Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 177: RUN!!!!

As Narinder fell asleep, he found himself in a dream world, although he did not know it yet.

He stood in a long, dark hallway, shrouded in stifling gloom. The walls were black stone, rough and cold, as if made of a material that devoured light. The floor beneath his feet was equally frigid, emitting a faint echo every time he moved.

The only source of illumination came from beside him: an aged metal oil lamp, held in a stone stand. The small flame flickered erratically, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls.

Narinder took it without hesitation. The lantern was warm in his hands, its faint golden glow barely able to pierce the blackness before him.

He moved forward.

He wasn't afraid, but he wasn't comfortable either.

The hallway was oppressive, too quiet, as if something invisible was holding its breath, waiting for him to walk on.

And so he did.

There was a long stretch in which only his own footsteps could be heard, echoing against the walls as if they were the only sounds in the whole world. Until the path split.

Before him, three paths led off in different directions. There were no signs, no clues as to which one might be the right one. Each one was identical to the other: dark, empty, and with the same promise of the unknown.

Narinder didn't think about it too much.

He turned right.

It was at that moment that he heard it.

Whispers.

Strange voices, intertwined in a chaotic murmur. He couldn't understand what they were saying, the words mixed together as if they were a lost language, a primitive tongue that his ears couldn't grasp.

But amidst the chaos of distorted sounds, there was one clear word.

"Corre."

A chill ran down her spine.

Narinder stopped dead in his tracks.

She turned her head slowly, and then she saw him.

A shadow.

Tall, majestic, terrifying in a way that provoked not instinctive fear, but the certainty that it was a real threat.

It was a bird.

Or at least the silhouette of one.

His feathers seemed to be made of black fire, spectral flames that burned without light. But his eyes... his eyes were a glowing orange, the only fragments of "normal" fire in his form.

Narinder stared at him, his breathing barely a murmur.

The shadow phoenix looked back at him.

He didn't attack. He didn't speak. He did nothing but wait.

Unease grew within Narinder.

Finally, he decided to ignore it.

He couldn't stay there forever, and if the creature didn't move, he didn't have to care.

He turned around.

And then he heard him move.

A crackling sound, as if the embers of an ancient fire were stirring.

Narinder turned around immediately.

The phoenix stopped dead in its tracks.

It was closer.