Chapter 11: Shadows of the Past

The tunnels stretched before Karima like the hollow veins of a long-dead beast, winding endlessly beneath the city. The air was thick with damp earth and decay, the walls covered in patches of mold where moisture had seeped through cracks in the stone. It was colder down here, the chill seeping into her bones as she pressed forward, one hand trailing against the rough wall for balance.

She had no idea how long she had been walking. Minutes? Hours? The only sound was the steady drip of water from the ceiling, echoing through the passageway. Her heart still pounded from her narrow escape, and the weight of the ring on her finger felt heavier with each passing step. It was no longer just a trinket—it was something alive, something hungry.

She clenched her fist, willing the strange pull of the ring to stop, but the dull ache in her chest told her it wasn't going to be that easy. She had never fully understood Aura, let alone how to control it, and now she could feel it bleeding out of her, drawn into the metal band as though it were feeding on her power.

Karima's breath came in short, shallow gasps as she finally reached a break in the tunnel—a larger chamber, where the walls were carved with faded inscriptions. She hesitated, tracing the edges of the glyphs with her fingertips. Some were similar to the ones in the Vault, but these were older, cruder, as if whoever had etched them had been in a hurry.

A whisper of movement made her freeze.

She wasn't alone.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger as she turned slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. A shadow moved near the far wall, slipping between the stone pillars that jutted from the floor. Karima tensed, lowering her stance.

"Who's there?" she called out, keeping her voice steady despite the panic creeping up her spine.

Silence.

Then, a voice. Low, rough, unfamiliar. "You shouldn't be here."

Karima's pulse spiked. The figure stepped into view—a man, cloaked in ragged fabric, his face partially obscured by a scarf. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes, sharp and calculating, were locked onto her like a predator assessing its prey.

"I don't have time for games," Karima said, her fingers flexing around the grip of her dagger. "If you're with the Council, you already know who I am. If you're not, then let me pass."

The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words. Then, without warning, he moved.

Fast.

Karima barely had time to react before he was upon her. She twisted out of reach, the blade of his short sword slicing the air where she had stood a moment before. She countered with a quick jab of her dagger, but he deflected it effortlessly, knocking her off balance.

She hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Before she could move, the man was above her, his blade hovering inches from her throat.

"You're reckless," he muttered.

Karima gritted her teeth. "And you talk too much."

With a desperate surge of strength, she pushed up with her legs, twisting her body and kicking him square in the chest. He stumbled back, just enough for her to scramble to her feet.

They stood there, staring at each other in the dim light.

Then the man did something unexpected. He sheathed his blade.

Karima narrowed her eyes. "What are you playing at?"

"You're not ready," he said simply. "Not for what's coming."

She frowned, her grip on the dagger tightening. "And what's coming?"

The man glanced at the ring on her finger. "You already know, don't you?"

Karima's breath hitched. He knew about the ring.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

He exhaled through his nose, almost amused. "A friend. If you make it out of here alive."

And then, before she could ask anything else, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Karima stood frozen, heart still hammering in her chest.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking herself, she turned back toward the tunnel ahead. She had wasted enough time. She needed to find Haytham.

She adjusted her satchel, pushing the encounter from her mind for now. She didn't have the luxury of distractions.

With a final glance at the empty chamber, she stepped back into the darkness and kept moving.

The exit of the tunnel was not what she expected. Instead of opening to a quiet, hidden path, it led her directly into the ruins of what must have once been a part of the city, now long abandoned.

Buildings stood half-collapsed, their skeletons reaching toward the sky like broken fingers. Vines crept through shattered windows, and the ground was littered with the remnants of a forgotten past. It was eerily silent, save for the occasional gust of wind that sent loose debris skittering across the cobblestones.

She pulled her hood tighter around her head. If the Council's patrols had made it this far, she would need to move carefully.

As she moved through the ruins, something gnawed at the edge of her mind. The man in the tunnels. His words. His speed. He wasn't a normal fighter. There had been something else about him—something familiar in the way he had moved, the way he had looked at her like he already knew what she was going through.

And he had recognized the ring.

She glanced down at her hand. The band was still there, cool against her skin, its weight heavier than ever.

She needed answers. And the only person who could give them to her was Haytham.

She picked up her pace, moving deeper into the ruins.

The journey ahead would not be easy, but she was done running.

It was time to take control of her fate.