The air grew colder as they descended, the light from the tavern vanishing behind them.
The narrow passage twisted like a serpent beneath the city—cramped, damp, and carved from ancient stone.
The sound of their footsteps echoed unnaturally, like they were being swallowed by the dark.
Freya moved like a wraith, like she owned the shadows, guiding the others through the gloom.
The blood trail was no longer just a scent—it was a presence, pulsing, beckoning.
"They're close," she whispered.
Suddenly, the tunnel forked. One path veered left, sloping downward, while the other led straight ahead into deeper shadow.
Freya knelt, sniffed the air, and touched the ground. "This way," she said, motioning to the left.
They pushed forward, torches flickering against the stone walls, breath tight with anticipation.
Then—they heard it.
A sound.
Metal on metal.
A faint creak.
And a child's muffled cry.
Aldrich froze. "Gale."
He surged forward, but Freya threw out an arm to block him. "Wait."
Her eyes narrowed.
Something wasn't right.
A faint shimmer of mana crackled in the air—half-hidden in the dirt.
"Watch out," she hissed.
Too late.
The floor gave out beneath them with a deafening crack.
Freya tried to leap back, but the stone crumbled beneath her boots.
"Damn it!" Callum cursed and lunged forward.
Mayor Aldrich shouted something—but it was drowned by the sound of earth collapsing.
They plunged downward into the dark.
Freya hit the ground hard, dust and pain bursting through her body.
She rolled, coughed—and opened her eyes just in time to see movement in the shadows.
It's him.
The silver-eyed man.
He stepped out from the gloom—hood off this time, face to face with Freya.
"Well well well, this is a pleasant surprise," his voice hoarse and cold. "We meet again. Little one."
He held Gale by the collar, a curved dagger pressed to the boy's throat.
Freya's eyes widened in surprise. "Pointy ears?"
"You're an elf?"
She silently reached for her scythe—
But the elf noticed. He raised a finger and grinned.
"Move, and the boy dies."
Freya's fingers froze.
Her crimson eyes locked onto the kidnapper's glowing silver ones, reading the madness—or cruelty—lurking behind them.
The blade at Gale's throat trembled ever so slightly, but the boy didn't move.
Or maybe he was just unconscious again.
Freya straightened slowly. Dust swirled through the underground chamber, stirred by her pulsing mana.
It was just her, the elf, and Gale. The others hadn't landed nearby—at least, not within reach.
She needed to send a message: she wasn't defenseless without weapons.
"All right, let's not be hasty," she said softly, raising both hands. "You want something. That's why he's still alive. So talk."
The elf tilted his head, smile curling wider. "Clever little leech."
Freya didn't blink. "Better a leech than a coward who needs a child for leverage."
The elf's smile faltered—for a second.
Then he leaned down, pressing his cheek mockingly against Gale's head. "Oh, but this child is special. Can't you sense it?"
"He reeks of magic. Tastes like it too, I'd wager. The mayor didn't even know what he was raising. But I do."
Freya's heart thudded once. Slowly.
She studied the man—no, the elf—before her.
His aura was wrong. It shimmered like heat above sand, distorting his silhouette. Not just mana—something older.
Something Freya knew well.
Death.
"You look like an elf," she said. "But you're not one. You're something else."
He chuckled. "That goes for you too. You're definitely not a little girl."
"Let me guess... demonkin? Rare to see one in human lands these days.
"What do you want with the boy?" Freya asked, voice steady as iron.
The elf leaned back and took a good look at her.
"Coins," he said, still watching her. "Or maybe… a bargaining chip. Depends on who pays more. I haven't decided yet."
Freya raised an eyebrow. "Coins? You went through all this... for money?"
"Are you kidding me?"
"You're stalling," the elf said suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Waiting for your friends to join the party?"
Freya smirked. "What can I say? I like big parties."
The elf grin returned. "So do I."
Without warning, something burst from the ground—a large figure, cloaked in dust and shadow.
Freya's mana flared. She recoiled instinctively.
It was the other one.
The second kidnapper.
Taller. Broader. But the same silver eyes glowing beneath a hood.
In his hands—twin crescent blades, curved like dying moons, humming with magical resonance.
Freya clicked her tongue. "I was starting to wonder where you were."
The first elf chuckled. "Meet my associate. He doesn't talk much, but he loves to cut."
The second elf didn't even bother to exchange words with Freya. He just lunged.
And the first elf was also on the move, he threw Gale away like a sack of wheat and followed.
They wanted to end this quickly!
Freya dove sideways, dirt scattering as one of the crescent blades slashed where her head had just been.
The air screamed with the speed of it—swift, lethal, precise.
She landed hard, boots skidding against the stone, rolled to her feet—and thought of summoning the Reaper's Scythe.
Wait. That's not a good idea.
The chamber's too narrow. I can't swing my scythe in here.
With that thought, Freya called on the one skill that would still work.
"Go, my children. Find your prey." [Bat Swarm]
A deep, resonant hum filled the air as a black magic circle flared to life.
Shadows thickened, curling like smoke around the circle's edges.
Then, with a sudden, bone-chilling screech, the center ruptured—and a swirling cloud of bats erupted from the void.
Hundreds of them burst forth in a chaotic spiral, their wings slicing the air with rapid, leathery flaps.
The chamber filled with the sound of frenzied fluttering, like a thousand tiny whips cracking in unison.
The bats screamed as they flew, eyes glowing faint red in the dark, forming a living storm of horror that spiraled toward the elves.
"Bat summoning?" the first elf froze, voice disbelieving. "That's vampire magic. But your kind should be extinct!"
Even the second elf was stunned for a moment.
That was all Freya needed.
She vanished—blending into the shadows of the bats. And reappeared beside Gale.
She picked him up without a word, He was light. And cold. But alive.
Her mana surged, feeding speed into her limbs as she turned and bolted through the swirling chaos of wings and screeches.
The bats shrieked and dove around her like a living cloak, buying her precious seconds.
But not for long.
She could already feel the elves cutting through the swarm, their enchanted blades humming louder with each strike.
Shit! I need to get outta here.
Freya channeled a pulse of mana to her legs and made a leap through the hole that she'd fallen from. Then ran like hell.
"Hang on, little guy," she muttered under her breath.[Haste]
Behind her, a blast of mana pulsed—hot, angry. The swarm was thinning.
Another tunnel split off to the right.
Freya didn't hesitate.
She veered into it, letting instinct—and the faint trail of mana from her allies—guide her like a thread in the dark.
The echoes of pursuit followed. Fast. Too fast.
"They're really not letting me go, are they?" She sprinted on, like shadow within shadows.
Minutes passed in a blur. But the footsteps were getting louder.
They were gaining.
And suddenly, Freya saw it.
A glimmer of silver light ahead—cold, pale, and unmistakable.
Moonlight.
Her heart kicked into a sprint of its own. That meant the surface. An exit.
She surged forward, feet pounding over stone and dirt,
Gale still cradled tightly in her arms. The wind shifted. She could feel it now—fresh air, open sky, freedom.
Behind her, the tunnels roared with pursuit. The elves were relentless, slicing through bats and shadows like they were paper.
But Freya had no time to look back.
She burst through the final archway with a grunt—and stumbled into open air.
Grass.
Wind.
Stars above.
She blinked, stunned for a heartbeat.
She was no longer in the city.
All around her, golden stalks rustled in the night breeze—tall and swaying, bathed in moonlight like a sea of silver fire.
A wheat field.
"What the hell…" she breathed, slowing just enough to glance around.
And then, she saw the town behind her. " The tunnel led out of the town?"
Gale stirred in her arms, letting out a weak, groggy sound. like he was regaining consciousness.
Freya exhaled sharply and kept moving, weaving through the stalks, feet crunching against soft soil.
She had to get back.
The wheat parted like curtains.
Then—whrrrkk!
"Shit!" She ducked as a silver blade slashed through the field behind her.
And It boomeranged back to its owner—the silent elf.
He'd caught up.
"Oh, come on," Freya groaned. "Gimme a break."
She grit her teeth and sprinted full speed toward the town gates.
The silent elf pursued.
And the talkative one limped after them, slowed—but not out.
The town gate was in sight—just a few dozen strides away, lit faintly by the glow of watchfires and lanterns.
Almost there.
Freya's breath burned in her throat, every step pounding with urgency.
But so was her pursuer.
The silent elf was gaining.
And this time, he didn't just throw one blade.
He threw two.
Twin crescent moon-blades whirled through the air, silver arcs slicing with lethal precision—one to the left, one to the right.
Freya skidded to a halt.
Shhk-thunk!
The blades embedded themselves into the ground ahead of her, forming a deadly barrier that cut off her path.
Before she could leap over or dart around, a shadow came from above.
The silent elf was already airborne.
A black silhouette against the moonlight—descending fast, with a deadly drop kick.
Freya's eyes widened. No time to think.
She bent backward, spine arching like a bow, and launched into a desperate backflip—just barely evading the strike.
BOOM!
The impact hit the ground like a war drum.
Stone fractured beneath him, spiderweb cracks rippling outward from the crater where his boots landed.
Dust exploded into the air.
The force of it sent Freya stumbling mid-flip—but she landed, crouched, skidding back, but she still cradled Gale in her arms.
The silent elf adjusted his stance, in one smooth, snake-like motion, he scooped up both crescent blades and darted forward again, faster this time—closing the distance with surgical intent.
Then— this was when he heard Freya shouted a name—
"Grant!!"