News traveled fast in the pits.
Mostly because Aziz could see it before he heard it.
Marcus was sprinting towards him, his footfalls echoing down the tunnel as Aziz patrolled near the now more dimly lit pathways.
Delilah had been busy adding whatever light sources she could manage, having grown tired of constantly bumping into walls in the dark.
While Aziz hadn't stopped her, he didn't like it in the least. Sometimes he would retreat to the darkness of the temple, relishing the solitude for hours. Shadows were his comfort, his natural state—light felt like an invasion.
Finally, Marcus reached him, sweat streaming down his face, his breathing ragged. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
Aziz raised an eyebrow, arms folded behind his back, his posture that of a commander waiting on a messenger's report.
"We have a problem," Marcus managed to gasp out.
"Tell the cultists to deal with it. I must get back to training soon," Aziz replied, a note of impatience in his voice.
He had just begun mastering the first Mystical Art of Serpent Fang Xiang.
When it came to their spies, Roof mostly handled the cultists with ease.
Aziz had granted him a semblance of authority, trusting him to carry out orders without needing constant oversight.
There were limits—each slave was linked to Aziz's internal energy, and managing too many at once drained him.
The more connections he held, the weaker his control over each one became.
"The cultists were all sent to spy on the Iron Hearts last night. Roof told me to come get you," Marcus said, finally standing up straight, his breathing steadying. "It's Lady Nessa. The Queen's Hand is outside, and they came with an army."
Aziz's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. Something isn't right, he thought.
Marcus seemed to pick up on the tension, his gaze searching Aziz's face for a response.
"It looks like she's preparing for a siege," Marcus pressed. "We need to know what to do."
Aziz's hesitation evaporated. With a curt nod, he turned, his voice low but decisive. "Let's go."
In a flash, he sprinted down the tunnel, moving with an agility that left Marcus struggling to keep up. The Master of the Divine Snake Cult moved like a shadow, slipping through the dim passages, leaving only the faint echo of his footsteps in his wake.
The faint, sibilant hisses of Mal echoed through Aziz's hair as the black-death snake shifted, barely able to hide in his long, dark mane anymore.
"Master, something isn't right," Mal's voice rasped, much larger now, his tone was deeper and more guttural, vibrating through Aziz's bones with each word. "The Queen's Hand has no reason to attack us. We only struck at the Iron Hearts."
"It seems we underestimated Lord Raven," Aziz muttered, his gaze narrowing as he quickened his pace. "The Iron Hearts appear willing to go to any length to win this exam."
Their spies had reported troubling news—rumors of ambushes targeting the Queen's Hand's hunting and gathering parties. The details were sparse, but it wasn't hard to imagine the Iron Hearts staging these attacks to frame the Divine Snake Cult, forcing Lady Nessa into action.
Reaching the gates, Aziz spotted Roof peeking through a small hole, propping himself up with his sword scabbard. His injuries were healing, thanks to the dried snake meat from the temple's stores, but he was far from fighting condition. Beside him, Delilah gripped a spear gifted from a sponsor.
"Report," Aziz commanded as he approached the gate. Roof stepped aside, allowing him to look through the small opening.
Aziz's gaze sharpened, and he let out a low whistle. Beyond the gate, a band of fifty or so teenagers stood, each clad in leather armor, clutching spears and makeshift shields.
In the center of their formation, perched on a rough wooden stump, was a young woman with strikingly cold beauty—Lady Nessa. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, framing a face marked by fierce, intelligent eyes. Two bodyguards flanked her, both watching their surroundings with sharp, predatory awareness.
"Well," Aziz murmured to himself, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "She brought quite the entourage."
Delilah edged closer, her grip tightening on the spear. "What are they doing here Master Ghost?" she whispered.
"It seems Lady Nessa has decided to confront the 'Ghost' herself," Aziz replied, an edge of irony in his tone.
Lady Nessa stepped forward, her voice ringing out confidently through the trees, addressing the Gates of Hell to the pits with authority that bordered on regal.
"Ghost!" she called, her voice carrying over the silent crowd of young soldiers. "I know you can hear me. You and your cult have terrorized these woods long enough. Surrender yourself and spare your followers further pain. Step out now, and I give you my word as Lady of the Queen's Hand that mercy will be shown to those who have aided you. But if you force me to enter that darkness, I will bring it down around you. This forest is not yours to rule!"
From his vantage point, Roof snorted softly. "Oh, she's laying it on thick, isn't she?" he muttered, leaning against the wall with a faint, irreverent smirk.
Delilah shot him an irritated glance.
"This isn't funny, Roof," she said, her tone tense. She turned to Aziz, worry clear in her eyes. "You're not seriously going to give yourself in, are you Ghost?"
Aziz looked at her, eyebrow raised. "What made you think I was even considering it?"
Before Delilah could respond, Marcus stumbled up to them, panting heavily from his sprint. He'd clearly come as quickly as he could from wherever he'd been, and just in time to hear Delilah's next words.
"There are too many of them," she glanced nervously back toward the closed gates. "You can't fight all of them alone…"
Aziz gave no reply, his gaze fixed on the shadowy figures beyond the gate.
Delilah drew in a shaky breath, her jaw setting with newfound resolve. "Then I'm coming with you."
Aziz's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise.
"There's no need for that," he replied calmly, though there was an edge of something else in his voice—perhaps approval, perhaps caution.
Marcus said nothing, wisely choosing to stay silent. Roof and Delilah were still unaware that he could speak, and it was best to keep it that way. In these dangerous woods, secrets were as valuable as any weapon.
Delilah's gaze remained steadfast, her eyes meeting Aziz's. "Do you have a plan?"
The question lingered in the air, almost lost in the flickering torchlight. Mal, coiled in Aziz's hair, let out a soft, echoing hiss, as though he too were inquiring after the Cult Master's intentions.
Everyone had grown accustomed to the snake by now. Roof, ever the noble strategist, had taken it upon himself to declare Mal a "divine marking," the symbol of Aziz's destined role as Cult Master. When Aziz had questioned him on the need for such theatricality, Roof had replied with his usual blend of seriousness and whimsy: "It's important for a leader to have legitimacy behind his reign."
Roof had even gone so far as to gesture toward Mal and say, "The mystical lends credence to your rule. The material legitimacy—the respect and awe—we can build up over time."
Now, Roof waited quietly, his gaze fixed on Aziz, a rare patience in his demeanor as he awaited his Cult Master's decision.
Aziz turned to him, nodding in acknowledgment.
"Well, it seems we have no choice but to begin," Aziz said, his voice low and steady. "It may not be Lord Raven leading them, but Nessa's presence is trouble enough. We have to act."
A faint smile crept across Roof's face, a glint of excitement flashing in his eyes.
"Excellent," he murmured, the anticipation unmistakable. It was as if the noble lived for moments like these, for the thrill of the unknown, the rush of impending conflict.
Aziz took a deep breath, glancing at each of them in turn—Marcus, Delilah, and finally Roof. Each of them carried something unique to bring to this moment, a strange, bunch of misfits bound by circumstance and survival.
"Here's what we're going to do," Aziz began, his tone calm.