Goburo grabbed Layla's arm, his grip tight on her elven skin.
"Why did you do that?" he hissed. "We had a plan. We were supposed to stay together."
Layla didn't pull away. She didn't make a flirtatious joke. She just looked at him, and for the first time, her smile was sad. A single tear traced a clean line through the dirt on her cheek.
"You know," she said softly, "my family was poor. So poor. And they were elves of the generation... the kind that thinks bloodline is more important than happiness."
She took a shaky breath.
"They sold me when I was very little. To a man who looked like he owned a whorehouse. I didn't understand anything. I was just a child. Everyone used me. My body, my magic, my charm. I was a tool."
She looked down the dark tunnel where Watabei had disappeared.
"But there, in that hell... I met a boy. He had the stupidest hair I had ever seen. He was a servant, just like me. But he was kind. He made me smile. He made me want to live."
Her voice broke.
"They found out. The owners. They found out I cared about something. So they got a nick of it... and they got him killed. They beat him in the yard while I watched."
Goburo loosened his grip slightly. He felt a cold pit in his stomach.
"I cried for days," Layla continued, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "I wanted to die. But then... one of the men... the wife of the man who owned the place... she came to me. She was cruel, usually. But that day, she looked at me with something like pity."
Layla looked Goburo in the eye.
"She told me something I would have never imagined. She said: *'Sometimes, girl, you have to be selfish. You have to keep someone you love in a place that no one can enter. You gotta do stuff no one else would do to keep them safe.'"*
Layla smiled, a broken, watery thing.
"So I decided that day. Even if I had to sell my soul... I wouldn't hesitate until I found someone. A boy with the stupidest face and hair. Someone I could save. Someone I could keep."
She gestured vaguely down the tunnel Watabei had been dragged into.
"When I saw you two... how you looked at each other... I knew."
Goburo stared at her. "Why are you telling me all of this?"
Layla laughed, a wet, choked sound. She reached out and patted his chest, right over his heart.
"Wow," she said. "You really love her, don't you? You didn't even hear the important part."
She stepped closer, her expression turning serious.
"I heard the guards talking while they were pushing us," she whispered. "They aren't just holding Watabei. They are preparing the sacrifices. Right now. By the Pit of Fire."
Goburo's blood ran cold.
"The Pit..."
"The deep tunnels," Layla said quickly. "Where the heat comes from. That's where they throw them. That's where the map needs the blood."
Goburo didn't wait.
He turned and bolted.
"Hey! Wait!" a guard shouted, but Goburo was small, and he was fast. He ducked under the man's arm and sprinted down the corridor.
He had to get to Watabei.
He ran through the twisting stone passages. The air grew hotter. The smell of sulphur and ash filled his nose.
He heard voices ahead.
He skidded around a corner and threw himself behind a pillar.
Below him, a massive iron walkway extended over a churning pit of molten rock and fire. The heat was blistering.
On the walkway, the Organization members were lined up.
And on the edge of the pit stood the Leader.
The Puppet Healer was there.
The dead girl stood motionless, her white robes flapping in the updraft. She was staring blankly at the fire.
Two guards were positioned behind her.
"Proceed," the Leader commanded.
Goburo wanted to scream. He wanted to run out. But he was too far. There were too many of them.
One of the guards—it was Harry—looked at the Puppet Healer.
"She's already dead," Harry muttered. "Does it count?"
"The vessel contains mana," the Leader said dismissively. "It counts. Push her."
Harry hesitated. He looked at the girl's blank face. It felt wrong. It felt like desecrating a grave.
But then he looked at the Leader's cold eyes.
Harry sighed. He put a hand on the Puppet's back.
"Sorry, lady," he whispered.
He shoved her.
The Puppet Healer tipped forward.
She didn't flail. She didn't scream. She simply fell, a silent, white figure dropping into the orange glow below.
She vanished into the fire.
Goburo watched, paralyzed.
*No.*
A second later, a pulse of mana rippled up from the pit—a violet shockwave that made the ground tremble.
The Leader looked at a scroll in his hand—the Map. The ink on the parchment began to glow brighter.
"Good," the Leader said. "It's working. Prepare the next one. The girl."
Goburo's heart hammered against his ribs.
*Watabei.*
He looked frantically around the walkway.
Watabei was being dragged forward by two guards. She was struggling, kicking, screaming his name.
"Goburo! Goburo, help!"
Goburo stepped out from behind the pillar.
He was too late.
The doors to the upper chambers slammed shut behind him. The walkway was sealed.
He was trapped in the viewing tunnel.
And down below, he saw Watabei being forced toward the edge of the abyss.
The Leader looked at Harry.
"You," the Leader said, pointing at Watabei. "You did well with the child. You do this one too. Throw her."
Harry looked at Watabei. She was crying, begging.
"Please," she sobbed. "Please don't."
Harry looked at the Leader.
Harry looked at the fire.
And then, Harry reached out and grabbed Watabei's arm.
"No!" Goburo screamed from the balcony above.
But his voice was swallowed by the roar of the flames.
It was too late.
TO BE CONTINUED...