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The escape was a chaotic blur of blinding light and shattering darkness. Aki beat his newly-born, enormous wings with a desperate, instinctual power, tearing away from the Architect's damaged palace. The roar of the enraged god echoed across Acheron, a promise of endless pursuit. But Aki couldn't run forever. The pain from his torn back was immense, and the pure power that fueled him—Lyra's essence—was rapidly being consumed by the strenuous effort.
His priority was not distance, but immediate sanctuary. He needed a moment to breathe, to heal the child god, and to assess the terrifying state of Kael. Gathering the last of his focus, Aki channeled a final surge of divine energy, forcing a temporary tear in reality. He didn't know where it led, only that it was away from here. He plunged through the shimmering void, dragging Kael and the child god with him.
They landed hard on solid ground. The air was cool, smelling faintly of clean earth and ancient stone—a stark contrast to the corrupted air of Acheron. They were in a hidden, desolate pocket dimension, safe for now. Aki gently lowered the still-unconscious child god onto a patch of soft moss. He released the white magical chain that bound Kael, who collapsed in a dizzy, pained heap nearby.
A wave of absolute, crippling weakness slammed into Aki. The cost of the escape was immediate and brutal. He felt the light within him dim to a fragile spark. His body, pushed beyond all mortal limits, failed him. He sat down heavily on the cold ground, fighting a dizzying nausea.
Then, the coughing started. It was a deep, racking spasm that felt like it was tearing his lungs apart, forcing dark remnants of the Architect's malice from his body. His magnificent, blood-stained wings, which had just carried a god and two men to safety, lay motionless on the ground at each side, heavy and inert, a silent testament to his exhaustion. He was utterly vulnerable.
He gasped for air, his focus entirely on the agonizing coughs—which was the fatal mistake.
A silent, impossibly swift presence moved behind him. Before Aki could even register the shift in the air, a cold, vice-like grip clamped down on his throat, cutting off his airway. The sudden, brutal shock stopped his coughing instantly. A thin, cold blade—a dagger—pressed hard against the delicate skin of his neck, right where the pulse point hammered in terrified confusion.
The attacker was small, deadly, and had moved with a cunning that surpassed the Architect's own direct malice. He wasn't Kael, whose whimpers of pain could be heard a few feet away. He wasn't the child god. He was an unknown factor, a third party who had found their moment of weakness.
Aki's eyes widened in sheer, breathless terror. Who?
The grip tightened, and a low, guttural voice hissed against his ear—a voice that spoke a language not of the living, but of shadows and forgotten oaths.
The instinct to survive, the final flicker of Lyra's will, took over. Even though the dagger was at his throat, Aki managed to slam his elbow back into his attacker's ribcage with a desperate, blinding speed. The attacker grunted, the grip momentarily loosening. Aki wrenched his throat free, gasping for the air that had been stolen from him, and rolled away in a desperate scramble, his hands glowing with a final, feeble light.
The attacker moved back just as quickly, melting into the deeper shadows of the grove, the glint of the dagger the only visible sign of the new, silent threat. Aki pushed himself onto his knees, coughing violently, the blood running down his throat, his magnificent, useless wings splayed out behind him. The fight for survival had just begun again.