Chapter 3: Escape in the Eastern Cellar

"The air in the cellar was thick with dampness and decay. Her breath was ragged, each inhalation sharp and cold, pulling in the musty scent of the underground labyrinth. Lian stumbled forward, her mind racing. She had no plan, no clear direction, just the faint hope that Bastian's warning was enough to keep her alive. The dim light from a single flickering bulb above cast distorted shadows against the stone walls, their jagged edges and cracks resembling an ancient wound. This was the lower, abandoned level of the facility—the East Cellar—and its emptiness echoed with the silent promises of forgotten horrors."

Her footsteps echoed as she sprinted deeper, the smell of stale air and rusted metal overwhelming her senses. She had been here before, but now it felt different. This time, she wasn't exploring. She was running.

Bastian's cryptic message echoed in her mind. "The East Cellar, behind the doors. You'll find the truth there. Don't stop."

Lian's pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the groan of the walls as they seemed to settle deeper into the ground, as though the place itself were alive, watching her every move. Her steps were uneven as she tried to steady her breath, her legs already burning with exhaustion. The mark on her shoulder, the cursed three-claw brand, flared again, an unbearable heat wrapping around her body.

Suddenly, a mechanical sound broke the oppressive silence—the unmistakable hum of activation. Her body tensed instinctively. It was too late to run, but there was no turning back. The shadow of a figure emerged from the darkness ahead of her—clad in armor, its face hidden behind a mask.

The mechanical guard stood still for a moment, its posture rigid, its chest plate gleaming under the faint light. Then, with a sharp hiss, the figure's right arm split open, revealing a plasma blade that hummed to life with a deadly glow. The air around her crackled with static as the blade emitted a low whine, a promise of death.

Lian's heart raced. Not now. Not yet.

She forced her legs to move, but they felt sluggish, weighed down by the toxic remnants still coursing through her veins. The Lazarus toxin. It was still inside her, poisoning her every move. Every second felt like a battle—her vision blurred, her head swimming as the heat from her brand surged again. No. I can't pass out now.

The guard advanced, its footfalls measured and deliberate. With every step, the air seemed to thicken, as if it were closing in on her. She had nowhere to run. She couldn't see the blade, but she could feel it getting closer, the hum vibrating through her body.

Suddenly, a sharp wave of dizziness overcame her. Her vision went dark for a moment. A wave of nausea crashed over her, and her knees buckled. She tried to push forward, to move, but everything was spinning. The mark on her shoulder burned fiercely, as if it were feeding on the poison, but it wasn't enough.

I can't—

Her body lurched, the world tilting violently. She reached out, instinctively trying to grab something solid. But there was nothing. Only darkness. Her senses were slipping away. The walls seemed to close in, the pulse of her own heart racing in her ears. She collapsed to the floor, the cold stone pressing into her skin as her breathing became erratic.

Then, a faint presence—a scent—cut through the blackness, slicing through the oppressive silence like a warning. It was primal, raw, and oddly familiar, tugging at something deep within her. She couldn't place it at first, not through the haze clouding her mind, but as it grew stronger, her pulse quickened. The musky scent of him was unmistakable—earthy, like the forest after a storm, with the rich undertones of pine and something more. Something dark and untamed, like the wild, rugged landscape from which he came. His scent filled her nostrils, filling her lungs with each breath, familiar yet foreign, grounding her in the midst of chaos.

Lian blinked, her eyelids heavy, struggling to focus, but her vision betrayed her. Everything in front of her swirled in a dizzying haze—shadows dancing, lights flickering, the world spinning as though mocking her attempt to stay grounded. Her head throbbed with pain, a deep, gnawing ache that refused to relent, her thoughts scattered, disconnected. The floor beneath her felt like it was swaying, unstable, shifting as if the very earth she stood on was giving way.

She tried to steady herself, but it was as if her limbs were no longer hers to control. The world swam in and out of focus, every sound distorted, like listening to underwater echoes. The low growl of the mechanical guard—its chilling, synthetic menace—was muffled, faint, as though it came from a great distance. It was a threat she could sense but couldn't quite comprehend, fading into the background of her fogged mind.

But then—him.

His presence was unmistakable. Rowan. The wolf king. She could feel him, even without seeing him clearly, his proximity overwhelming. He was there, behind her, towering above her, his body radiating power like a dark storm waiting to break. There was no mistaking the pull of his energy—magnetic, irresistible, suffocating. The air around her seemed to thicken, to vibrate, as if the world itself was shifting under his command.

Without warning, his knee pressed between her legs, hard and unyielding, forcing her downward into the cold stone floor. Her breath caught in her throat, a startled gasp escaping her lips as his weight pushed into her, his presence suffocating in its intensity. She could feel the heat of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, but his touch—his pressure—was something else entirely. It was domination.

The air shifted once more, thickening with the tension that stretched between them, a taut wire ready to snap. The temperature in the room seemed to rise as he moved, his body a furnace against her, overwhelming her senses with the sharp scent of pine and blood, the warmth of his skin seeping into hers. Her own sweat, salty and sharp, clung to her skin, mixing with the primal scent of him—his wounds, his blood. His presence pressed against her like a stormfront, relentless and overpowering.

Everything about him was too much. Too close. Too potent.

Not now. She thought, desperate. The bitter, salty taste of sweat coated her lips, mingling with the sickly sweetness of his wound, which seeped the scent of fresh pine sap. The contrast between their scents—her own sweat, cold and sharp, and his blood, pungent and strangely comforting—made her dizzy. Her body reacted instinctively, her pulse quickening as his presence loomed closer.

Rowan's breath, calm and steady, brushed against her ear as he leaned in. His voice was low, almost soothing, as if he were speaking to himself as much as to her.

"Stay with me, Lian."

Her head tilted toward him, following the sound of his voice like a beacon in the darkness. She was disoriented, unable to see him clearly, but she could sense the heat of his body, the steadiness of his presence anchoring her in a way nothing else could.

The plasma blade buzzed in the distance, still threatening, but for a brief moment, she felt the pull of his energy, a power that steadied her, kept her tethered. It was the only thing she could rely on now.

But that sense of fleeting relief was short-lived.

A harsh, metallic screech echoed through the cellar, followed by the unmistakable hum of the plasma blade cutting through the air. Rowan's grip tightened around her arm, pulling her closer as if to shield her from the approaching threat.

"Move," he commanded, his voice low and forceful, a growl vibrating through his chest. The words were not a request but a command, wrapped in an unyielding force that pierced through the fog in her mind. His tone was cold, yet undeniably powerful, cutting through the air like a blade.

Her body responded automatically, without thought, despite the dizziness clouding her vision, despite the sudden loss of sight. Her feet stumbled, the world spinning beneath her, but there was something else—a tethering force, invisible yet undeniable. His presence. It was a thread she could barely hold onto, yet it was the only thing keeping her from falling into the abyss of her disorientation. The faintest pull of his aura guided her through the darkness, urging her to follow, to move, even as her limbs felt like they no longer belonged to her.

Her hands reached out in search of something solid, something to hold onto as she tried to steady herself. The cold, jagged stone of the walls met her fingertips, rough and unyielding. The chill of the surface sent a shiver up her arm, but it was a relief. The familiar texture of the stone brought her some semblance of clarity—until she felt it.

There, beneath her fingertips, she detected something strange. A faint, rhythmic thumping sound, a pulse beneath the stone itself. It was subtle, almost imperceptible at first, like the soft echo of her own heartbeat. But then, as her hand moved along the wall, it became clearer—stronger. The beat was too steady, too deliberate to be her own. It was coming from the very walls themselves.

Her breath caught in her throat as the realization slammed into her. The walls are alive.

The walls pulsed like a living organism, their cold surface rippling with the hidden rhythm of something inside. She could feel it—deep within the stone, an almost imperceptible vibration as though the entire structure was breathing, alive in ways that defied logic. The sensation sent a wave of unease through her, creeping up her spine and settling in the pit of her stomach. She pressed her hand harder against the stone, trying to understand, trying to make sense of it, but the pulse grew louder, almost suffocating, as though the very foundations of the place were alive with some ancient, forgotten force.

For a moment, she thought she might lose herself in it—caught in the strange heartbeat of the building. But then, through the disorienting haze, she heard him. Rowan's presence behind her grew stronger, his form a steady force in the dark, his scent, his heat, cutting through the confusion like a beacon. Move, he had said. And she did. Guided by his command, she forced herself to take another step forward, though her hands trembled against the living wall, unwilling to let go of its strange, rhythmic pulse.

Her fingers brushed against something strange—something rough. A jagged surface. She focused, even as the light seemed to flicker at the edges of her vision. The walls. There was something written here.

With trembling fingers, she traced the marks.

"Experiment Subject L-13: Successful Escape."

The words burned through her thoughts, igniting a mix of panic and understanding. L-13. It was her. Her number, her label. The name they had stripped from her. The name she had fought so hard to forget.

L-13.

Rowan's voice cut through the moment, his hand steady on her back, guiding her further into the darkness.

"We need to move. Now."

But the words felt hollow against the revelation that had just shattered the fragile barrier of her mind. The walls whispered a name she once knew—L-13.