The tunnels wound deeper beneath the Hollow, the air thick with something Raine couldn't quite name. Not magic, not rot—just age. Whatever this place had been before, it had been buried for a reason.
Now, it was something else.
The Weaving Society.
Kael led him through corridors that twisted and narrowed, then suddenly widened into vast halls lined with bookshelves and alcoves carved into the rock. It was nothing like the Arcanum's pristine, orderly chambers. This place felt lived in—voices echoed through the tunnels, people moving with purpose. Torches burned low, their flames flickering in unseen drafts.
It didn't feel like a rebellion.
It felt like a hidden city.
Raine took it all in carefully, his footsteps light as they passed a series of interconnected chambers. In one, a group of people sat cross-legged, whispering in hushed tones as Essence swirled between their hands, shifting like liquid light. In another, a pair of fighters sparred in a makeshift training ring, their weapons infused with magic that left trails of energy in the dim air.
This wasn't just a refuge.
It was an operation.
A shadow stepped into their path.
Raine stiffened.
The man before them was tall and lean, his dark clothing simple but well-fitted. He carried no visible weapons, but there was something in the way he **held himself—**a quiet, practiced control, every movement measured.
His gaze flicked between Kael and Raine, cold. Unreadable.
"You brought him."
It wasn't a question.
Kael didn't break stride, but his tone shifted slightly. "He's here. That was the deal."
The man's sharp gaze settled on Raine, assessing.
Raine clenched his jaw. He was done being measured.
The man tilted his head slightly, as if noting something, then turned back to Kael. "Ezren's waiting."
Kael only nodded, motioning for Raine to follow.
The tension didn't ease as they moved deeper into the underground stronghold.
Finally, they entered what looked like a council chamber of sorts—a broad, open space with a long wooden table at its center, surrounded by scattered books and maps. More figures moved in the background, murmuring over documents and reports.
At the far end of the table, a man stood waiting.
Raine took him in quickly—short-cropped hair, lean but not frail, a presence that filled the room without effort. His posture was deceptively casual, but his eyes—**sharp and cutting—**missed nothing.
This had to be Ezren.
Kael stopped a few feet away. "He made it."
Ezren studied Raine in silence. Then, finally, "Did he, now?"
The words sent a chill down Raine's spine.
Ezren stepped forward, his gaze settling fully on him. "You don't look like much."
Raine exhaled through his nose. "Thanks."
Ezren's lips twitched slightly, though no humor reached his eyes. "Kael thinks you're worth the risk. I'm not convinced."
Raine bristled. "I didn't ask to be here."
"No," Ezren agreed. "But you are here. And that means you're a problem I need to deal with."
Raine clenched his fists. "If you don't want me here, I can leave."
Ezren chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "And go where?"
Raine stiffened.
Ezren's expression darkened slightly. "You think you're the first Abyss-Touched to show up at our doorstep?"
Raine hesitated.
Ezren continued. "We've seen others. Not many, but enough. And do you know what happened to them?"
Raine swallowed.
"None of them lasted long," Ezren said. "Some died. Others lost themselves. The Abyss doesn't just go away." His gaze sharpened. "It takes."
The words settled over Raine like ice.
He forced himself to breathe. "Then why take me in?"
Ezren glanced at Kael. "Because your friend here is willing to stake his name on you. And because the Arcanum wants you dead."
Kael's expression didn't change, but Raine caught the slight shift in his posture—an acknowledgment.
Ezren exhaled, his gaze narrowing. "The Weaving Society isn't a charity. We don't take in strays just because they're hunted. You want to stay, you prove you belong here."
Raine met his stare. "And if I don't?"
Ezren tilted his head slightly. "Then I suggest you start running now."
The weight of the words settled in Raine's chest.
This wasn't sanctuary.
It was a test.
And if he failed—
No one here would save him.