Footsteps echoed from the opposite direction. Raphael dropped low, motioning quickly. They slipped behind a stack of old wooden crates.
A guard appeared, walking with a steady but alert stride. His gun gleamed faintly in the dim light. Isabel held her breath. Her grip on the Omnicent Tome tightened, her whole body trembling.
Raphael struck without a sound. His body darted forward, arms looping around the guard's neck from behind. The man struggled, gasping, but Raphael moved faster, a sharp twist, a breath cut short. The fight ended in silence.
Their footsteps echoed through the narrow hall, bouncing off the mossy stone walls. Raphael remained alert, instincts sharp, scanning every shadow for threats. Only their breathing and the faint scrape of their boots accompanied the silence that followed.
When the tension finally eased, Raphael crouched beside the fallen guard. His hand slipped into the man's thick jacket pocket and brushed against something cold, a small piece of iron, familiar to his touch. A rusted key, ancient yet still meaningful. He stared at it in silence, as if holding onto a long-awaited chance.
Without a word, Raphael handed the key to Isabel. Her fingers trembled as she accepted it. He stayed alert, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead, sensing danger lurking in the quiet.
"We're almost there," he murmured, his voice barely carried by the chill drifting through the corridor.
Before them stood a massive iron door, towering and grim. Its surface was corroded, scarred, as though it had witnessed too many forgotten stories. The locking wheel was sealed tight, demanding both strength and resolve to open.
Isabel swallowed hard. Her heart pounded fast. Though her face remained calm, sweat dampened her palms. She knew, whatever lay behind that door could change everything.
Raphael took the key and slid it into the ancient lock. The soft grind of metal echoed, followed by a heavy click. Their eyes met, hope and dread reflected in both.
The door groaned as it moved, the shriek of rust cutting through the still air. Damp, moldy air rushed out, thick with the scent of decay. Raphael entered first, crouched low, eyes sharp in the dark.
The room was vast, but cloaked in shadow. A flickering light bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting restless silhouettes across the stained walls. The concrete floor was slick in patches, as if the ceiling itself had been weeping for years.
At the center of the room, three figures sat bound to wooden chairs. Their bodies hung limp, faces streaked with sweat and dirt. Among them, Radit slowly lifted his head.
He saw Raphael and Isabel, and somehow managed a grin, weak but real. "You guys okay?" His voice cracked, hoarse with exhaustion.
Frans let out a faint laugh beside him. "Shouldn't we be the ones asking that?"
Raphael wasted no time. He knelt beside Radit, studying the tight knots binding his wrists and ankles. Isabel joined him, moving toward Frans and Ethan.
Her hands trembled as she worked on the rope around Frans's wrists. The knots were rough and unforgiving, designed to hold captives for hours. She drew a deep breath, forcing her nerves to settle.
"We have to move fast," Raphael said. His hands worked swiftly, precise and unshaken, like someone who had done this many times before.
Radit exhaled sharply as his hands came free. "Damn... my arms are numb." He flexed his fingers, trying to wake them.
Without a word, Raphael turned to Ethan. The man only nodded, they both knew time wasn't their ally.
Isabel finally loosened the last knot around Frans's ankles. He stretched his legs, then looked at her with a faint, tired smile. "Your hands are shaking. Nervous?"
Isabel scoffed quietly, ignoring him as she finished the job. When everyone was free, Raphael moved quickly to barricade the door, shoving an old steel crate against it.
"Where are the others? The girls, and Kaivan?" he asked, his voice calm but heavy with urgency.
Ethan furrowed his brows, recalling faint echoes of crying. "I think they're in another room. I heard Thivi's voice earlier… not sure where from."
Radit stood beside him, glancing at Raphael. His expression was distant, haunted. "Feels like déjà vu, huh? Like the old days… back at the terrorist base."
His gaze lingered on Raphael, the weight of memory pressing between them. Words slipped out before he could stop them.
"I'm sorry, Raphael," he whispered, regret thick in his voice.
Raphael met his eyes, silent for a beat. Then, without a word, he tossed a pistol toward Radit. The weapon spun in the air before landing firmly in his hand. The cold touch of steel echoed softly through the damp, narrow room.
"Forget it. I've already moved on," Raphael said. His voice was cold yet firm, there was no room left for nostalgia.
Radit stared at the gun. His eyes widened slightly, as if the object in his hand was something alien. His fingers traced the metal, feeling the chill of its surface.
"You know how to use it?" Raphael asked quietly, a faint glimmer of hope in his tone.
Radit took a slow breath, then shook his head. "No... but I've seen it in movies."
He tried to joke, but no one laughed.
Frans let out a weak chuckle. "If you've watched enough action movies, you're already halfway there."
No one replied. Silence thickened around them, heavier than before.
Raphael's gaze swept across each of them. He memorized their faces, reading what lay behind their eyes. He knew what awaited them wouldn't be easy. They had to be ready, not just in body, but in spirit. Because war wasn't only about bullets. It was about the courage to not crumble within it.
"There's no other choice, Radit. We have to be ready, we don't know what's waiting ahead." Raphael nodded slightly, his tone steady. "Just stay focused. Stay calm."
Radit clenched the gun in his hand, nodding uncertainly. Ethan placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Don't be too tense, Radit. Just make sure your finger doesn't get too friendly with the trigger," Ethan said with a faint grin.
Radit exhaled deeply, trying to release the tension coiled inside him. He stared at the pistol again, lifting it slightly, adjusting his grip. He wasn't entirely confident, but in this moment, there was no time for fear.
Raphael watched them for a moment, then drew in a deep breath before stepping toward the door. The hinges groaned softly as he eased it open, revealing a narrow slit of the corridor beyond. His heart beat slow but steady, eyes scanning every corner with a soldier's precision. A gust of cold air slipped inside, carrying the damp scent of soil and rust from walls long forgotten by sunlight.
"Let's move. We have to find the others before it's too late," Raphael said firmly, his voice unwavering. He stepped out first, his posture straight, as if carrying the weight of everything on his shoulders. The others followed behind, hesitant yet resolute. The dim light in the corridor stretched their shadows across the walls, whispering that what lay ahead was not just a test of strength, but of courage, and the fragile bond that kept them standing together.