Chapter 24

The side passage swallowed Ethan as he followed the faint rush of water, his boots splashing through shallow puddles that mirrored the dim rune-light filtering from the walls. The air grew colder, thick with the scent of wet stone and something sharper—iron, maybe blood, a whisper of the violence he'd just endured. The scroll pressed against his chest, its weight a promise of answers he couldn't yet unravel. His arm throbbed from the wolf's bite, the wounds knitting slowly under his enhanced healing, but the ache lingered, a reminder of the battle within.

The river's sound grew louder, guiding him through the twisting tunnel until it opened into a narrow cavern. A dark ribbon of water carved through the stone floor, its surface glinting under the faint glow of crystalline veins in the ceiling. Ethan's senses flared—the cavern wasn't empty. He caught the soft shuffle of footsteps, the metallic click of a weapon, and the familiar scent of Rhea's leather gear mingled with the children's fear-tinged sweat.

"Rhea?" he called, voice low but carrying in the quiet.

A shadow shifted near the riverbank, and Rhea stepped into view, her silver-gray eyes sharp with relief. "Ethan," she said, lowering her rune-etched rifle. "You made it."

The children emerged from behind a jagged outcrop, Sarah leading them with a determined stride despite her exhaustion. She rushed to him, stopping short, her gaze flicking to the blood staining his torn jacket. "You're hurt," she whispered, worry creasing her small face.

"I'm fine," Ethan said, crouching to her level, forcing a reassuring smile despite the sting in his arm. "Just a scratch. You okay?"

She nodded, her braided hair swinging. "We waited for you."

"Good," he said, ruffling her hair gently. He rose, meeting Rhea's gaze. "What's our status?"

"Not great," Rhea replied, her tone clipped as she checked her device. "The drones breached the upper chamber—they're mapping the tunnels. We've got minutes before they lock onto us again."

Ethan's jaw tightened, the wolf stirring with a low growl. "Then we keep moving. Where's this river lead?"

"Deeper," Rhea said, pointing downstream. "There's a junction ahead—old flood channels. One might take us out of their range. But it's a gamble."

"No choice," he said, scanning the cavern. The river's path was narrow, flanked by slick stone banks, but it was their lifeline. "Let's go."

They moved quickly, Ethan taking point, the children trailing close, Rhea guarding the rear. The water churned beside them, its cold spray misting their faces as the cavern sloped downward. The runes dimmed, their light replaced by a faint phosphorescence from the walls—enough to see, but casting eerie shadows that danced like specters.

The tunnel tightened, forcing them single-file, the river's roar growing deafening. Ethan's senses strained—then froze. A new sound cut through the water's din: a mechanical whine, sharp and rising, echoing from behind. Drones. Closer than he'd hoped.

"Faster!" he barked, ushering the children ahead. Sarah stumbled, her foot slipping on wet stone, but he caught her arm, steadying her. "Stay with me."

The passage split into three channels, each a dark maw swallowing the river's flow. Rhea's device beeped frantically. "Left's deepest—least likely scanned yet," she shouted over the noise. "Right's wider—easier for them. Middle's a toss-up."

"Left," Ethan decided, trusting her judgment. They veered into the channel, the water rising to their calves, icy and biting. The children shivered, but pressed on, their resilience a quiet fire Ethan clung to.

The whine grew louder, a swarm closing in. Ethan glanced back—red lights flickered at the tunnel's mouth, drones sweeping the dark. "They're here," he growled, shoving the last child forward. "Rhea, cover them—I'll slow them down."

She nodded, her rifle snapping up as she herded the kids deeper. Ethan turned, claws extending, fur rippling across his skin as he surged into battle form. The first drone darted in, a sleek metal orb with a glowing eye, its laser humming. He leapt, claws slashing—a screech of tearing steel as it split, sparks showering the water.

Two more zipped past, their beams searing the air. One grazed his thigh, a hot sting that drew a snarl, but he spun, smashing it against the wall with a crunch. The second fired, catching his shoulder—pain flared, blood welling—but he grabbed it mid-flight, crushing its shell in his grip, circuits popping like fireworks.

A third wave swarmed, too many—five, six, their lights blinding. Ethan roared, claws flashing in a blur, tearing through metal and wire. A laser burned his side, another clipped his ear, blood dripping into his eye, but he fought on, fueled by fury and need. He slammed one into the river, its sparks sizzling out, then leapt to crush another mid-air, landing hard as shrapnel rained around him.

"Ethan, now!" Rhea's voice cut through, urgent. He glanced back—she'd cleared a path, the children huddled beyond a bend. He smashed the last drone, its wreckage splashing into the water, and bolted after them, reverting mid-stride, pain lancing through his battered frame.

They regrouped around the bend, the river narrowing into a chute ahead. Rhea steadied him, her hand firm on his arm. "You're a mess," she said, silver eyes scanning his wounds.

"Still standing," he panted, wiping blood from his face. "They're down—for now."

Sarah pressed close, her small hand finding his. "You promised," she said, voice trembling but sure.

"Yeah," he said, squeezing her hand. "And I'm keeping it."

Rhea's device flickered, its signal faint. "No more drones yet, but they'll send worse. This chute might lead out—let's move."

Ethan nodded, the scroll's weight a silent burden against his chest. The fight had drained him, but it'd bought them time—time to escape, to uncover the truth. "Together," he said, leading them toward the chute, the river's roar a call to whatever lay beyond.

[To be continued…]