Night wrapped the mansion in silence, thick clouds swallowing the moon and pressing darkness down onto the stone walls. Even the ocean beyond the cliffs seemed muted, its waves reduced to distant murmurs. Everything felt as if it were holding its breath.
Tomora moved first.
His steps were careful, weight shifting slowly from heel to toe, every movement measured. The ground beneath his boots felt colder than usual, damp with evening dew. Shadows stretched long and distorted across the courtyard, bending around pillars and statues like living things. His senses stayed sharp, ears tuned for the faintest sound that didn't belong to the night.
Behind him, Tala followed.
Her breathing was shallow, controlled, but not calm. Each step felt louder than it should have been, each rustle of fabric a threat. She kept her eyes forward, watching Tomora's back, trusting him to lead even as fear clawed at her chest. When he paused, she paused. When he moved, she moved.
Their eyes met once.
No words passed between them.
None were needed.
They slipped past the garden's edge, the place that had once been full of color and life and now stood barren—dark soil, broken stems, shadows where flowers should have been. Tomora avoided looking at it. Tala didn't. The memory burned quietly behind her eyes, but she swallowed it down and kept moving.
A corridor opened ahead—narrow, stone-lined, echoing too easily. Tomora raised a hand, signaling her to stop. He listened.
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady. Guard patrol.
The sound grew louder, boots striking stone in a dull rhythm. Tala's fingers twitched at her side. Her heart slammed so hard she was certain it would give them away. Tomora pressed himself against the wall, pulling her with him. The stone was cold against her back as they flattened into the shadows.
A guard passed within arm's reach.
A lantern swung lazily at his side, its light brushing across the wall—so close that Tala could see the reflection of flame in Tomora's eyes. He didn't blink. Didn't move. He waited until the footsteps faded before releasing the breath he'd been holding.
Only then did they continue.
The door they reached was heavy, reinforced with iron bands, the lock thick and old. Tomora crouched, pulling a small piece of bent metal from his sleeve. His hands trembled—not from fear, but exhaustion. Five days without food still lingered in his body, weakness coiled deep in his muscles.
He ignored it.
The metal slid into the lock.
Tala stood watch, back to him, eyes darting between corridors. Every second felt stretched thin, fragile. Somewhere nearby, a guard laughed. The sound scraped her nerves raw.
"Hurry," she whispered, barely more than breath.
Tomora's jaw tightened. He adjusted his grip, feeling the mechanism inside the lock resist him—then give.
A soft click.
The door opened.
They slipped through and pulled it shut behind them.
The air inside was colder, heavier, carrying the scent of damp stone and rust. Chains hung from the walls, swaying slightly as if remembering the weight they once held. Tala swallowed hard, refusing to look too closely.
A beam of light suddenly sliced across the floor.
She grabbed Tomora's arm.
"Move."
They pressed themselves into the corner, bodies tense, breathing shallow. A guard's footsteps echoed closer, the lantern's glow crawling across the walls. Tala squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the moment they would be discovered.
But the light passed.
The footsteps faded.
When it was safe, they moved again—faster now, urgency creeping into every step. The outer wall loomed ahead, tall and unforgiving. Beyond it waited the forest. Freedom. Or death.
Tomora pulled out a rope, fingers numb as he secured it to a jutting stone. He tested it once. Twice.
"This is it," he whispered.
Tala nodded, throat tight.
He climbed first, muscles screaming as he hauled himself over the edge and began descending. The wall scraped his palms raw, the rope biting into his skin. Halfway down, a shout ripped through the night.
"Hey! Stop!"
Light exploded across the courtyard.
Spotlights flared. Boots thundered. Voices shouted orders.
Tomora dropped.
He hit the ground hard, pain shooting up his legs, but he rolled and ran without slowing. Tala landed behind him, breath tearing from her lungs as she sprinted after him. Branches whipped at their faces as they tore through the trees, thorns snagging clothes and skin.
The collar around Tomora's neck sparked.
Yellow light flared in his eyes.
He didn't stop it.
Lightning crackled faintly along his arms, illuminating the forest floor just enough to guide their steps. The air vibrated around him, power straining against the restraints holding it back.
A guard burst from the brush ahead, lunging for Tala.
She cried out as his hand closed around her arm, yanking her back.
Tomora spun.
The lightning surged—brief, controlled, violent.
The guard was thrown backward, slamming into a tree and collapsing. The forest went still for a heartbeat.
"Go!" Tomora shouted.
Tala hesitated.
"No," she said, voice shaking but firm. "Together."
They ran.
Branches tore at them, lungs burning, legs screaming. Behind them, shouts faded, then disappeared entirely. The forest swallowed the sounds whole, shadows closing in like protective arms.
They didn't stop until their bodies forced them to.
Under a massive tree, roots twisting like ancient veins, they collapsed. Tomora braced himself on his hands, chest heaving, vision swimming. Tala slid down beside him, gasping, hair clinging to her face with sweat.
For a long moment, there was only breathing.
Then Tala laughed—a quiet, disbelieving sound.
Tomora looked at her, eyes still faintly glowing.
"We made it," he said softly.
The words felt unreal.
Behind them, far in the distance, the mansion stood silhouetted against the night—cold stone, iron gates, burning lights. It watched them like a wounded beast.
The chains were broken.
But the hunt had only just begun.