Chapter 219: Sacrifice??

Sunlight crept slowly across the ruins, pale beams slipping through broken stone and creeping vines. The night’s chaos had vanished as if swallowed whole. No wind. No birds. No insects. The forest stood unnaturally still, like something holding its breath.

Outside the boundary, Kaelo’s and the monk’s men maintained patrol exactly as ordered. Some stood atop the wooden watch towers, scanning the tree line with binoculars. Others moved along the perimeter with rifles held tight against their chests. Boots pressed softly against the soil, careful, measured.

A man on the ground shifted uneasily.

“Are you sure they will come back by evening?”

Another adjusted his sling strap.

“Fingers crossed. If they don’t, we will be outnumbered by those tribals.”

A third scoffed quietly.

“Did you not hear the blast last night? I am sure there is already chaos in the forest.”

He tried to sound confident. It did not quite reach his eyes.

On the highest watch tower, a man suddenly straightened.

He narrowed his gaze toward the distant tree line.

Then he shouted.

“Movement!”

Every rifle lifted instantly.

Boots pivoted.

Men dropped into defensive positions, barrels aimed toward the forest edge. Safety clicks were heard. Fingers hovered over triggers.

The silence tightened.

Branches parted.

A figure stumbled forward.

“Relax guys, it’s me.”

The voice was hoarse.

Artem stepped out of the woods slowly.

His clothes were torn. Dirt and dried blood marked his sleeves. A shallow cut ran across his forehead, crusted dark. He leaned slightly to one side as he walked.

“It’s Mr Artem!” someone called.

Two men rushed forward to support him, gripping his arms. Another uncapped a water bottle and pressed it into his hand.

“Easy sir.”

“Careful.”

Artem drank, breathing hard.

“Where is Mr Basil?” one of the men asked.

The question lingered in the air.

Artem’s gaze lowered.

He said nothing at first.

The men exchanged uneasy looks.

“Sir?”

Artem swallowed, letting his shoulders tremble slightly.

“Basil…” he began, voice cracking just enough to sound real. “He… he sacrificed himself to protect me.”

The words landed like a hammer.

“What?”

“No…”

“How?”

Artem shook his head slowly.

“We were ambushed by the tribals after the blast. They surrounded us. Basil… he held them back. Give me time to escape.”

His eyes glistened faintly, though no tears fell.

“But his sacrifice did not go to waste.”

The men leaned in closer.

“We got rid of them. All of them.”

A few men looked toward the forest, uncertain.

“All of them?” someone repeated.

Artem nodded.

“All because of him.”

The men fell silent.

Shock. Confusion. Grief.

One of Kaelo’s men clenched his jaw.

“So the blast…”

Artem exhaled slowly.

“That was the end of them.”

He tightened his grip on the bottle.

“For Basil.”

The men lowered their guns slowly.

Some nodded.

Some stared at the ground.

Seventeen years ago.

Evening. Moscow.

The Belov Mansion shimmered under a sky brushed with gold and lavender. Crystal chandeliers glowed through tall glass windows, spilling warm light onto the marble steps outside. Black luxury cars lined the entrance, engines humming softly before doors opened and elegant guests stepped out.

Inside, the banquet hall was alive.

Music floated through the air, violins blending with piano. Laughter echoed beneath the high ceilings. Crystal glasses clinked. Cameras flashed.

It was a celebration.

Artem Belov had just won the Moscow mayoral election.

Politicians, businessmen, celebrities, media personalities , the elite of the city gathered to congratulate the rising power.

Champagne flowed freely. Servers moved gracefully through the crowd carrying silver trays of delicacies. Conversations overlapped in polished tones, each word carefully chosen, every smile calculated.

Outside, another car arrived.

The door opened.

Natalia Sokolova stepped out.

Even in a city filled with beauty, she stood apart.

Her gown shimmered like liquid midnight, tailored perfectly to her figure. Her hair cascaded softly over her shoulders. The faint glow of cameras caught her profile, and whispers spread among the crowd near the entrance.

“She came.”

“Is that really her?”

“After all these years…”

Beside her stood her daughter.

Little Veronika.

Dressed in a pale silver dress with small lace details, her hair tied neatly back, she held her mother’s hand tightly. Her eyes were wide, observing the flashing lights and unfamiliar grandeur.

Natalia leaned down slightly.

“Stay close to me.”

“Yes mama.”

They began walking toward the entrance.

Heads turned.

Conversations paused just a fraction too long.

Natalia had once dominated the screens of the country. Blockbusters. Red carpets. Interviews. Her marriage to a wealthy businessman had only elevated her presence further. And then, the sudden accident. His death. The quiet retreat from the spotlight.

Seeing her here tonight was unexpected.

They stepped into the hall.

Familiar faces filled the room.

Before Natalia could move further, a voice called out brightly.

“Natalia! You finally came! I thought you would never show up!”

Natalia turned and smiled warmly.

Mila Ivanova approached, dressed in emerald silk, elegance radiating from her.

“You look beautiful, Mila. How have you been?”

“I am doing great,” Mila replied, embracing her gently. Then she bent slightly toward the little girl. “And this must be Veronika. Last time I saw her she was tiny. My goodness how she has grown. How are you dear?”

Veronika lowered her eyes shyly.

“I am good, Aunt.”

Mila placed a hand over her heart.

“So adorable. Everyone come here. You must see this little angel.”

A small circle gathered quickly ,actors, producers, socialites.

Compliments flowed. Laughter followed.

Natalia smiled politely, though her attention kept drifting to her daughter.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked softly.

“Yes mama.”

Natalia brushed a gentle hand over her daughter’s hair.

“Why don’t you go play with the other children over there? I will be right here. I need to greet a few friends.”

Veronika glanced toward a brightly decorated play area set up in one corner of the hall. Several children her age were laughing, supervised by attendants.

She nodded.

“Okay mama.”

Natalia gave her a reassuring smile.

Veronika walked toward the play zone, her small shoes tapping softly against the polished floor.

The space was filled with colorful cushions, toys, and soft decorations meant to keep the children entertained while their parents celebrated power and prestige nearby.

She approached cautiously at first.

Then she saw it.

A soft toy lying near the edge of the play mat.

A small white bear with a blue ribbon around its neck.

She bent down and picked it up gently.

Her small fingers tightened around it.

….

The night was thinning, but it had not yet softened.

The courtyard lights flickered gently above rows of departing parents. Children left in pairs, some laughing, some half asleep on shoulders, some dragging bags across stone paths.

Natalia had not returned.

One by one, the familiar faces disappeared into cars and shadows.

Veronika stood near the entrance, small fingers gripping the strap of her bag. Her eyes searched every passing figure.

Nothing.

She stepped forward.

“Mama?”

No answer.

She walked between the thinning crowd, weaving past adults’ coats and moving legs.

“Mama…”

Her voice trembled now.

The last group of children exited. The gate began to close slowly.

Veronika turned in circles, panic building in her chest.

“Mama!”

A gentle hand touched her shoulder.

Veronika flinched.

Mila bent down, concern written across her face.

“Oh dear, why are you alone? Where is your mama?”

Veronika’s eyes were already shining.

“I don’t know… I couldn’t find her.”

Mila’s heart dropped.

She stood up quickly and looked around the nearly empty yard.

“Do not worry. We will look for her.”

She took Veronika’s hand.

“Maybe she is outside.”

They walked toward the gate.

Then..

A heavy thud echoed from beyond the outer wall.

Not like a door closing.

Not like something falling lightly.

Something heavy.

Something final.

Voices rose outside. Confused. Alarmed.

“What was that?”

“Did you hear that?”

Veronika’s heart began pounding.

She pulled her hand free.

“Mama!”

“Wait dear ” Mila called, running after her.

Veronika pushed through the half closed gate and ran toward the sound.

The street lights flickered over twisted metal.

A car.

Crushed.

Its front completely mangled against the pavement.

The windshield shattered.

Steam rising from the hood.

People were gathering.

Someone was shouting for help.

And there

On the pavement.

Natalia.

Her body lay beside the broken car, blood spreading beneath her. One shoe missing. Her arm bent unnaturally.

She had fallen.

From above.

Veronika’s world stopped.

“Mama!”

The scream tore from her throat.

She ran forward, but strong arms wrapped around her before she could reach the scene.

Mila held her tightly.

“Do not look.”

Veronika struggled.

“Mama! Mama!”

Her voice cracked, breaking into sobs.

Natalia did not move.

The sirens began in the distance.

But the night had already swallowed what it wanted.

Present.

Deep inside the underground ruins, the air felt thick and unmoving.

Miles lifted his bottle and took a slow sip of water. Sweat traced down his temples despite the stone around them. The deeper they had gone, the hotter it had become, as if the earth itself stored heat beneath its ribs.

Boots scraped across stone.

Metal clicked softly.

Breathing had grown heavier in the group.

They had been walking for hours.

Some men limped. One had a bandaged forearm from a dart trap. Another’s shoulder was wrapped tightly after a swinging blade had grazed him when he stepped half an inch too close to a carved wall.

No one spoke about turning back.

But everyone was thinking about it.

Elias wiped his forehead with the back of his glove.

“We have been walking for hours. How far does this go?”

Miles lowered the bottle.

“I do not know. I am coming here for the first time.”

Elias stared at him for a second longer than necessary, as if measuring the truth of that sentence.

The monk’s voice floated calmly from behind.

“We should take a rest for a while.”

Kaelo nodded.

“He is right.”

Elias exhaled through his nose.

“Fine. Everyone stop here. Change your batteries. Check your gear. We rest for a few minutes.”

He pointed ahead.

“You two. Walk forward. Quietly. Check the path.”

The two men nodded and moved cautiously into the darkness.

The rest of the group settled along the corridor walls, careful not to touch anything carved or mounted. No one trusted the stone anymore.

Kaelo leaned against the center of the passage and pulled out a cigarette.

A small flame flickered.

Smoke curled upward.

Elias turned immediately.

“Some people do not learn.”

Kaelo took a slow drag.

“It is there.”

Elias frowned.

“What is?”

“The air.”

Kaelo lifted his hand and held it still.

“Can you not feel it?”

Elias narrowed his eyes.

Kaelo wet his finger and raised it slightly above shoulder level.

“There is definitely air coming from the front.”

Elias gave a dry laugh.

“Why do you not stay here forever then? The paintings on the walls are they not similar to your people?”

Kaelo glanced at the faint carvings along the stone.

“My people respect art.”

Miles tilted his head slightly.

“Well well. You cannot say it, but Elias loves art more than any of us. He is a professional artist.”

Elias shot him a look.

Hilda allowed herself a small, knowing smile.

The tension eased for half a second.

Then the two scouts returned.

Their footsteps were quicker now.

Elias straightened.

“What is it?”

The first man swallowed.

“The path splits ahead.”

Silence followed.

Kaelo blinked.

“What?”

The second man nodded.

“There are two ways.”

The corridor around them suddenly felt tighter.

As if the ruin had been waiting for this moment.

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