"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 22: Escaping the Fire, Falling into the Flames

Azgar's POV

"What's going on?" I muttered to myself, barely able to stand after the violent rush of shock that had rattled me to my core. Was it Agnar? The soldiers? Had they returned? The idea sent a pulse of dread through me, and I knew I couldn't just sit there and wait for whatever it was to come crashing into the room.

"I'll be right back, love," I whispered to Freya, the words strangled in my throat as I turned away from her. The door handle screeched when I turned it, the sound jagged and unnerving, as though the very building was groaning in protest. I winced, the rusted screech echoing down the hall, but there was no time to worry about it. I had to see what was going on.

The air outside the room felt colder than usual. It wrapped around me, seeping into my skin like something alive—something with claws that wanted to drag me down into the dark. The flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows along the stone walls, twisting the very air around me. The darkened corridor stretched out before me, empty and waiting, and I felt that cold grip of unease tighten in my chest.

Then I heard it. A loud crash from further down the hall—a thunderous noise followed by the unmistakable scrape of metal against stone.

My body reacted before I could even think. My hand moved to the battle axe at my side, fingers instinctively clutching the worn grip as I crept forward. The sound reverberated in the air, and with every step, the shadows seemed to stretch and distort in unnatural ways, warping around me. The flickering torches only amplified the sensation, their flames trembling like they too feared what lay ahead.

"Who's there?" My voice felt thin, shaky, but I tried to sound firm, even though I wasn't sure I believed it myself.

Nothing. Silence. The kind that fills your bones with dread, thick and suffocating. Then, a sound. Another crash, distant but unmistakable. Something heavy hitting the ground. And then, that growl. Deep. Animalistic. It made my skin crawl.

I moved forward, one footstep at a time, my breath shallow, heart hammering in my chest. Every instinct told me to turn back, to go back to Freya where it was safe, but something inside me—the same part of me that had always thrived on duty, on survival—pulled me forward. Curiosity. Guilt. Duty. I wasn't sure which one, but it had control over me now.

The shadows ahead seemed to shift, like they were alive, like they were waiting for me. Every step I took, the hallway seemed to grow longer, darker. I pressed myself against the stone wall as I neared the corner, my breath so shallow it felt like the air itself might give way beneath me.

And then, from the darkness beyond, the voice came.

"Azgar..."

I froze. My heart stopped.

The voice wasn't loud. It was barely a whisper, but it was so familiar. It wrapped around my chest and squeezed, filling my throat with ice. The way it rasped—hollow, like something old and dead—sent a shudder through me.

"Azgar..." It whispered again, that same whisper, but this time it carried with it an awful weight, reverberating off the walls like the echo of a thousand lost voices.

My stomach churned. I was barely breathing now, my mind spinning in chaos. I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't this. I swallowed hard and forced myself to move, battle axe raised. My grip was so tight that my knuckles ached, but my body didn't seem to listen to my mind. It was moving on its own, instinct overriding everything else.

The hallway in front of me was empty. Too empty. The torchlight flickered weakly in the distance, casting strange, elongated shadows that stretched across the stone. The further I looked, the more distorted the shadows became, as though they were trying to reach for me.