Chapter 4 - Underground Shadows
The root cellar was pitch black, smelling of damp earth, stored winter potatoes, and old wooden crates. Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird as she felt along the wall for the emergency lantern.
Click.
A small, yellow flame flickered to life, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls.
A moment later, the heavy thud of the trapdoor being unlatched echoed from above. Clara raised her shotgun with trembling hands, aiming directly at the opening.
"It's just me," Roman’s voice rasped out from the darkness.
He dropped down through the opening, pulling the heavy stone hatch shut and sliding the iron security bolt home. The moment he hit the floor, his knees buckled, and he slid down against a stack of wooden crates, gasping for breath. The exertion had torn his healing skin open again; dark crimson was soaking through the wool blanket.
Clara rushed over, setting the lantern down on a barrel. "You're bleeding out," she said, her voice frantic as she tore a strip of fabric from her flannel shirt.
"I'll heal," Roman muttered, closing his eyes briefly against the pain. "As long as we keep moving. That wasn't a standard hunting pack up there. Those were Victor’s personal executioners—the Royal Guard."
"Why does your uncle want you dead so badly?" Clara asked, pressing the cloth firmly against a deep gash on his shoulder. "If you're the true Alpha, why didn't the packs rise up and stop him?"
Roman opened his eyes, staring bitterly into the flickering light of the lantern. "Because Victor didn't just take the throne by force. He used an ancient blood-binding artifact—the Obsidian Seal—to rewrite the Council laws and paralyze the pack's loyalty. To break the spell, we need to destroy the Seal."
"Where is it?"
"Inside the High Citadel," Roman whispered, looking up at her with deadly seriousness. "In the heart of the capital. Right under Victor’s nose."
Clara stared at him in disbelief. "You're talking about breaking into the most heavily guarded fortress in the entire territory. You're half-dead, and I run a failing sawmill!"
"And yet," Roman replied softly, a faint, weary smirk touching the corner of his bruised lips, "you’re the only person in this valley who managed to pull me out of silver chains with your bare hands."
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Before Clara could answer, a heavy, scraping sound echoed from the far end of the underground escape tunnel.
Someone was already waiting for them at the other end.
