The shrieks grew louder.

From beyond the ruins, in the black abyss of the valley below, the night itself seemed to ripple. Wisps of shadow slithered between the trees, stretching unnaturally toward the temple like claws reaching from the void.

Kaelen’s grip tightened around his sword as his pulse quickened. There was no mistaking it—more shades were coming.

“We have to move. Now,” Varian hissed, already stepping toward the shattered temple entrance. His normally calm demeanor was laced with urgency.

“No arguments here,” Dain muttered, yanking his dagger free from the stone where it had lodged in the chaos.

Elira stumbled slightly, still recovering from the wraith’s chilling touch, but Kaelen caught her arm. “Can you run?”

She nodded. “I’ll manage.”

Orin’s eyes burned with an intensity unlike before. “If we do not leave now, none of us will live to see dawn.” He gestured toward the cube, now dimly glowing among the broken remains of the altar. “But we cannot leave that behind.”

The artifact pulsed faintly, as if aware of its own significance. Whatever power it contained had already stirred something dark—something that would not allow them to simply walk away.

Kaelen clenched his jaw. They had come for the cube. They couldn’t leave it behind.

“I’ll take it,” Elira volunteered.

“No,” Orin snapped. “It’s too dangerous. You’ve already been touched by its curse. The next time it may not let go.”

A moment of hesitation, then Varian stepped forward. “I’ll carry it.”

Kaelen’s eyes narrowed. “Why you?”

The rogue flashed a dry smirk. “Because if we’re being pursued, you’ll want the fastest among us holding the damn thing.”

As much as Kaelen hated to admit it, he was right.

Varian stepped toward the cube and carefully wrapped his gloved hands around it. The moment he lifted it from the shattered pedestal, the engravings on its surface flickered—just once, like a fading heartbeat—before falling dark again.

No immediate disaster. No violent tremors. Not yet.

“Let’s go,” Varian said, slipping the artifact beneath his cloak.

Kaelen turned to the exit. A low, guttural wail shuddered through the ruins, sending a fresh chill through his bones. He could see them now—the shades, materializing at the edge of the valley, their writhing forms creeping through the trees like living shadows.

There were too many.

“We’ll never outrun them,” Dain whispered.

“Then we don’t,” Orin said. “We slow them down.”

The old mage took a step forward, raising his staff high above his head. Arcane sigils flared to life along its length, and suddenly, the air around them felt charged—alive with magic.

Kaelen knew what was coming.

“Move!” he barked, grabbing Elira’s wrist and pulling her toward the temple entrance. Dain and Varian followed, darting through the crumbling archway just as Orin slammed the base of his staff into the ground.

The earth split apart.

A brilliant shockwave of golden light surged outward, striking the first wave of shades as they lunged forward. The creatures screamed in unholy agony as the magic seared through their shadowy forms, reducing some to cinders, others to writhing fragments that shrank back into the abyss.

But there were too many.

More were coming—hundreds.

Kaelen turned back. “Orin, let’s go!”

The old mage’s face was tight with strain, beads of sweat forming on his brow. The spell had cost him.

“I am coming,” he said, voice weary. He turned and followed, though his steps were slower than the rest.

The group sprinted down the ancient stone steps, their boots slipping against the rain-slicked surface. The temple loomed behind them, the last remnants of Orin’s spell flickering against the darkness before finally fading.

And then—the chase began.

Shades poured through the ruins, their elongated limbs stretching unnaturally as they raced forward, gliding over the ground like a tide of living darkness. The forest ahead offered their only escape, but Kaelen knew better than to believe the trees alone would shelter them.

“We need high ground,” he shouted between breaths.

“The cliffs!” Varian called back. “We can lose them in the ravines!”

It was their best chance.

The group veered left, cutting through dense foliage. Branches snapped beneath their feet, thorns tore at their cloaks, but they didn’t dare slow down.

Behind them, the shades howled. Closing in.

Kaelen risked a glance back—his heart lurched. They were fast.

“Elira—can you hit them?”

Elira didn’t respond. Instead, she whirled mid-stride, flicking both hands toward the shadows. A wave of blue fire erupted from her fingertips, streaking through the night like a comet.

It struck the frontmost shades, engulfing them in flames.

They screamed. A deafening, inhuman cacophony.

But the others did not stop.

Kaelen grit his teeth. They needed something bigger.

They burst through the last line of trees and onto a rocky ledge overlooking a deep ravine. The cliffsides stretched into the darkness, jagged and perilous, but a narrow path wound along the edge—a way down.

“We go that way,” Kaelen ordered, pointing toward the descent.

“We’ll be trapped,” Dain warned.

“We’ll be dead if we stay here,” Varian shot back.

That was all the convincing they needed.

One by one, they leapt onto the narrow path, scrambling down the steep incline. Loose stones crumbled beneath their boots, tumbling into the abyss below.

Kaelen was last—just as the first shades reached the ledge above.

They didn’t stop.

They jumped.

Straight for him.

Kaelen barely had time to react. One of the creatures crashed onto the path just behind him, its long, skeletal fingers stretching toward his throat. He spun, slashing his sword across its form—nothing. The blade passed through harmlessly.

The shade lunged.

Before it could reach him—

A bolt of golden light pierced its chest.

The creature let out a horrible shriek before disintegrating into nothing.

Kaelen turned.

Orin stood further down the path, staff still glowing. His face was pale, his breath heavy—but his eyes burned with unrelenting focus.

“Move,” the old mage rasped.

Kaelen didn’t hesitate.

They raced down the cliffside, the path twisting and narrowing until at last—solid ground.

And then—silence.

No more shrieks. No more movement.

Kaelen turned back, chest heaving.

The shades had stopped.

At the top of the cliff, the creatures writhed and twisted, their forms flickering like dying embers. They clawed at the air, but none followed.

Kaelen frowned. Why?

Then, he saw it.

A line of ancient runes—carved into the cliffside.

A barrier. A ward.

Something older than the temple itself.

“We weren’t running,” Orin said softly, staring up at the markings. “We were being herded.”

Kaelen’s blood ran cold.

Elira turned to him. “Then what now?”

Kaelen’s gaze shifted toward the valley ahead.

The path led deeper—somewhere.

And for better or worse, there was no turning back.

“We keep going,” he said.

To be continued...