Act-3.2 The Shadows of the Eclipse

The temple doors slammed behind her with a thud.

Layra bolted through the alleyways, breath burning in her lungs, the hidden scroll tightly pressed against her chest, wrapped beneath the folds of her tattered shawl.

Her heart pounded not just from the sprint, but from fear. Above her, the sky had begun to bleed – streaks of deep crimson painted over the once clear heavens.

"No... no, no, no! Not yet!" She gasped between breaths, glancing upward. "Just a little more time... please!"

The people of the town paid her no mind. To them, she was just another scrappy Tula child, perhaps playing, perhaps stealing – either way, not worth their attention. She weaved between merchants, ox carts, and curious stares. Her destination burned like a beacon in her mind: the Royal Palace.

Only one man might listen. Not the king. No. But General Ovrek... perhaps he would.

She surged forward, eyes wild with desperation. But just as she rounded the corner of the central fountain, a hand seized her wrist like a vice.

She stmbled and crashed to her knees with a sharp cry. Pain shot her arm, and she looked up – her breath froze.

Zerem.

The cold-eyed emmisary from Richha, his presence always accompanied by a sense venemous calm, now stared down at her with predatory stillness.

"What are you hiding, girl?" His voice was a whisper, but sharp as steel. "What's in your hand?"

Layra's lips trembled. The scroll pressed hard against her ribs. Her eyes flickered to the gathering crowd. No one stepped forward. Of course they wouldn't. She was a Tula – lowborn, disposable.

Zerem narrowed his gaze.

"I'll ask one last time," he said slowly, menance coiled each word. "What is it? A stolen letter? Or something holier?" His eyes followed the lines of her shawl – amd then saw it. A corner of the scroll. Ancient parchment. Sacred ink.

"You..." he hissed. His voice rose. "You dared steal from the Temple of Brawns?!"

A wave of gasps rushed through the crowd. Faces went pale. Whispered prayers. Whispers of blasphemy.

"Unholy filth..."

"She'll curse us all..."

"She must be punished..."

Zerem lunged to rip the scroll from her –

–but Layra acted first. With her free hand, she scooped a fistful of sand and flung it into his eyes.

Zerem recoiled, shouting, clawing at his face. "You filthy rat!"

Layra scrambled up and dashed forward – only to be met by a line of Richha guards.

She skidded to a halt, chest heaving. Then she grinned, a fierce untamed defiance in her gaze.

"Do you really think you can stop me? Try your best losers!"

She leapt.

Using a nearby crate, she sprang into the air, vaulting over the guards' heads. The crowd gasped as she danced through the chaos like a little rabbit in the field. Arms reached out to catch her, but she twisted and flipped, ducking under hands, leaping over shoulders.

She dove into the forest's edge, vanishing into the underbrush.

The guards gave chase.

Zerem, furious and blinded, screamed orders. "Bring her back! I want that scroll in my hands before the sun sets!"

The forest thrashed around her.

Thorns clawed her skin. Branches slapped across her face. But Layra didn't slow. The scroll was everything. Her legs burned, lungs threatened the collapse, but she ran.

She vaulted over logs. Skidded down hillsides. Swung between trees.

Behind her – the shouts of soldiers, boots trampling dry leaves, swords scraping bark.

She darted through a creek and doubled back. She leapt over a ravine, barely catching the far ledge. She twisted her body into a thick grove of trees and curled beneath a bush, heart rattling in her chest.

Silence.

She held her breath.

No voices.

No movement.

She waited.

Waited.

Then she opened her eyes – and a shadow moved.

And a massive hand slammed into her face.

She was flung backward, crashing into a tree with a sickening crack. Her vision went black for a moment.

Blood poured from a her nose. Her ears rang.

Through the fog, she heard him.

Zerem.

"You think you can escape me?" He sneered.

His men surrounded her. Eight. Ten. Maybe more.

She could barely stand. The scroll trembled in her broken hands.

"Give it here," he ordered. "Now!"

"You... you traitor...!" She rasped. "The gods will curse you for this... you'll rot for what you've done..."

He tilted his head, amused. "How noble. How futile."

He turned to his guards. "Break her."

The first kick landed in her ribs. The second in her side. She curled, coughing blood. Another blow crushed her jaw. She tried to scream – only blood came out.

And still, she clutched the scroll. Her fingers, mangled and shaking, refused to let go.

A boot stomped her hand. The scroll slipped out.

She gasped reaching – but it was too late. Zerem bent over and plucked it from the dirt. He unfurled it slowly, reading the ancient symbols under dappled light of the forest canopy. A cruel smile crept over his lips.

"So this is what you risked your life for, interesting... very interesting."

Layra's vision faded. Her breath shallow. Her battered body slumped against the tree. Her last thought before darkness claimed her –

I must warn them... before it's too late.

The world seemed to blurbas Layra lay crumpled on the cold earth, her frail body marred by bruises, blood, and breathless agony.

"No... please... not like this... not like this..."

Her lips trembled as she whispered, not for help, but a prayer. Not for herself, but everyone.

"O Gods who breathe in silence, if our pain means anything to you... if this truth must live... let your shadow find us."

Her heartbeat slowed. The sounds around her blurred, as if the world itself was losing interest in her fading life.

"Zerem, standing a few steps away, dusted his robes with an indifferent flick of his wrist, glancing once more at the the scroll now held loosely in his hand. He looked down at her with an emotionless gaze. Layra's body barely moved.

"She won't wake up," he muttered to his guards. "Let her rot with her blasphemy."