Riven's lungs burned with each ragged breath, the desert air like swallowing fire. Ten minutes at a dead sprint had pushed his malnourished body past breaking point, the heavy metal collar chafing his neck with every lurching step.

  Beside him, Lya's chest heaved as she fought to maintain their desperate pace, her face flushed and gleaming with sweat and crimson dust. The punishing sun beat down without mercy, turning the world around them into a wavering mirage of heat and exhaustion.

  "We should..." Lya gasped, swallowing a mouthful of scorching air as her legs continued their mechanical pumping motion. "We should stop!"

  The words had barely left her mouth when Riven's legs finally betrayed him. His knees buckled without warning, sending him crashing forward. He caught himself on hands and knees as crimson dust billowed around him, coating his throat and nostrils with each desperate inhale.

  "Yeah..." he managed, the word hanging in his throat as a massive, shuddering breath escaped his burning lungs. His arms trembled beneath his weight, threatening to spill him face-first into the dirt.

  Lya stood over him, her chest still rising and falling in rapid succession. But her eyes remained fixed on the horizon behind them, on the path they had fled. That persistent thread of worry in her voice—that spark of empathy she seemed unable to shake—colored her next words.

  "They'll make it, won't they?" she asked, her voice quavering slightly. "The others... all the Climbers... they'll find a way to push them back, right?"

  Riven didn't answer. He remained hunched over the desiccated earth, head hanging between his shoulders as he fought for each scorching breath. The collar seemed to tighten with each inhale, a constant reminder of what they'd escaped.

  After several long seconds, he spoke without lifting his eyes, his voice rough.

  "Don't kid yourself."

  Lya looked down at him, guilt visibly weighing on her shoulders. "But we could have helped them," she murmured, her voice trembling. "Why did we just... run away?"

  Riven's head snapped up abruptly. All trace of exhaustion was suddenly masked by a sharp spike of irritation. "Listen, Lya!" he spat, his voice rising almost to a growl.

  "In case you hadn't noticed, if I'd stayed, I would have been the first one they threw to those monsters. I would have been the bait!"

  He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, eyes burning with a dark, repressed rage. "I heard them. Laughing... joking about which slaves to throw to the beasts first. Like it was some kind of game."

  He leaned toward her, words dripping with venom. "So no, I don't care what happens to them."

  The admission hung between them, harsh and unvarnished.

  Riven watched something shift in Lya's eyes—disappointment, perhaps, or the first seeds of doubt about the situation they were in.

  He didn't care. The memory of those callous voices planning his death was still too fresh and too raw.

  Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself to his feet. His legs still trembled, threatening to buckle again, but he forced himself upright through sheer stubborn will.

  His gaze was cold, merciless as he stared down at her.

  “You wanted to help them? Fine. Go back. I won't stop you.” The words fell like stones between them.

  He gestured vaguely toward the horizon they'd fled from, the challenge clear in his eyes. The implications of his statement were clear—go back alone, because he wouldn't be joining her.

  Lya didn't respond. She simply lowered her sad gaze to the cracked earth, the silence between them growing heavy as she processed his words. The hurt was evident in the slight hunch of her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes.

  The desert stretched endlessly around them, indifferent to their moral quandary. No pursuit was visible on the horizon yet, but Riven knew better than to assume they were safe. They had merely bought themselves time—time he didn't intend to waste on regrets or pointless guilt.

  The sun continued its merciless assault, baking the crimson dust beneath their feet. They would need to move again soon, find shelter, find food.

  The immediate concerns of survival were rapidly overwhelming any space for ethical debate.

  However, his focus shifted to the prize he'd taken during their escape—the ring he'd stolen.

  With quick, impatient movements, he slipped the metal band onto his finger, its weight unfamiliar but promising.

  He pressed his thumb against the violet crystal at the ring's center, pushing hard against the cold stone, anticipating the release it would bring. Nothing happened. The collar remained locked tight around his throat, its suffocating weight seeming to grow heavier, hotter under the desert sun.

  He pressed again, more frantically this time, frustration boiling up as the metal continued to chafe against his neck.

  "You need to use your intention," Lya said in a small, calm voice, breaking her silence. "There aren't any buttons, Riven. It responds to will."

  Riven stiffened. He closed his eyes, pushing away his anger and focusing every ounce of his mind on a single thought: Break. Open. Let me go.

  Instantly, a sharp, metallic click resonated from the collar. The locking mechanism sprang open abruptly, the pressure against his throat suddenly gone.

  He wasted no time, tearing the heavy metal band from his neck and casting it aside into the dust.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  His hand rose involuntarily to touch the exposed skin, fingers tracing the raw ridge where metal had chafed his flesh. The sensation was alien, vulnerable, and yet profoundly liberating

  Finally. No more of that infernal collar.

  "Well," Riven said, his voice sounding clearer, stronger now that the metal band no longer compressed his trachea. "We should start moving."

  Lya looked around at the infinite expanse of red dust and jagged stone, her expression lost. "But... where?"

  Riven turned slowly on his heels, eyes narrowed as he scanned the shimmering horizon.

  The landscape offered no obvious path, no landmark to guide them—just endless variations of the same barren terrain stretching to the edge of sight.

  "Everything looks the same," he admitted, a grimace flickering across his face. The recognition of their predicament threatened to overwhelm him—no food, no clear destination. But standing still wasn't an option.

  "But we can't just stay here. We need to move somewhere." He pointed toward the vast empty plain extending before them. "And I suggest we go in the exact opposite direction of that horde."

  He didn't wait for her to argue. He began walking, his boots crunching against the sun-baked, brittle earth. The ground beneath his feet had been scorched to the consistency of poorly fired pottery, cracking with each step.

  Behind him, he heard Lya hesitate, then follow. Her footsteps were lighter than his, but still audible in the profound silence of the wasteland.

  They moved forward without speaking, each step taking them deeper into the oppressive heat of the desert. The vast emptiness around them amplified their isolation—two tiny figures traversing an alien landscape with no clear destination.

  They walked for hours, stopping frequently to catch their breath and drink sparingly from their dwindling water supply.

  Each time they paused, Riven forced himself back to his feet, driven by the mental image of the horde they'd left behind.

  The burning sun finally began its descent, dragging distorted shadows across the cracked earth like elongated specters.

  His muscles trembled with each step now, the initial adrenaline of their escape long since burned away, leaving only the raw reality of physical exhaustion.

  Beside him, Lya's steps had grown heavier, her normally inquisitive eyes dulled by the same fatigue that threatened to claim him.

  During one of their pauses, as the sun hovered just above the horizon, Riven stopped near a cluster of jagged rocks. He tugged at his shirt, which clung to his skin, soaked through with sweat and caked with crimson dust.

  "Damn it," he muttered, pulling the shirt over his head and letting it fall to the ground. The hot air against his bare skin was almost a relief after the chafing fabric. He stretched, feeling the tight pull of old wounds across his back and shoulders as he rolled his neck to release the tension.

  Lya instinctively turned away when he removed his shirt, but her eyes returned despite herself.

  Riven's back was a map of suffering—old scars, recent ones, some still angry red, others white and discolored with time. Whip marks crossed over deep laceration. Flesh that had been torn, poorly stitched, and torn again.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her hand rose to her mouth, eyes widening. She quickly looked away, fixing her gaze on the horizon instead. She said nothing, but her hands trembled slightly.

  Riven, oblivious to her reaction, scanned their surroundings. They needed shelter.

  As the light faded, he spotted a jagged rock formation rising from the flat terrain. At its center was a small hollow, walled with stone on all sides, accessible only by squeezing through a narrow passage beneath a heavy overhang. A natural alcove, hidden from view.

  "We stop here," he said, throwing a glance at Lya. She looked as drained as he felt, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

  She gave a silent nod and followed him, crawling on hands and knees through the tight opening to reach the space Riven had found.

  Inside, the high rocks protected them from the biting wind, and the partially covered ceiling offered decent shelter for the night.

  Night hadn't fully fallen yet, but Riven could already feel the air cooling at a brutal rate. The burning furnace of day was disappearing, replaced by a sharp, bone-deep cold that seemed to seep from the stones themselves.

  The transition happened so quickly it was disorienting—as if the desert were two entirely different worlds sharing the same space, alternating control.

  Once settled, the adrenaline finally began to fade completely, leaving only exhaustion and the weight of what they'd done.

  Riven pulled out the map he'd torn from Ulric after striking him from behind. He rubbed his hands together, a flash of pride in his chest, eager to see exactly what he'd managed to take.

  But as he scrutinized the parchment, his brows furrowed. He couldn't make sense of their position. The landmarks, paths, elevations—nothing on the map corresponded to what he'd seen of the Ascension so far.

  "No wonder you're confused," Lya interrupted, her voice a soft whisper in the narrow space. "It's not the right map."

  Riven turned toward her, his grip tightening on the paper. "What do you mean it's not the right map? I stole this directly from the other climbers."

  Lya looked at the dark stone walls of their shelter, her expression grim. "The problem isn't the map. It's the place. The place doesn't match the map... not the other way around."

  Seeing the look of pure incomprehension on Riven's face, Lya leaned back against the cold stone, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm a bit lost myself," she admitted. "Everyone who plans to challenge the Ascension prepares for it. People do it differently, of course, but they all study what's ahead before taking even the first step."

  She gazed through the narrow passage of their shelter toward the alien, darkening horizon. "The First Ascension is the most documented. That's why so many people try their luck there—because they can prepare for it perfectly. People spend months studying the environment, trying to memorize every creature, every trial."

  She turned back to him, her eyes wide with growing realization. "I don't know where we are, Riven. But I can tell you this—it's not the First Ascension I know. Not the one anyone knows."

  Riven stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she'd just said.

  "What do you mean, it's not the First Ascension?" His voice came out sharper than intended.

  Lya shook her head slowly, her expression uncertain.

  "I don't know either," she admitted quietly. "But this place... it doesn't match anything I

  studied. The creatures, the environment, even the sky—none of it fits. That's the only thing I know for sure."

  Silence fell between them. Riven opened his mouth, then closed it again. A thousand questions pressed against his teeth, but none of them had answers.

  As darkness engulfed them completely, the outside world beyond their hollow disappeared. Riven couldn't even see Lya sitting just across from him. The temperature continued to plummet, turning the air to ice around them.

  His stomach gave a loud, hollow growl, breaking the silence. "We don't even have anything to eat, and we can't exactly light a fire," he muttered, his voice sharpened by hunger and cold.

  A memory flickered in his mind. "The day before we entered the First Ascension," he began, "I remember carrying bags full of food. But where did it all go? I wasn't told to carry anything once we started, and Ulric and Kellen weren't carrying anything either."

  Lya's voice emerged from the darkness. "They had storage relics. Artifacts that could contain much more than they appeared to. They wanted to keep everything close to themselves."

  Bastards. Of course they would keep everything while making me carry the weight. I shouldn't even be surprised.

  As silence returned, Riven leaned his head back against the cold stone. In the darkness, his mind began to drift, spinning through the chaos of the last forty-eight hours. It was overwhelming. He had experienced more in the last two days than in the last two years of his life combined. The city of Argel, the Ascensions, the monsters, the harsh reality of where they now found themselves—his brain struggled to process it all.

  For the first time in a long while, he wasn't being shouted at, whipped, or worked to collapse.

  The chains were gone, but the fight to stay alive hadn't changed. It never did.