Sungjoo leapt out of the bed and moved toward the door, but even as he reached it he knew that it was futile. The door was locked into place with the solid bar on the outside, and any amount of energy spent trying to break it would just wear him down. He tried it anyway, just to be sure that the bar was still there, but as soon as his suspicion was confirmed he gave up.

Instead, he turned to search the room for any other way out. As it was, the stool, table and bed were not of any use to escape, nor could he use the candle for anything useful. Unfortunately, Yixuan had not left the knife that he had cut Sungjoo's bonds with; if he had, the assassin could have used it to begin prying boards loose.

Instead, he was left with no options. As he sank down onto the bed, head in his hands, he realized that he could no longer hear the screams. Whatever had been happening, it was over now. Kergisa had won.

The sound of running footsteps sounded outside of his small cell, drawing closer by the second, and he lifted his eyes when the runner stopped outside of his room. He heard the scrape of the bar, then watched in disbelief as the door was pulled open.

A young acolyte stood there, one hand still grasping the bar, the side of his oval shaped face streaked with blood. "Please, help us," he pleaded, and to Sungjoo's surprise, he tossed a knife at the assassin.

He caught it in midair and turned it over in his hand, testing the weight of it. It was a mere kitchen knife but it had a solid weight and the tang extended into the handle, as it should to be of true quality. He raised his eyes to the young man. "Why would you think that I would help you? You serve Siakera."

The boy shook his head roughly, tears springing to his eyes. "Yixuan said that you would. He said that you're not as evil as you think you are and that you would save us." Oh, did he? "Please, sir, hurry. Yixuan is holding him off but the man moves like a snake!"

The man... Sungjoo stood quickly, his mind pulling him back to Kergisa giving Wenhan direction in the Hall of Faces. "This man, what does he look like?" he asked, already brushing past the young acolyte to head down the unfamiliar hallway. Outside of his prison room, the halls were once again white, decorated with the same carvings and candles that adorned the main entryway. 

"About your height, with a square jaw." The boy paused in his words as he worried his lips with his teeth, his own running strides keeping pace with Sungjoo. "He was... smiling. When he killed..." his voice dropped off in a whisper, but that was description enough to solidify the man's mind.

It was Wenhan, come to finish him off. What was it that Siakera had said? That Kergisa had come for him? So the goddess truly had intended for him to fail at this and die in the process, and if not, she had a contingency plan to finish him off anyway.

As they reached the main hall, he realized that whatever fight had happened there was already over. The lights were out and not a noise arose from it; to see such darkness in the temple of Light was disconcerting, to say the least. Sungjoo drew to a stop before he turned and caught the boy's shoulder in his grip. The acolyte was taller than him, only slightly, but his face and nervousness told of his young age. "What is your name?" Sungjoo asked, voice cast soft so that it would not carry.

"Yibo, sir," he answered in the same tone, though his eyes were darting about the darkened hall. They lingered longest on the shadows as if he expected Wenhan to leap out of them and attack.

Sungjoo nodded and caught Yibo's attention once again with a firm squeeze to his shoulder. "Listen to me. You stay here until I engage him, do you understand? Don't run off, he will only chase you. Hide here, stay still, and once I catch his attention, you get out of here with anyone you can find. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded quickly, his eyes wide, and Sungjoo gave him another squeeze. "Good man," he praised softly, then, taking a deep breath, entered the dark hall. His steps were silent as he stepped over broken statues that littered the floor, his heart strangely aching when he caught Siakera's gaze in one of the shards along the floor. The goddess's face was nearly whole, and for a moment he could swear that the eyes darkened to mimic her own. Maybe he was not alone in this fight.

"Wenhan," he called as he reached the center, his voice echoing around the room. It was usually filled with worshippers and petitioners for the goddess's favor, but the only signs he saw of people were the dark stains on the floor. Where the bodies had gone, he didn't know, but he recognized those pools as being of blood. "Where are you?" He pulled his gaze from the blood to look around the room, peering into the shadows to try and find the