They did not bury the dead.
There was no time.
Smoke clung to the deeper tunnels as the Rootbound moved—quiet lines of figures slipping through
passages older than Virelden itself. Some limped. Some carried others. No one spoke unless necessary.
Aron walked near the center, Lysa supported against his shoulder.
Her breathing was shallow but steady. Every step sent a dull pulse of pain through his chest, where the
hunger lay coiled and sullen, irritated at having been denied more.
You could make this easier, it whispered.
He tightened his grip on the iron ring.
"No," he said under his breath.
They reached a cavern where the stone ceiling opened into darkness too high for torchlight. Old roots hung
like veins, petrified and cracked. This place had once been sacred.
Now it was a refuge.
Maerith counted heads.
Too few.
Her staff struck the ground once.
"We split here," she said. "Small groups. Different exits. The Concord will sweep every known tunnel by
morning."
Murmurs rippled through the survivors.
Someone asked the question no one wanted answered.
"What about him?"
Eyes turned to Aron.
Fear.
Gratitude.
Blame.
All at once.
Maerith studied him for a long moment.
"You are a signal now," she said gently. "Where you go, hunters will follow."
Aron nodded. He had already understood.
"I won't stay," he said. "I'll draw them away."
Lysa stirred. "You idiot," she murmured weakly. "You don't have to—"
"I do."
The word surprised him with its certainty.
Maerith reached into her robe and withdrew a bundle wrapped in old cloth. She placed it in Aron's hands.
Maps. Charcoal-marked routes. Names half-erased.
"Old paths beyond Virelden," she said. "Places the Concord watches less closely. Some because they failed
there."
She hesitated.
"If you survive long enough," she added, "you'll learn why."
The system pulsed faintly.
SYSTEM OBSERVATION
Role Shift: Catalyst → Vector
Threat Projection: Expanding
They separated before dawn.
No speeches.
No promises.
Just brief touches of hands and shared looks that said live.
Aron took the eastern route.
Aboveground, Virelden smoldered.
Smoke curled from sealed tunnel mouths. Patrols marched in tighter formations. Notices were already
being nailed to walls—sketches, crude but recognizable.
Him.
He kept his hood low and moved with purpose.
At the city gate, a Concord inspector stopped him.
"State your business."
Aron met his eyes calmly.
"Leaving," he said.
The inspector studied him, then waved him through. Another traveler fleeing the unrest. Nothing more.
The gates closed behind him.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Aron stood beyond a city's shadow.
The road stretched ahead—cracked stone giving way to dirt, then grass, then wild growth unchecked by
ward or law.
The hunger stirred.
Curious.
He did not silence it.
He acknowledged it.
"I won't starve you," Aron said quietly. "But you don't decide anymore."
The wind moved through the trees, carrying distant bells and something older.
Danger.
Opportunity.
Consequences.
Aron pulled the cloak tighter around himself and stepped forward.
Behind him, Virelden burned its heretics.
Ahead lay a world that had not yet learned his name.
END OF VIRELDEN ARC