The shriek of the horn echoed again, louder—closer.
Arena's breath hitched. The air was changing, growing thicker, like the realm itself was suffocating them.
Peter grabbed her wrist. "We have to move. Now."
Behind them, the tunnel rumbled. The bones of the shattered gate twitched unnaturally, then began to pull themselves back together.
"They're trying to seal it again," Peter muttered.
Arena didn't need convincing. She ran.
The tunnel ahead twisted sharply, the ground slick with moisture and shadow. Every few steps, the walls shuddered, dust raining from above.
"Where are we even going?" she panted, dodging a jagged stone jutting from the ground.
"To the next anchor point," Peter replied. "There's a place where the realm thins—it's unstable, but if we make it, we'll be harder to track."
Arena didn't ask what would happen if they didn't make it.
The answer was pounding toward them.
She could hear it now—feet. Many of them. Fast, heavy, inhuman.
Behind them, the tunnel began to split open. Massive cracks zigzagged along the floor, and twisted limbs began to reach out—arms made of smoke and bone, trying to grab her ankles.
She screamed and leapt forward, barely avoiding their grasp.
"Don't stop!" Peter yelled, slashing at the smoky limbs with his dagger as they emerged from the walls.
The tunnel tilted suddenly, a violent tremor nearly throwing them off balance.
Arena slammed into Peter, but he caught her, yanked her upright, and pushed her forward. "Go!"
A roar burst through the darkness behind them—low, guttural, ancient.
Arena didn't look back.
She couldn't.
The tunnel ceiling cracked. A chunk of rock crashed down just behind her, smashing one of the reaching arms. Another fell in front of them—narrowly missing Peter.
They were being herded.
"No, no, no…" Peter whispered.
"What?" Arena asked, panting.
"They're driving us toward the Shifting Path."
"Sounds poetic."
"It's not. It's a death sentence."
Another quake hit. This one split the tunnel into two paths up ahead.
One was dark, silent.
The other glowed faintly, the ground swirling like liquid glass.
"The one on the left," Peter said quickly. "Take the left!"
But Arena's mark pulsed violently.
Her body jerked—toward the right.
"Peter!" she cried. "I can't move—I think—"
Her foot touched the glowing path.
The world lurched.
A soundless scream tore through her chest as the ground beneath her dissolved like quicksand, and she was falling.
Peter lunged, grabbed her arm just in time.
He held on, face twisted with effort.
"Arena—look at me! Don't let go!"
"I'm slipping!" she choked out, her fingers sweating against his.
Then, from the shadows above them—
A voice.
Soft. Gentle.
"Let her go, Peter. She belongs here now."
Arena's head snapped up.
Standing on the ledge above the collapsing tunnel was a woman in white.
She had Freya's face.
But her eyes…
They weren't human.
TO BE CONTINUED…