The streets of Oakhart had never seemed so narrow, so suffocating. Cobblestones rang beneath their boots as Lyra led the way, her blade flashing with each strike that turned aside a pursuer. Her arm ached from the constant parries; her knuckles were going numb around the hilt. Behind them, the palace bells tolled—shrill, condemning—summoning more guards, their horns cutting through the night like something hunting them.
"Faster!" Shawn barked, shoving aside a soldier who lunged too close. A blade grazed his arm—splitting skin, bright blood streaking down to his wrist. He didn't slow. He didn't even look at the wound. Elise tightened her grip on Rory's wrist, dragging him at speed, but the boy was no longer stumbling. His breath shook, but his eyes were sharp—awake, alive—already reaching for his sling.
Torches flared on every corner, shadows jerking across shuttered windows as citizens stirred awake to the sound of chaos. From the palace, squads of soldiers poured into the avenues, their armor clattering like storm waves.
"They'll cut us off if we keep to the main streets!" Elise hissed, voice raw from running.
"Then we vanish into the alleys," Lyra snapped, veering left into a narrow passageway. The cold air seared her lungs; every breath felt like knives. She had defied her king. The whole of Oakhart was now against her.
Behind them, pursuit thundered closer—iron-shod boots, shouted orders, the scrape of drawn blades.
Rory twisted in Elise's grasp, loading his sling with hands that trembled but never lost precision. "I've got it—" He released, and a stone whistled through the dark, striking the torch of a soldier mid-charge. Flame shattered into sparks, and in the sudden darkness the pursuers stumbled, swearing.
Another stone flew—this one cracked hard against the chin of an officer barking orders. Bone met stone; teeth snapped. The man went down with a strangled grunt, collapsing into the line behind him.
Shawn let out a breathless, exhilarated laugh between swings of his blade. "Hah! That's twice now—keep it up, kid!"
Rory's chest swelled at the praise, though his arms were shaking outright now, muscle quivering from fear and effort. He grit his teeth, loading again. "Just don't slow down!"
Lyra risked a glance back—catching the determined clench of his jaw, the spark of wild courage in his eyes. Pride flickered across her face—brief, but real—before she turned and slashed down another guard blocking their path, metal ringing against bone.
Selene stumbled as they turned another corner, clutching Lyra's cloak with white-knuckled desperation. She was shaking—whole body trembling hard enough that Lyra could feel it through armor and cloth. Panic had hollowed her breathing into shallow, rapid gulps. Lyra shifted her stance, letting Selene brace against her hip. The closeness—her warmth, her trust—became an anchor even as the world narrowed to blood, steel, and flight.
She would not—could not—let Selene be taken.
Elise disappeared for several agonizing minutes—Shawn and Lyra forced to form a line around Selene and Rory. When Elise returned, winded, leading horses with frantic urgency, her hands were shaking so violently that the reins flicked like whips.
They mounted fast—Lyra hauling Selene up in front of her, Elise swinging Rory behind her saddle, Shawn swinging into the last mount despite the blood still leaking down his arm.
They tore through another street, clambering over barrels and half-collapsed market stalls. The city walls loomed ahead—black stone, impenetrable. The northern gate barred and bristling with spears.
"Too many," Elise breathed, faltering as she counted helmets. "We'll never—"
Lyra's eyes narrowed, scanning—muscle coiled, mind racing. There was no way through without cutting down their own countrymen. But retreat meant a cell. Death. A noose.
Then Rory slid down from the saddle.
Almost trembling. Yet resolute.
He pulled one of the heavier stones from his pouch—hands shaking—but he wound the sling tight, jaw locked.
"Please let this work…" he whispered.
He loosed.
The stone struck the great brass bell hung over the gatehouse. The deafening clang split the night—so loud it rattled the defenders' helmets. The guards jolted, horses panicked, several mounts reared and threw riders. Shouts turned into startled cries; a dozen orders overlapped into useless noise.
Confusion—precious, impossible confusion—opened like a wound.
"Now!" Lyra roared.
Shawn spurred forward, his wounded arm smeared with fresh blood as he carved a path through the stunned defenders. Elise shouted breathlessly, "Hold tight, kid—yay!" as her horse surged. Rory clung to her waist, dizzy from adrenaline.
Selene clung tighter to Lyra, nails digging through cloak and leather. Her breath trembled against Lyra's collar, hot and ragged.
Together they dashed through the gap—shoving past a rearing horse, ducking under a spear, slipping through the breach before the defenders could rally.
The night swallowed them beyond the gate. Cold air slapped sweat-slick faces, stung bleeding skin. Only the echo of horns followed—maddening, unanswered—and the crushing weight that from this moment onward, there would be no turning back.
They did not stop until the fields opened before them—wide and silvered by moonlight, wind ripping across grass like icy teeth. Every exhale burned.
Lyra finally allowed herself a single breath of relief—
—and then shadows stirred in the treeline.
Figures emerged—slow, deliberate—cloaked shapes with star-shaped insignias glinting faintly against their chests. Their torches flared to life, hemming the riders in with sudden fire.
Shawn's curse was low and vicious. "Oh come on"
Elise reached for her blade again—hand shaking from fatigue but resolute. Rory's fingers fumbled for another stone, breath shuddering.
Lyra swung down in front of Selene, planting herself like a shield, teeth bared and eyes burning. Selene pressed a shaking hand to Lyra's spine as if anchoring herself to something living—something safe.
They had eluded the king—only to ride straight into another snare.
Torches flared. Cloaks shifted. Magic crackled like dry lightning.
And the mages had been waiting.
Moonlight guttered under sudden heat—
and then the night wind carried the tang of smoke and steel