The torchlight flickered against the jagged walls of the canyon pass as Zee crouched beside the wind-carved rocks. His cloak, still torn from the temple skirmish, fluttered like a shadow dragged by thought. In the distance, the Cult's black-cowled search parties circled-tense, disoriented, and looking for one thing: answers.
And he had just enough of a lie to give them one.
---
Hours earlier, Zee had retraced his way back into Cult territory alone, avoiding patrols, weaving through cliff paths and forgotten gullies, mind spiraling. He didn't have the relic. Worse-Sevi and Torren were in chains. He had barely escaped when the Cult's reinforcements flooded the inner sanctum. There were too many of them, and despite the guilt gnawing at his gut, he knew trying to fight through alone would end with three corpses, not two.
The only weapon he had now... was a good story.
---
Zee let them catch him.
The Cult's enforcers slammed him to his knees in a fire-lit chamber. Crude bronze symbols of ash and eye watched from the walls. His blade had been taken. His hands bound. But his voice was still his own.
"I never wanted the relic," he said, eyes lowered, voice slow. "I was paid to steal it."
The high acolyte glared down at him, her neck painted in red chalk sigils. "By whom?"
"The Syndicate," Zee replied, carefully pronouncing each syllable. "They knew your temple was vulnerable. They threatened my crew. Paid us to breach it. Told us exactly where to go."
A pause.
He didn't mention Vestule. Didn't say Sevi's name. Just let the room fill with smoke and rising tension.
"You... were coerced?" she asked.
Zee let silence be his answer, then added softly, "The relic's gone. Taken from me in the pass before I could deliver it. Probably already on its way to the Syndicate's black vault."
---
He was thrown out, bruised but breathing. But he'd seen what he needed-rage behind their rituals. The Cult believed him.
By the next dusk, their banners rode toward Syndicate checkpoints.
---
The war began in borderlands. Fires lit forests. Supply lines vanished overnight. While the two powers dragged each other into open conflict, Zee slipped through the smoke and blood to the lower dungeons of the Cult's forward camp.
Sevi was battered but alive, her voice raspy as he sliced her restraints. "You're late."
Torren had a dislocated shoulder and a blackened eye. "Told her you'd come."
"I nearly didn't," Zee muttered. "Too many guards. I should've run."
"But you didn't," Sevi said quietly.
Zee said nothing.
---
They didn't speak much as they escaped, but by the time they reached the edge of the canyon, with war drums echoing behind them, a fragile thread had been spun between the three.
Not just survival. Not just convenience.
Something sharper.
Something like loyalty.