She glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes locking with his, and there was something unsettling in the way she looked at him—almost as if she could see through him, through every shred of his fear.
"There are doors," she said, her voice soft, but laced with an unspoken weight. "But you will have to find them. They will not be marked. They will not be easy."
His throat tightened, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin. His heart hammered in his chest as his mind scrambled to keep up. "What do you mean, 'not easy'?" he asked, trying to steady his voice, though it cracked under the weight of his dread.
She smiled faintly, lips curving just enough to reveal a hint of amusement, like she knew something he didn't. "The road to freedom is never simple," she replied. "The cost of leaving... is something you'll understand soon enough."
He took a step toward her, his breath catching in his throat. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a strange mix of defiance and desperation.
Her smile deepened, darkening the air between them. "The dagger, of course," she said with chilling calmness, as though the answer were obvious. "The one you clung to so tightly. It will be your price. Without it, you cannot leave."
His stomach churned at the mention of the dagger. He had thought of it as his lifeline—his only weapon, his only hope. But now it was clear: it was the cost, the very thing that stood between him and any chance of escape.
"You want me to give it up?" he said slowly, the words tasting foreign, like they didn't belong to him. The thought alone made his pulse spike, his grip tightening on the hilt of the dagger.
She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes. Let it go, and you'll have your way out. But the way forward won't be simple. The road will be dark, and it will be long. Are you willing to pay that price?"
He felt a shudder run through him at her words, the weight of her gaze pressing down on him like a physical force. His mind screamed at him to hold on to the dagger, to fight, to keep the small scrap of control he had left. But his heart told him the truth: without it, there was no way out.
The minutes dragged on, an eternity in the space between them. And then, with a heavy exhale, he nodded, the decision settling like a stone in his stomach.
"I'll do it," he said, his voice rough and raw. "Take it. Just… show me the way out."
She gave a soft, almost imperceptible smile before stepping aside, her eyes glinting with something he couldn't place—something that both intrigued and terrified him.
As she stepped aside, her gaze turned colder, more distant, as if some unseen force had drawn her attention elsewhere.
"The path is not straightforward," she said, almost as an afterthought, her words trailing off as she gestured toward a series of looming structures in the distance. They looked like ancient stone archways, each more twisted and ornate than the last. "Follow the path that feels wrong, and you'll find what you seek. The exit... it's always closer than you think."
His heart hammered in his chest as the air seemed to grow heavier, denser, suffocating him with each passing second. He hesitated, torn between the gnawing fear and the fading hope she had given him. His hand, still clutching the hilt of his dagger, felt like it belonged to someone else.
But then a sound pierced the air—a low, guttural growl that rumbled through the ground beneath him. A sound that froze his blood in his veins. His breath hitched, and his eyes darted around, searching for the source.
A figure emerged from the shadows: massive, hulking, with twisted limbs and glowing eyes. The air around it seemed to warp, as though it were made of pure malevolence. It was a thing of nightmare, something beyond comprehension—its very presence enough to drive a man mad with fear.
He didn't wait to see if it would approach; he turned and ran, instinct taking over as his feet pounded against the unforgiving stone.
He could hear it following him, its growl vibrating through the ground, getting louder with each step. Panic surged, the world narrowing to the sound of his breath, his pounding heart, and the relentless thudding of the creature's pursuit. His grip on the dagger tightened, his thoughts scrambling for a plan, but there was nothing he could do. His primary hand, once his weapon, was useless. He couldn't fight, couldn't defend himself—he could only run.
The arches loomed ahead, and as he ran toward them, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were closing in on him, pushing him forward into some unknown fate.
His mind raced. The name she had given him—the name she had spoken without hesitation. It echoed in his thoughts, clawing its way to the forefront of his fear-stricken mind. Valeria Messalina.
The sound of the creature's footsteps was almost deafening now. His legs burned, and his breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. He couldn't stop. He couldn't slow down. The arches were so close now, but so was the thing behind him. He had to make it.
He couldn't help it. The name repeated in his mind, like a chant. Valeria Messalina. The name that had slipped so easily from her lips. Why did it sound so familiar? Why did it make his stomach churn with a sense of dread that went beyond his situation?
His thoughts flashed—distant, half-formed memories. Valeria Messalina. The name belonged to someone who had once been a symbol of power. A woman who had risen to unimaginable heights, only to fall with a brutal crash. A woman whose legacy was tainted by scandal, betrayal, and madness. Her name had echoed through the halls of history, whispered by those who had feared her, and those who had sought to use her.
But now, in the midst of his flight, it felt like nothing more than a weight on his chest, something he couldn't escape. The knowledge of who she had been, of what she had done, only made his terror worse.
The arches were so close now. He could feel the oppressive weight of the creature behind him. His chest tightened with desperation. Valeria Messalina—what had she done to him? Why had she sent him this way? Was it some cruel game she played, or was she truly trying to help him?
The question echoed in his mind as he dove through the first archway, the shadow of the beast just behind him. He barely registered the sensation of crossing the threshold—just the overwhelming sense that something had shifted, something irrevocable.
He stumbled forward, eyes wide, heart pounding as the world around him seemed to bend and stretch in impossible ways. But ahead, the arches stretched into an even darker abyss, each one leading deeper into the unknown. There was no turning back now.
End of Chapter.