Asam stiffened. "Ahn."
Sous nodded once. "And more."
Across the arena, Saijew stood alone with the Pharaoh beneath the carved sun disk. The noise of the courtyard faded around them.
"It's working," Saijew said quietly. "The alignment. The awakenings. The seven."
The Pharaoh did not turn. "You sound unconvinced."
Saijew's jaw tightened. "Because it's too clean. Too fast. Every piece is falling into place without resistance."
The Pharaoh's golden eyes narrowed. "You believe we are being guided."
"Or herded," Saijew replied.
He glanced toward the gates, where his children had vanished into dust and fire. "The Seven were meant to balance the divine load. Not attract every god with a grudge."
"And yet they have," the Pharaoh said.
Saijew lowered his voice further. "Ahn knows the pattern. Greece. Egypt. Stones. Vessels. He isn't improvising. He's following a script older than any of us."
The Pharaoh finally faced him. "Do you regret starting this."
Saijew shook his head. "No. I regret how well it's succeeding."
A tremor passed through the arena. Not from Sekhmet. From somewhere farther out. Something testing the edges.
Sous rose to his feet.
"They're not alone," he said. "Magnolia's group just intersected another path."
Kahn smirked faintly. "Of course they did."
Isamu stared at the horizon, fear still present, but no longer ruling him. "Then let the paths collide."
Above them, the sun burned steady.
And somewhere beyond the gates, gods began paying attention.
Bubastis burned without flames.
Alexander felt it before he saw it. Pressure. Weight. A war god pressing his thumb into the back of his skull.
His pact moved with him.
Cyclone ran ahead, light on his feet, wind folding around his ankles. The city had thinned. Markets closed. Cats vanished from the streets. Even the priests had gone quiet.
"This place hates waiting," Cyclone muttered. "Feels like a breath held too long."
Alexander's molten eye flared once. "That means we're late."
They reached the edge of the old quarter. Cracked stone. Flood marks from years past. A temple ruin half-swallowed by ivy and sand. Bastet's sigil lay broken across the arch.
Alexander stopped.
The ground here remembered blood.
"She passed through," he said. "Not walking. Carried."
Cyclone crouched, fingers brushing the dust. Wind lifted grains, tracing a path invisible to the untrained eye. "Two sets of footprints. One light. One heavy. The heavy one laughed."
Alexander's jaw tightened. "Ahn."
The air shifted.
Not an attack. Not yet. A presence stepping aside instead of forward.
Alexander straightened. His aura bled out, red and gold, heat rippling the ground beneath his boots. The letters under his uniform burned brighter against his chest.
"Mars Strider."
Ares answered.
Not with words. With alignment.
His heartbeat slowed. Muscles coiled. Every instinct sharpened into a single directive. Advance. Break. Claim.
Cyclone felt it and grimaced. "You're doing the thing again."
Alexander didn't look at him. "Stay sharp."
They moved deeper. The ruin opened into a sunken courtyard. At its center, stone was melted smooth, like it had wept under heat. Symbols had been carved and shattered. A ritual circle, incomplete.
Cyclone whistled low. "They tried to wake her here."
"Tried," Alexander said. "Failed. Or changed the method."
A sound echoed from the far side. Soft. Deliberate.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Ahn stepped from behind a broken pillar.
No right hand. The sleeve ended clean, bound tight. His smile was wider for it.
"General," Ahn said. "You always arrive after the interesting part."
Alexander did not draw his weapon. "Where is she."
Ahn tilted his head. "Which one."
Cyclone shifted, wind curling sharp around his arms. "Careful."
Ahn laughed. "Relax, messenger. I already won this round."
Alexander's eye burned hotter. "You used a child."
Ahn's smile thinned. "I honored tradition. Gods love children. Pure vessels. Soft edges."
The air vibrated. Ares pushed.
Cyclone felt it and stepped sideways, anchoring the space. "Don't. He wants that."
Alexander exhaled once, controlled. Fire without strike.
"You're stalling," Alexander said. "Which means you're afraid."
Ahn leaned closer, voice low. "No. I'm curious. Nero sent you, didn't he."
Silence.
Ahn's eyes gleamed. "He always does. Sends his best soldiers to clean his messes. Tell me, general. When the lioness burns him too, will you still kneel."
Cyclone snapped, "We're done here."
Ahn raised his remaining hand. The shadows behind him peeled back like skin.
"You'll find her," he said lightly. "You always do. War gods hate loose ends."
He stepped backward into the veil.
"And Alexander," Ahn added, voice echoing from nowhere. "If you see the girl before she wakes. Run."
The veil closed.
The courtyard went still.
Cyclone swore under his breath. "I hate him."
Alexander stared at the scorched stone.
"He's not wrong," Alexander said.
Cyclone frowned. "About what."
Alexander turned, molten eye steady. "About Nero."
The ground trembled faintly. Far away. Not here.
Sekhmet moved.
Alexander lifted his helm, settling it into place. The red crest caught the light like a wound.
"Signal the pact," he said. "We move."
Cyclone grinned, wind snapping into place. "Finally."
They ran.
War followed.
The air outside the arena folded inward.
Not tore. Not shattered. Folded. Like reality decided to look the other way for a second.
Ahn stepped out.
Sand did not move under his feet. Wind did not touch his coat. The torches lining the outer ring dimmed, flames shrinking low and uneasy.
He stood there, head tilted, listening.
"So this is where you keep them," he murmured. "All the little sparks."
High above, the walls of the Pharaoh's arena loomed. Sigils pulsed faintly. Wards layered on wards. Old ones. Careful ones.
Ahn smiled wider.
Sous felt it first.
He stiffened on the steps, eyes snapping open. "He's here."
Kahn's blade was in his hand instantly. "Where.
"Outside," Sous said. "Not pushing in. Yet."
Saijew's remaining wing twitched. His expression darkened. "He's testing the locks."
Isamu moved to the gate without thinking. "Magnolia."
Asam caught his arm. "Not here. Feel it. He's baiting."
The Pharaoh rose from his seat.
The sun disk behind him flared brighter, gold bleeding into white. "Ahn," he said, voice carrying through stone and steel. "You stand at Egypt's threshold."
Ahn looked up, delighted. "And you still answer personally. I missed that."
Chains of light slid into place along the gate. The arena answered its king.
Ahn clasped his remaining hand behind his back. "Relax. I'm not here to steal. Not today."
Saijew limped forward, cane striking stone. "Then speak your piece and leave."
"Oh, I will," Ahn replied. His gaze drifted over the gathered pact. Over Sous. Over Isamu. Over the empty spaces where children had stood.
"You trained them well," he continued. "Too well. Seven flames, all burning at once. Very impressive."
Sous's fingers curled. Symbols flickered again, faster now.
"But you made one mistake," Ahn said softly. "You taught them to move."
The Pharaoh's eyes narrowed. "Leave."
Ahn laughed. "Soon."
He turned his head slightly, like he was listening to something far away. Rage. Joy. A roar muffled by distance.
"She's almost awake," he said. "You can feel it, can't you."
No one answered.
Ahn stepped backward, veil already gathering at his heels. "When she screams," he added lightly, "tell the boy I kept my promise."
The air folded again.
He was gone.
Silence slammed down hard.
Kahn exhaled. "I hate when he does that."
Saijew closed his eyes for a brief second. "He wanted us afraid."
Sous shook his head slowly. "No. He wanted us ready."
The Pharaoh stared at the gate, jaw set. "Then sound the inner watch."
Torches flared back to life.
And far from the arena, somewhere between cities and gods, something ancient drew breath.
The arena plunged into green.
Vines erupted again, thicker this time, layered with intent. They wrapped pillars, crushed benches, locked around throats and wrists. Frost raced along their surface, the temperature plunging hard enough to burn skin.
People screamed.
Then it broke.
Kahn roared.
Heat blasted outward from his body, raw and uncontrolled. The vines around him cooked from the inside out, ice flashing to steam in an instant. The floor cracked beneath his feet.
Saijew slammed his artifact down.
Space folded.
A portal tore open behind Delilah, wind screaming through it. He stepped through without hesitation and drove his heel into her back, launching her across the arena.
She rolled, skidded, came up coughing.
Sous did not wait.
His hammer manifested mid-swing, black and humming, and came down like judgment. The impact pulverized vines, stone, and ice in a single shockwave.
The arena breathed again.
The Pharaoh tore free of the last bindings. Asam staggered but stayed standing, frost melting from her armor. Isamu dragged himself upright, chest heaving.
Delilah stood across from them, blood on her mouth, eyes sharp.
"You should have stayed chained," Sous said, hammer resting on his shoulder.
Delilah smiled thinly. "Someone has to hold the gate."
The Pharaoh's gaze cut to Saijew. "She's stalling."
Saijew nodded. "He's close. Too close."
Kahn cracked his neck. "Temple."
Asam stepped forward, voice steady despite the cold still clinging to her skin. "We don't have time."
Sous planted himself between Delilah and the others. "Go."
Saijew hesitated a fraction of a second, then turned. The Pharaoh followed. Kahn and Asam moved with them, already running.
The arena doors blew open.
Sous faced Delilah alone.
She exhaled slowly. Vines crept back along her arms like living veins.
"You don't have to do this," he said.
"I do," she replied. "I chose this one."
They collided.
Hammer met thorns. Stone shattered. Vines regrew as fast as they were crushed, lashing, piercing, freezing the air around them. Sous swung with brutal precision, every strike meant to end it. Delilah danced backward, dragging the arena itself into the fight.
Outside, the city shook.
At the same moment, far from the arena, Magnolia stopped dead.
Fire flickered out of his hands.
His eyes narrowed.
Something pulled at his chest, sharp and wrong.
"The arena," he said. "Something's happening."
Poison turned immediately. "What kind of something."
"The bad kind," Magnolia answered. "Saijew wouldn't lose control like that."
Ren's jaw tightened. Emma's breath caught.
Magnolia turned toward the city, already moving. "We don't chase Sekhmet yet."
Poison followed. "You're sure."
Magnolia didn't slow. "I'm sure."
Behind them, far back at the arena, the ground cracked again as Sous and Delilah tore into each other.
And somewhere beyond the temple walls, something laughed.