The walls shook. This was no ordinary earthquake. It was the awakening of a force, as if the ancient fortress itself had sensed their presence and stirred. It was as though lightning raced through the stones of the walls, every brick, every joint trembling violently. Dust fell from the ceiling.
They moved away, like shadows.
The guards were coming. Their footsteps were louder now, closer. The clatter of their weapons, the sound of their harsh breathing, everything pointed to one truth, escape was now almost impossible.
The sound of the bells was still trembling in the distance, but their source no longer mattered. The signal had already been sent.
Narvi stood silently, saying nothing. Then he spoke roughly,
"Here,"
There was a sense of certainty in his voice. With a gesture of his hand, the mystery revealed itself.
The others looked.
The wall moved, not with force, but at the touch of Halem's palm. As if the wall itself had been waiting for his touch.
A massive pile of stone shifted silently, smoothly, revealing a hidden passage. This was no ordinary secret path. It was a forgotten tunnel, its walls carved with symbols that could drive the human mind into madness.
Halem was fleeing.
Mir followed him as well..
Through the collapsing museum, where stones were falling, the ceiling was splitting apart, and amid that destruction they moved forward, as if some unseen current was pushing them ahead, outward, toward freedom.
They tore themselves out of the chest of ruin and emerged outside. Before them appeared a spiral staircase descending into darkness. A descent. The staircase looked as if it plunged into the deepest womb of the earth, where light never enters, where only darkness and fear rule. Or deeper still. It felt as though they were descending toward the heart of the world, where all darkness and nightmares are born.
Open, empty, and terrifyingly silent.
Mursalin took the lamp in his hand. That light offered no comfort; instead, it reminded them how small they were in Ar Rauf's universe, how alone.
The stairs were narrow, the steps uneven, carved by hands that did not care for symmetry. The lower they went, the thicker and hotter the air became. The walls here were not stone, they were ribs, the arched skeleton of some monstrous creature, fossilised into the mountain.
They ran. The sound of their running echoed along the stairs, as if a thousand people were running together.
Bones and skeletons lay on the steps. But these skeletons were not lifeless. They were alive, moving, roaring, as if trying to crush them in the middle of their escape. Blue fire burned from their empty eye sockets, their teeth sharp like blades. With bony fingers they tried to seize the youths, and from their mouths came screams that threatened to tear eardrums apart.
The walls were not walls, but fossilised ribs of an ancient monster, its bones blackened by time and magic. These bones were so vast that they seemed like the remains of a mountain sized beast.
Suddenly the skeletons took on human shapes and began to attack.
Mursalin and the others struck back with knives and whatever they could use. The metallic clash of their weapons and their cries of battle merged into a dreadful roar. Sparks flew with every blow, as if they were fighting not iron, but fire itself.
And then, ahead, a flicker of movement. A shadow like figure running through the skeletal arches, clutching a smoking piece of paper in one hand. There was a desperate urgency in his movement.
Halem. Their companion, their friend, their betrayer.
The map glowed faintly in his grip, its edges burned away but its mysteries untouched.
The light of the map did not suddenly go out; instead, it grew deeper, not like fire, but like a star. Its dim glow passed through Halem's body and spread around him, as if he was no longer a single man, but a vessel.
Mursalin stepped forward, fire of doubt and rage burning in his eyes.
"He is burning it,"
There was fear in his voice. As if he could see all their hope turning to ash.
Around them echoed the howls of skeletons and darkness. The fang like entrance of the cavern trembled.
But Mir understood the situation. A look of realization appeared on his face.
"No,"
Mir said softly, but there was certainty in his voice.
"He is reading it."
Halem is running away from them. His running speed is like a deer,fast, smooth, but desperate. Behind him floats a strange kind of force, as if the map is pulling him toward an unknown destination.
The map is no longer visible. Its work is not finished in this place, not in this time. It has now mixed into blood, memory, and decisions. No one is the same as before. No one is completely innocent anymore.
Ahead, a vast chasm opens like a giant mouth, its entrance surrounded by towering, monstrous fangs. These teeth are so large and sharp that it feels as if they could snap shut at any moment and chew everything to pieces.
Halem's run ends far away, out of sight.
At this moment everything comes together. Running, collision, screams. Presences change. The idea of betrayal is no longer simple here. Realisation spreads like air, silent, yet heavy. When, how, it cannot be understood.
Behind them, the chasm is breathing. Deep, slow, satisfied. The stones of the tunnel shift again, as if the museum itself is stitching its own wounds.
The influence of the map remains. A pull, a direction, felt even in the air. It is no longer paper; it is a calling.
Night slowly deepens. In this land nothing was stolen, something was released. And what is released is never harmless. It does not show the path, it demands the path.
Memories of friendship grow hard, cracks in trust become clear. Those who went down into the darkness together did not come up together. This is the rule of the night, it does not divide everything equally.
Standing on this edge, it becomes clear, the true pursuit begins now. Not after crossing the walls, not after the guards, but after the shadows within themselves. The map's path goes one way, the human path another. From the meeting of these two, disaster is born.
The sky bears witness.
The night remains silent.
And the world, very slowly, prepares for its next chapter.