22

  The narrow passage under the river was silent except for the faint sound of water trickling along the moss-covered walls. Lanterns were absent, yet the shadows seemed alive, curling and twisting around the arches as if breathing. Few knew this path existed—fewer still could navigate it. Finn’s father had no need for directions; he moved like he belonged, his tall frame cloaked in shadow, with a pact gray lynx at his side, its golden eyes glinting faintly. The animal, massive and sinewy, followed without a sound, an extension of his own presence rather than a companion.

  Ahead, in the deepest shadow where the passage bent, a figure waited. The face was hidden beneath a hood, a silhouette perfectly still, yet there was a quiet certainty in its posture—as if it had expected him.

  “So… you are now called Alice, huh,” He said, his voice low and calm. The lynx padded silently at his heels.

  The figure tilted its head, a soft smile appearing in the faint candlelight from above. “It has been a long time, Durante,” came the reply—her voice carrying the weight of years, of secrets, of worlds apart.

  Durante reached into his coat pocket and tossed something small and cold toward her. The ring landed at her feet, spinning once before Alice picked it up. Her fingers were delicate, yet firm, and she knew immediately the one who had once entrusted it—her eyes flickered with recognition.

  Alice’s gaze hardened slightly. “A great catastrophe will befall Maharlika,” she whispered, eyes glinting. She did not elaborate, but the tone of warning was unmistakable.

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  Durante’s expression remained impassive. “That is another world,” he said simply. “Another problem. This is now my world. I care little for what happens over there.”

  Her eyes did not leave him. “How about Reni?” she asked. Her voice softened, almost mournful. “He went to Sierra… and never returned. Before he disappeared, he entrusted his son—his bloodline—to you, Durante. To you and only you. I… I hoped he would not fall into the hands of Baldirion, but fate is cruel.”

  Durante’s lips tightened. He already knew. Reni was gone—or at least, he assumed him lost to the mountain of Sierra, swallowed by time and circumstance. He had long accepted that whatever had survived of Reni’s world would now exist in the hands of others… or in this case, the boy who bore a hint of his own essence.

  Alice moved closer, placing the ring into Durante’s palm. He felt the cold metal pulse faintly, almost alive, carrying the weight of promise, of lineage, of a history that refused to die.

  She stepped back, dissolving into the darkness of the hidden passage, the shadows swallowing her figure until nothing remained but the whisper of her voice.

  “Finn… he is somewhat like you,” she said. “Maybe more.”

  Durante closed his hand around the ring, feeling the weight of it—not merely metal, but legacy, and perhaps, destiny. He knew this: the boy who had received it carried echoes of Reni, of himself, and the possibility of something far greater than either had imagined.

  The lynx brushed against his leg, sensing his silent contemplation. Durante looked down at the ring once more, then into the passage where Alice had vanished.

  “Interesting,” he murmured. “Interesting indeed.”

  Durante pocketed the ring, adjusted the hood over his head, and began walking back toward the river’s exit, the lynx padding silently at his side. The world of Maharlika might burn, might crumble—but for now, this world—the one that was his—was safe.

  Yet in the back of his mind, one thought lingered, quiet but insistent: the boy might surpass him.

  And that realization was more dangerous—and more intriguing—than any prophecy.