The tunnels breathed dust and rot.
Ancient stone.
Old secrets.
Forgotten crimes.
Water dripped from cracked ceilings.
Echoed like distant footsteps.
Every sound felt like betrayal.
Lysa led them through twisting passages.
Left.
Right.
Down.
Up.
Only memory guided her.
Behind them, horns sounded.
Faint.
Muffled.
But real.
"They know," she whispered.
"They always do," Aren replied.
A hidden door opened into a cellar.
Barrels.
Mold.
Rats scattering.
Freedom smelled terrible.
Caelis waited outside with twenty riders.
Silent.
Ready.
Loyal.
No questions.
They mounted without ceremony.
No speeches.
No farewells.
Only urgency.
They rode through back alleys.
Over moonlit bridges.
Past sleeping homes.
The capital never knew it lost its guardian.
At Rivercross Gate, trouble waited.
Royal guards.
Torches.
Steel.
Rowan's men.
"Side route," Lysa hissed.
Too late.
"HALT!" a captain shouted.
Arrows flew.
Horses screamed.
Chaos erupted.
Aren charged.
Blade flashing.
Knocked the captain aside.
Cut through the line.
Blood splashed on stone.
Caelis's men followed.
A living storm.
They broke through.
Lost three.
Gained freedom.
Beyond the gate, darkness opened wide.
Fields.
Forests.
Possibility.
They did not stop until sunrise.
Hidden in hills.
Breathing hard.
Bleeding.
Alive.
Aren looked back once.
Greyhaven shimmered in distance.
Beautiful.
Deadly.
Gone.
He was no longer a lord.
No longer a warden.
No longer a prince's ally.
He was now something far more dangerous.
A man with nothing left to lose.