Consciousness returned grudgingly, each pulse of pain in Elias''s skull driving him back toward darkness. He kept his eyes closed, allowing his other senses to gather information before revealing his wakefulness. Rough hands gripped his arms, carrying him under his armpits. The rhythmic clank of armored footsteps surrounded him. Two Sentinels half-dragging, half-carrying his limp form through the slums.


    The marks beneath his skin buzzed with renewed intensity, no longer merely pulling but seeming to celebrate his capture. The sensation made him want to scrape them out with his fingernails.


    "He''s heavier than he looks," grunted one Sentinel. "Scrawny slum rat like this should weigh nothing."


    "Shut up and keep moving," replied another, voice clipped with authority. "We need to reach the checkpoint before dark. Captain doesn''t want another night operation in this cesspit."


    Elias allowed his head to loll forward, using the moment to slit his eyes open. Four Sentinels total. Two supporting him, one ahead, one behind. The officer with the tracking device walked point, occasionally consulting the glowing instrument though it hardly seemed necessary now.


    They were heading east, toward a checkpoint Elias knew well—a narrow bottleneck where the slum district pressed against a section of the old city wall. Not the most heavily guarded crossing, but secure enough with its single gate and watchtower.


    His weapons were gone, of course. The comfortable weight of his knife missing from its hidden sheath. Even the length of wire he kept wrapped around his ankle had been discovered and removed. They''d been thorough while he was unconscious.


    Still, they expected him to remain subdued, which gave him one advantage. His head continued to throb where the Sentinel had struck him, but the pain was already dulling to a manageable ache. The strange new awareness of his body that had helped him navigate the rooftops earlier—was that from the Maw''s marking?


    "Stop," ordered the lead Sentinel, raising a clenched fist. "Something''s wrong."


    The procession halted, and Elias tensed, ready to act if opportunity presented itself. Through narrowed eyes, he saw what had concerned the officer. The checkpoint ahead was unmanned, its gate standing partially open—a serious breach of protocol.


    "Secure the prisoner," the officer commanded. "Teris, with me."


    Two Sentinels remained holding Elias while the officer and another moved cautiously toward the abandoned checkpoint. Perfect. Two against one were better odds than four against one, though still far from favorable.


    He waited until the officer was thirty paces away before making his move. A sudden deadweight drop, swinging his legs underneath his abdomen, surprising the Sentinels who expected continued limpness. As they instinctively tightened their grip, Elias coiled and exploded upward, driving his head into the chin of the Sentinel on his right.


    The impact should have stunned Elias as much as his target, but instead he felt a surge of clarity, movements flowing with uncanny precision. He twisted free of the second Sentinel''s grasp, using the man''s own armor as leverage to throw him off balance.


    Then he was running, not toward the checkpoint where the officer would intercept him, but down a narrow side alley where armor would restrict pursuit. Behind him, shouts of alarm and the heavy footfalls of the recovered Sentinels filled the air.


    The alley twisted sharply between crumbling buildings, then forked. Elias took the right branch without hesitation, knowing it led toward a collapsed tenement that provided numerous hiding places. The marks on his skin burned in protest, the pull toward the Sanctum District now painful to resist.


    Voices echoed from multiple directions—the Sentinels were splitting up to cut off escape routes. The slums might be Elias''s territory, but these weren''t regular patrol guards. They were specialists, equipped with tracking technology and familiar enough with the district''s layout to coordinate effectively.


    He reached the collapsed tenement, a skeletal structure that had partially fallen in on itself years ago. Darting through a gap in the outer wall, he navigated the precarious interior, stepping carefully across beams that groaned beneath even his slight weight.


    From a second-story vantage point, he could see Sentinels converging on the building from three directions. The fourth approach, the supposedly collapsed northern side, remained clear. Most locals believed that section was impassable due to a major structural collapse, but Elias knew of a narrow, treacherous path that could be navigated if one were careful—and desperate—enough.


    Moving silently along a partially collapsed corridor, he reached the northern section, where the floor had given way entirely. A single beam stretched across the void to a window opening on the far side. The beam looked barely capable of supporting a child, let alone a grown man, but it was the only path forward.


    Elias tested it with one foot, feeling it shift slightly under his weight. The drop below wasn''t fatal, but would certainly injure him enough to ensure capture. He took a deep breath and stepped fully onto the beam.


    It held.


    Balance came easier than it should have, his body making minute adjustments without conscious thought. Three steps, four, five—he was nearly halfway across when the marks on his skin flared with sudden, excruciating intensity. The pain shattered his concentration, foot slipping on the narrow beam.


    For a heartstopping moment he teetered on the edge of falling, arms windmilling desperately. Then his balance returned, the pain subsiding as quickly as it had come. A warning? It felt deliberate, as though the Maw itself were reminding him of the futility of escape.


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    Shaking off the thought, Elias continued across, reaching the window and pulling himself through just as Sentinels burst into the room behind him. Outside, a narrow ledge ran along the building''s northern face, hidden from ground view by a partially collapsed awning.


    He edged along the ledge, hearing frustrated shouts from within as the Sentinels realized their quarry had found an unexpected exit. The ledge ended at a drainpipe that ran down to a small courtyard overshadowed by surrounding buildings. Elias descended quickly, dropping the last few feet to land in a crouch.


    The courtyard had only one exit, a narrow passage that would eventually lead to the Ashbarren border if followed far enough. Elias darted toward it, hope rising for the first time since his capture. If he could reach the outermost slums, there were bolt-holes and hiding places the Sentinels would never find without a lengthy search.


    He rounded a corner and collided with an armored figure emerging from the passageway.


    They both staggered back from the impact. Elias recovered first, already turning to flee back the way he''d come—but froze at the sight of the drawn sword leveled at his chest.


    The Sentinel before him wasn''t wearing the standard armor of the Church''s forces. His plate was darker, unadorned, without the religious symbols that usually decorated Sentinel gear. More importantly, his face wasn''t hidden behind the traditional helm, revealing hard features and cold, calculating eyes.


    "Interesting," the man said, his voice carrying no trace of the religious reverence typical of Sentinels addressing a chosen one. "You''re more resourceful than most who carry the Maw''s mark."


    Elias backed away slowly. "You''re not with the Church."


    "Perceptive, too." The man''s sword remained steady, its tip tracking Elias''s movement. "No, I serve more... practical interests."


    "What does that mean?" Elias glanced around, seeking any avenue of escape, but found none. The courtyard walls were too sheer, the only exit blocked by this mysterious figure.


    "It means some people believe the Maw''s power could be better utilized than in service to religious doctrine." The man advanced a step. "It means you''re valuable to certain parties who would prefer to study the process without Church interference."


    Understanding dawned. "You want to take me somewhere else. Not to the Sanctum."


    The man smiled without warmth. "Clever boy. Yes. My employers believe a willing subject would provide better results than the usual unwilling sacrifices. They''re prepared to offer comfort, protection, and a significant stipend to your family in exchange for your cooperation."


    "I have no family," Elias replied flatly.


    "Even better. No messy attachments." Another step forward. "Come quietly, and I promise the experience will be... educational for all involved."


    The marks beneath Elias''s skin twitched violently, as though reacting to some unseen threat greater than the sword pointed at his chest. The Maw apparently had strong opinions about this alternative destination.


    Before Elias could respond, a new voice cut through the tense standoff.


    "Lower your weapon, deserter."


    The lead Sentinel officer stood at the courtyard entrance, tracking device in one hand, sword in the other. Behind him, three more Sentinels filed into the space, spreading out to block any potential escape.


    The deserter''s expression hardened. "This matter doesn''t concern the Church, Captain."


    "Everything concerning the Maw''s chosen concerns the Church," the captain replied evenly. "Step away from him. Now."


    For a moment, the deserter seemed to calculate his odds—one against four, with Elias as an unpredictable element. Then his stance shifted subtly. "Another time, perhaps," he murmured to Elias before addressing the captain again. "You win this round, Keldric."


    Keldric. The captain had a name now. Elias filed it away automatically, though he wasn''t sure the information would ever prove useful.


    "Surrender your weapon and submit to Church justice, Varin," Keldric demanded.


    The deserter—Varin—laughed softly. "We both know that''s not happening." His free hand moved to his belt, extracting a small object that gleamed dully in the fading light. "Until we meet again."


    He threw the object to the ground. It erupted in a cloud of dense, acrid smoke that instantly filled the small courtyard. Elias instinctively dropped to his knees, where the air remained clearer. Through the billowing smoke, he glimpsed Varin scaling the courtyard wall with surprising agility before disappearing over the top.


    The Sentinels moved with disciplined precision despite the smoke, two maintaining positions at the exit while Keldric and the fourth closed in on Elias''s position. A hand clamped onto his shoulder with bruising force, pulling him upright.


    "Enough games," Keldric said, his voice hard but not cruel. "The Maw has chosen you. Accept your calling."


    Elias struck out blindly, connecting with something solid but earning only a grunt in response. The grip on his shoulder never wavered.


    "Your persistence is admirable," Keldric continued, "but futile. No one escapes the Maw''s selection. Not the wealthy with their bribes, not the clever with their schemes."


    The smoke was thinning now, revealing the full complement of Sentinels surrounding him. Elias''s shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him as reality settled in. He was caught. Truly caught this time.


    "What was he?" Elias asked, nodding toward where Varin had escaped. "Who does he work for?"


    Keldric studied him for a moment, seeming to weigh how much to reveal. "There are those who view the Maw as a resource to be exploited rather than a divine presence to be revered. They seek to understand its power through... methods the Church forbids."


    "Torture, you mean."


    "Among other things." Keldric gestured to his men, who moved to secure Elias more thoroughly this time, binding his wrists with reinforced cords that bit into his skin. "Consider your capture by us a mercy, slum rat. The Church may require your sacrifice, but at least it will have meaning."


    Elias laughed bitterly. "Meaning defined by the same people who leave children to starve in the slums while they feast in the Sanctum District."


    Something flickered in Keldric''s eyes—not anger, but a more complex emotion. "The ways of the divine are not for us to question. The Maw chooses from all districts, all walks of life. Its purpose transcends our mortal concerns."


    "Easy to say when you''re not the one being sacrificed."


    Keldric turned away. "Take him to the checkpoint. Double guard this time. I''ll notify the Sanctum that we''ve secured the eleventh chosen one."


    As the Sentinels marched him from the courtyard, Elias felt the pull of the Maw stronger than ever, the marks beneath his skin pulsing in what felt disturbingly like satisfaction. His thoughts turned to the merchant''s words: Those who go willingly face different challenges than those dragged in against their will.


    Would it matter if he stopped fighting now? If he walked toward the Sanctum under his own power rather than being dragged there?


    He didn''t know. But as the last of the slums'' familiar squalor fell away behind him, replaced by the ordered streets of the Market Quarter, Elias made a decision. Whatever awaited him beyond the Maw''s embrace, he would face it on his own terms. Not as a willing sacrifice to Church doctrine, but as a survivor determined to understand the power that had marked him.


    The Maw had chosen him. Now he would choose how to face it.