Alex slowly pulled his hand away from the tree's rough bark. His skin trembled slightly, as if the very presence of that ancient being was still resonating within his body, echoing with each heartbeat. He knew now—this was no ordinary entity. This being belonged to the race of the ancients, from a time so distant that only whispers in ruins and the silence of lost lands remembered them.
"This tree..." he said quietly. "It's dying. We opened the entrance, and in return, we took most of its power. This being... it knew that would happen."
He looked toward Lyra, and his eyes held more than fear—they carried the weight of knowledge he wasn't yet ready to bear.
"He said he would reveal the secrets of magic to me," he added in a whisper. "But we need to hurry. Do what I ask. Now. We don't have much time."
He reached out toward the resin slowly seeping from a crack in the bark. The liquid shimmered in the fading glow of the magic like molten light—thick and golden, yet disturbingly dark at the edges. It was heavy with power—he could almost feel it resonate in the air, pulsing like the heartbeat of this place.
"You need to drink it," he said firmly. "It's the sap of this tree. What's left of its essence. We'll take the rest. We can share this power with others… with those who are still alive."
He looked around urgently.
"We need waterskins. All of them. We have to fill them before this place dies completely."
For a moment, a dreadful silence followed his words—only to be shattered seconds later.
From deep within the corridor leading to the surface came sounds that froze their blood like ice. At first, just distant, unsettling growls—but then came the screams. Horrific, tearing cries.
They weren't human.
"The camels..." Lyra whispered. "They're still up there."
They couldn't see anything—the distance, the rock, the coils of ancient tunnels separated them from the exit—but they heard everything. The savage roar of beasts, the frantic clatter of hooves, the ripping of flesh and the cracking of bones. The demons had reached the surface. They were hunting.
The magic that had gently lit the ceiling and walls of the underground chamber began to fade, as if all its strength was being pulled back into the tree—into its heart. The glowing light pulsed weaker and weaker, retreating toward the trunk like the breath of a dying world.
"There's no time! Do as I say!" Alex shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber.
Without hesitation, they both grabbed their waterskins and drained the last of their water. Their throats, dry with dust and stress, welcomed the cool liquid desperately, though their minds were already fixed on what came next. They couldn't allow a single drop of the life-giving sap to go to waste.
Alex drew his dagger and sliced deep into the tree.
"Hold the waterskins here," he said, pointing to the gash in the bark.
From the trunk, a thick liquid began to flow—like a golden stream bursting from the heart of an ancient world. The sap oozed slowly, sticky and gleaming like heated metal. Its glow cast warm reflections on Lyra's hands as she gently held each skin, filling them with the precious substance.
When the last one was full, she looked at Alex. For a moment, she hesitated. His gaze told her everything—there was no turning back.
She pressed her lips to the cut in the bark. The sap was thick, bitter, surprisingly sharp—like the tree carried within it the memory of pain and ancient tragedy. The first drops slid across her tongue, burning her throat like acrid smoke. She swallowed—and everything changed.
She felt her body suddenly seize up. Her heart pounded violently, as if trying to escape her chest. Her knees buckled beneath her, and her fingers curled in a convulsive spasm. She tried to reach for Alex. Her face froze in terror. She collapsed with a heavy thud.
"Lyra!" Alex rushed to her, terrified.
Foam began to spill from her mouth—it looked like poison, as if her body was rejecting the sap. But it wasn't ordinary venom.
Her body convulsed violently. She arched on the ground, arms twitching, nails digging into the stone, her eyes rolling back to reveal only white.
Alex knelt beside her, helpless in the face of what was happening. He wanted to say something, to call her name, to scream in rage or beg for mercy—but the words caught in his throat. Instead, tears came. Hot, heavy tears streamed down his cheeks as he held her trembling body, as if the force of his despair could anchor her to life.
"Lyra… please…" he whispered, his voice breaking with pain. "Don't do this to me… don't leave me…"
He shut his eyes tight, and tears fell onto her face, mixing with the foam still trickling from her lips. He felt his heart scream—on the verge of breaking. This wasn't fear of the unknown. It was pure, naked terror of loss.