The map and coin pouch felt like live coals in Evan's hands. Yale Leaf's frantic warning, Martino's grim confirmation, the imminent threat of hunters drawn to the Heart Core's resonance – it all coalesced into a single, urgent command: Flee. The Institute, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a gilded cage tightening around him. Oliviera's hostility wasn't just petty; it was potentially lethal. The Annex walls seemed to pulse with unseen eyes.
"Founders' Passage," Evan breathed, recalling Martino's instructions. "Beneath the Starry Dome." It was their only hope. He strapped the Nine Heavens Jade Pendant securely to his back, the familiar weight a small comfort amidst the chaos. Zander was already moving, gathering their sparse supplies with silent efficiency. His amethyst eyes held a grim focus, the predatory stillness replaced by coiled readiness. "Zander knows the darkness they serve." The phrase echoed ominously, but Evan pushed it aside. Trust Zander. Trust his own heart. That was Yale Leaf's directive. It was all he had.
They slipped out of the Annex room under the cover of deepening twilight. The courtyard was deserted, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and climbing ivy. Evan focused his Innocent Heart Core, not to project power, but to dampen his presence, to blend with the shadows like a leaf falling silently. Zander moved like a wraith beside him, his massive form somehow dissolving into the gloom.
Navigating the Institute at night was a different challenge. Magical sconces cast pools of soft light, but the grand corridors were largely empty, echoing with their own vast silence. Evan led the way, retracing the path Sharon had taken to the Starry Dome, his senses heightened, every nerve alight. He strained to hear footsteps, the hum of wards, Oliviera's cold voice. They encountered a lone custodian pushing a cart of cleaning supplies; Evan and Zander melted into an alcove, holding their breath until the man passed, whistling tunelessly.
Reaching the ancient, fortified wing housing the Starry Dome felt like entering a tomb. The air grew colder, heavier. The massive stone blocks seemed to absorb sound. The entrance to the Dome itself was guarded by two impassive sentinels in archaic armor, their eyes glowing faintly blue under their helms. Evan's heart hammered against his ribs. How could they bypass them?
Zander placed a hand on Evan's arm, stopping him. He pointed silently to a section of the wall near the base of the Dome, away from the main entrance. It looked seamless, just more ancient stone. But Zander's gaze was fixed on a faint, almost invisible pattern etched into the rock – a complex geometric sigil that Evan recognized as a smaller, subtler version of the patterns that had flared during his resonance event.
"Here," Zander rumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "Resonate. Gently. Like a key turning."
Evan understood. He stepped forward, placing his palm flat against the cool stone where the sigil lay. He closed his eyes, reaching for the deep well of the Innocent Heart Core. He didn't summon power; he sought the quiet hum, the fundamental frequency of purity and connection that had awakened the Founders' Sigils. He poured that feeling, that essence, into the stone beneath his hand, imagining it seeping into the ancient sigil like water into thirsty earth.
For a moment, nothing happened. Doubt gnawed at him. Then, a faint, deep vibration thrummed through the stone, resonating up his arm. The sigil under his palm began to glow with a soft, golden light, identical to the light that had filled the Starry Dome. With a sound like distant stone grating on stone, a section of the wall, large enough for a man to pass through, slid silently inwards, revealing a steep, dark staircase descending into impenetrable blackness. A rush of stale, ancient air sighed out.
The Founders' Passage. It was real.
Evan glanced back. The armored sentinels hadn't moved, seemingly oblivious. He exchanged a look with Zander, who gave a curt nod. Together, they slipped through the opening. The stone door slid shut behind them with a soft, final thud, plunging them into absolute darkness. The only sound was their own breathing and the faint, fading echo of the stone's movement.
Zander's hand found Evan's shoulder in the dark. "Down. Steady."
They descended cautiously, step by step, into the suffocating blackness. The stairs were steep and uneven, carved directly from the bedrock. Evan kept one hand on the cold, damp wall for balance. The air grew colder, damper, smelling of deep earth and time. He focused on the resonance still humming within him, a tiny beacon in the oppressive dark, guiding his steps.
The descent felt endless. Minutes bled into what felt like hours. Just as Evan's legs began to ache and the darkness threatened to overwhelm his senses, a faint, greyish light appeared below. They reached the bottom of the stairs, emerging into a narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel. The light came from faintly glowing lichen clinging to the walls, casting long, eerie shadows. The tunnel stretched ahead, sloping gently upwards.
They moved swiftly now, driven by the urgency of Martino's warning. The tunnel branched occasionally, but Martino's map, consulted by the faint lichen light, guided them unerringly towards the eastern exit. The air gradually changed, the deep earth smell overlaid by a growing, pungent odor – the acrid reek of tanning chemicals Martino had mentioned. They were nearing the city's edge.
Finally, they saw it: a heavy iron grate blocking the tunnel end, beyond which starlight and the foul smell were stronger. Rusted chains held it shut. Zander stepped forward without hesitation. His massive hands closed on the thick iron bars. Muscles corded like steel cables beneath his leathers. A low growl rumbled in his chest. With a terrifying screech of protesting metal, the chains snapped like dry twigs, and the grate tore free from its hinges as if it were parchment. Zander tossed the mangled metal aside with a dull clang.
Cool night air, tainted but welcome, washed over them. They emerged into a narrow alleyway piled high with reeking barrels and refuse, overshadowed by the looming, foul-smelling buildings of the tannery district. The eastern wall of Milan rose nearby, its top barely visible above the ramshackle roofs. The city gate Martino mentioned would be heavily watched, but here, amidst the stench and industry, security was lax.
"Clear," Zander murmured, his senses scanning the shadows.
They moved like ghosts through the maze of alleys, sticking to the deepest shadows, avoiding the few late-night workers stumbling home. The reek of the tanneries clung to them, a useful, if unpleasant, camouflage. Soon, they reached the base of the massive city wall. Following Martino's map, they found a section where ancient, crumbling masonry offered handholds. Zander boosted Evan up first, then scaled the rough stone with terrifying ease. They dropped down the other side, landing silently on the soft earth beyond the city's glow.
Freedom. Sort of. They were outside Milan's walls, but far from safe. The Whispering Peaks lay to the north, a journey through dangerous wilderness. And the hunters were coming.
They struck out immediately, moving away from the road, keeping to the treeline bordering cultivated fields. The moon, a thin sliver, offered little light. They relied on Zander's preternatural night vision and Evan's heightened senses from the Heart Core. They moved at a ground-eating lope, putting distance between themselves and the city as fast as possible.
Hours passed. The cultivated fields gave way to rolling hills dotted with copses of trees. The silence of the night was profound, broken only by the rustle of nocturnal creatures and their own steady footfalls. Evan's mind raced, replaying Yale Leaf's message, Luna's accusations, the damning footnote in the library book. The discord within him was a constant thrum, a counterpoint to the focused rhythm of their flight.
Suddenly, Zander stopped dead, a low growl vibrating deep in his chest. He raised a hand, signaling silence. Evan froze, his breath catching. He strained his senses. At first, nothing. Then, he felt it – a subtle wrongness in the air. A faint, discordant hum, like metal scraping on stone, vibrating just below the threshold of hearing. It grated against the Innocent Heart Core, causing a spike of unease.
"Ambush," Zander breathed, his voice barely audible. "Left flank. Trees."
Before Evan could react, figures detached themselves from the shadows of a dense copse ahead. They moved with unnatural silence and speed, not running, but gliding. Three of them, clad in close-fitting, matte-black armor that seemed to drink the moonlight. Their faces were obscured by featureless, smooth masks of the same dark material. No weapons were visible, but their hands were encased in articulated gauntlets that hummed faintly with the same discordant energy Evan felt.
The lead hunter raised a hand. A pulse of sickly, violet energy lanced out, not towards Evan or Zander, but towards the ground between them and the copse. Where it struck, the earth writhed. Roots erupted from the soil, twisting and growing with obscene speed, forming a tangled, thorny barrier, cutting off their path forward.
Simultaneously, the other two hunters split, flanking them with terrifying speed. One raised its gauntleted hand, fingers splayed. The air in front of Evan rippled, condensing into a wall of shimmering, concussive force that slammed towards him like an invisible battering ram.
The hunters had found them.