They ran.
As fast as their battered legs could carry them, tearing through the sacred hall toward the chained doors ahead massive, ancient, and draped in thousands of rusted chains that hung like mourning veils.
Behind them, something stirred.
A heat wave surged forward, searing the air.
Fwoom—
A column of red flame erupted from behind, licking at their backs. Both Silas and Cendric screamed as their uniforms ignited across the shoulders, burning fabric curling and blackening mid-run.
"Gah!"
Their instincts screamed to look back but they didn't.
They didn't need to.
They felt it.
The gaze.
That thing with three heads.
The Thrifold Saint.
Watching them.
Its attention was like a weight on their souls something ancient, divine, and furious, staring down as if deciding whether to kill them.
But it didn't.
Not yet.
Maybe it couldn't. Maybe it didn't care. Maybe… they weren't even worth its wrath.
They didn't know.
They just ran.
