The night had stretched on far longer than Achem had anticipated.

The adrenaline that had carried him through the battle was fading, leaving behind a dull, aching exhaustion. Every muscle in his body throbbed, and the wounds he hadn’t noticed before began making themselves known—sharp stings across his arms, a deep bruise forming along his ribs.

Lysara wasn’t faring much better. Though she moved with her usual confidence, her steps were slower, her breath uneven. The use of magic had taken its toll. Her hands trembled faintly, the residual sparks of energy flickering between her fingers like dying embers.

They had escaped, but they were far from safe.

----------------------------------------

The hidden tunnel had led them beneath the ruins, opening up into a dense wilderness beyond the castle’s borders. The towering trees of the Shrouded Vale stood like ancient sentinels, their gnarled roots twisting through the earth, their thick canopy blocking out the moonlight.

Achem hated how vulnerable he felt here.

The ruins had been dangerous, but at least he had walls around him, places to take cover. Out here? The darkness was endless.

Lysara slowed her pace and finally collapsed against a large tree. She took deep, controlled breaths, trying to regulate her breathing.

“We need to keep moving,” Achem muttered, scanning their surroundings. “They’ll send scouts after us.”

Lysara gave him a dry, humorless chuckle. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For saving your stubborn ass.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming despite her exhaustion. “Twice.”

Achem exhaled, pushing aside his pride. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.

Lysara’s smirk widened. “That almost sounded sincere.”

He rolled his eyes. The moment was over.

----------------------------------------

They pressed on, their footsteps muffled by the thick forest floor.

Achem tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted with hunger, the way his body begged for rest. He had always prided himself on his endurance—long hours at the office, sleepless nights—but this was different. This was survival.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.

After what felt like an eternity, Lysara finally spoke again. “We can’t keep wandering aimlessly. There’s a safe house a few hours from here.”

Achem shot her a glance. “How do you know that?”

She smirked, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. “I know things.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Achem clenched his jaw but didn’t press further. He wasn’t in a position to argue. Right now, he needed food, rest, and answers—and if following her meant getting all three, then so be it.

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The night air was thick with tension.

Even in the depths of exhaustion, Achem could feel it—a presence watching them, something lurking just beyond the edge of their vision.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He wasn’t imagining it.

Lysara sensed it too. Her movements became sharper, her gaze flicking toward the shadows between the trees.

“Someone’s following us,” she murmured.

Achem’s grip tightened around his sword. “How many?”

Lysara closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers twitching as she reached out with her magic.

“…Three,” she whispered. “Maybe four.”

Achem exhaled through his nose. Not ideal, but manageable.

“Scouts?” he asked.

Lysara nodded. “Likely. They’ll be testing us, seeing if we’re worth killing or capturing.”

Achem’s eyes darkened. “Then we deal with them now.”

Lysara smirked. “Now you’re thinking like a king.”

----------------------------------------

They didn’t wait for the enemy to strike first.

Lysara whispered a few incantations, and the air around them shimmered—the illusion spell wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to mask their movements as they took their positions.

Achem crouched low, pressing himself against the base of a thick tree. His heartbeat slowed, his breath steady. He was ready.

Then he saw them.

Dark figures slipping through the trees, barely visible against the shadows. They moved with trained precision, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the darkness.

Mercenaries.

Not the king’s men.

Achem’s gut tightened.

These weren’t soldiers blindly following orders—these were hunters.

Lysara moved first. A sharp crack of magic split the silence, and one of the mercenaries crumpled to the ground, his body convulsing from the force of the spell.

The others reacted instantly.

Achem lunged from the shadows, his blade cutting through the first man’s throat before the mercenary could even scream.

The second turned, swinging his axe—Achem barely dodged, the blade grazing his arm. Pain bloomed, hot and sharp, but he ignored it.

His body moved on instinct.

He slammed his elbow into the man’s ribs, knocking the air from his lungs, then drove his sword into his gut. The mercenary gasped, his eyes wide with shock before the life drained from them.

The third man tried to run.

Lysara didn’t let him.

A fireball struck him in the back, sending him sprawling, screaming, before he finally stopped moving.

Achem exhaled heavily, wiping the blood from his sword.

Silence settled over the forest once more.

Lysara adjusted her cloak, stepping over one of the bodies. “Well. That was fun.”

Achem shot her a look.

She raised her hands in mock innocence. “What? I like winning.”

He shook his head. “We need to go. More will come.”

Lysara sighed dramatically. “Yes, yes, back to running for our lives.”

Despite himself, Achem felt the corner of his lips twitch.

They moved.

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By the time they reached the safe house, dawn was breaking.

It wasn’t much—a small, abandoned outpost, half-buried beneath vines and overgrowth. The walls were cracked, the roof partially caved in, but it was shelter.

Lysara wasted no time collapsing near the fireplace, her magic sparking the remnants of old wood to life.

Achem sank against the far wall, exhaustion threatening to drag him under.

For the first time in hours, he allowed himself to breathe.

Lysara broke the silence.

“We need to talk about what comes next.”

Achem’s eyes flickered open, his mind still hazy from fatigue. “And what’s that?”

Lysara watched him, her expression unreadable. “You can’t just run forever. You need allies.”

Achem exhaled. He knew she was right.

The Council of Lords had stripped him of everything—his title, his throne, his army. If he wanted to take back what was his, he couldn’t do it alone.

He needed to rebuild.

He needed people who were willing to fight.

And most of all—

He needed to remind Eldoria why they had feared the name Rogar.

Lysara smirked, as if reading his mind. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

Achem didn’t answer.

But she already knew.

The storm was coming.

And when it did, Achem would be ready.