Chapter 11
Breaking Free
Finn had long finished his delicious meal, satisfying his morning hunger. He had left the cafeteria and wandered outside, unsure of what to do next. The infirmary hadn’t provided him with any answers, and while the food had been incredible—easily the best he’d ever tasted—it had done little to ease the storm in his mind.
He walked along the tight academy streets, weaving through the bustling crowd with a thoughtful expression.
“What to do… what to do…” he murmured under his breath, his voice lost amidst the lively chatter and hurried footsteps.
Finn swivelled his head, scanning each building he passed. He took note of the combat and spell-casting training halls, towering structures that exuded purpose. He was certain he’d spend plenty of time there in the future. He also spotted several shops lining the streets, some selling herbs and spices, while others displayed magical tools that glimmered faintly in the sunlight. Finn lingered for a moment but quickly dismissed the thought of visiting. Where would he even get the money to afford any of it?
As he continued down the bustling street, Finn couldn’t help but notice the variety of people rushing past—students, staff, shopkeepers, and merchants lugging crates of goods. Each one seemed to have a purpose, a goal, a direction. Meanwhile, his steps felt aimless, his feet carrying him forward without thought.
Only two days ago, his head had been full of plans—exciting, elaborate ideas of places to explore and things to accomplish. Now, all of it seemed so distant, almost laughable. The energy he’d felt upon arriving at the academy had evaporated, replaced by a heavy fog of doubt and exhaustion.
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. His chest tightened as the familiar weight of inferiority settled over him, accompanied by a gnawing anxiety that refused to let go. And then there were the hallucinations—fleeting, maddening glimpses of things he knew couldn’t be real.
It was all so frustrating, so overwhelming. The thoughts swirled in his mind, building like a heavy storm cloud. A hazy fog seemed to swallow every one of his ideas, leaving him paralysed.
But then, amidst the haze, a flicker of clarity sparked. Finn stopped walking and clenched his fists at his sides. A determined glint lit his eyes as he took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let this consume him. He had come to this academy with a purpose—to be great, to prove himself, to finally feel like he was more than just the son of a man who had never understood him.
The weight of it all settled back in. He had promised his group he’d lead them to Rifeton, but that had been before the mist before everything had changed. They were gone now, but their dream didn’t have to die with them. He could still make it happen. For them. For himself.
The heavy fog of doubt receded as a spark of fire ignited in his chest. What am I waiting for? he thought. There’s no time to waste. He didn’t come here to wallow in uncertainty. He came to become something more.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he straightened his posture. He refused to let himself spiral further.
He looked around again, his eyes scanning the street with newfound resolve. What’s the most important place for an aspiring mage? he thought, mentally running through the options. Where can I learn?
“The library it is!” Finn blurted out, his voice cutting through the hum of the busy street.
With renewed purpose, he turned on his heel and began weaving through the crowd, his sights set on the one place where inspiration awaited. He was going to break free, one way or another.
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Play along, Lark reminded himself. Chances are, they just found my battered, unconscious body and brought me here to make sure I was okay.
He shrugged nonchalantly in response to the large man’s question, forcing a casual smirk. “That’s a silly question, isn’t it?”
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As the words left his mouth, a sharp pang of guilt twisted in his chest. The phrase echoed painfully in his mind, a haunting mirror of Rudd’s voice—calm, teasing, alive. Only a couple of nights ago, Rudd had said those exact words to him.
The large man let out a hearty laugh, the sound deep and warm like rolling thunder. “I suppose you’re right.” He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I guess you’re probably a bit confused about how you got here?”
Lark nodded, his expression guarded but polite.
The skinnier man, who had been lingering just outside, suddenly popped his pea-like head into the carriage. His sharp features and wiry frame gave him a jittery, restless energy. “You were like a corpse, man,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “We thought you were dead, to be honest!”
The large man nodded in agreement, his voice steady and matter-of-fact. “Yeah. You’d probably be frozen stiff in the snow if we hadn’t hauled you out.”
Confused, Lark nodded. “Uh, thanks.”
“You’re welcome!” the smaller of the two replied.
Lark studied the questionable duo for a second before speaking again.
“By the way… who is ‘we’ exactly?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.
They both looked at each other in the eyes, and soon after the smaller of the two facepalmed.
“This dolt is Wren,” the shifty man suddenly answered from behind his hand, pointing at the larger man. “And I’m Zao. A pleasure to meet you…”
“Lark.”
“Lark,” Zao confirmed as he moved his hand away from his face, smiling from ear to ear. “Uh, sorry for the confusion, Lark,” he spoke again, pausing as he looked toward Wren. “This moron isn’t good at explaining things.”
“Hey!” Wren barked in outrage, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “I explain plenty just fine. You’re the one who always talks too much.”
“I talk just the right amount,” Zao shot back, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “If it weren’t for me, people would think you were some kind of grumpy ogre.”
Wren grunted, looking like he might argue further, but instead let out a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway,” he said, turning back to Lark, “we’re part of an expedition passing through the region. We spotted you half-buried in the snow a few miles back outside our camp.”
“Expedition?” Lark echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. He glanced out of the carriage window, trying to get a sense of where he was. Outside, he noticed several other carriages, similar to the one he was in, being pulled by sturdy horses across the snow-covered landscape. “Where exactly are we headed?”
“To Rifeton,” Zao chimed in, plopping himself down on a crate opposite Lark, leaving Wren to manage the reins at the front.
A flash of something—recognition, perhaps—glimmered in Lark’s eyes. Rifeton?
“I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” Zao continued, leaning back casually as if the world's weight didn’t rest on the very thing he was talking about. “The kingdom to the east, where the damned mist hasn’t reached. A haven, they say.”
“Yeah…” Lark murmured, his voice distant as he gazed out of the window. “I’ve heard of it.”
He had promised his group he’d lead them there. But here he was, alone, being carted off to the very place he had failed to bring them to. Pathetic.
Zao yawned, stretching and resting his elbows on his knees, eyes glinting with curiosity. “So, anyway, mysterious Lark, what’s your story? How did you end up… like that?”
Lark met Zao’s gaze, feeling a strange hesitation. He didn’t quite know why, but he couldn’t bring himself to share the full truth.
“I was part of a small group,” Lark began, his words weighed down by an invisible burden. “We were camped near the western foot when… when the mist surged.”
Zao nodded, his expression shifting to one of quiet understanding, silently urging him to continue.
“We tried to escape…” Lark’s voice faltered slightly, his fists clenching at the memory. “But those… vile things… they caught us.”
Zao’s eyes softened with pity, his gaze lingering on Lark. “You’re the only one who made it out?”
Lark nodded, his jaw tight as he fought to control his emotions. He looked out at the passing snow, willing the past to stay where it belonged. They’re gone, he reminded himself. They’re gone.
“Well, I’m sure it could be worse…” Wren spoke out from the front. “Because at least you’re alive. Alive and safe.”
Lark looked at the back of the large man and nodded softly. He was right. He was alive.
He didn’t have to work hard anymore. He was so close to his destination, even if the group wasn’t with him anymore. A foreign feeling washed through him. Was it relief?
It felt like he had broken free of an invisible shackle like he had nothing holding him back.
Lark looked out the window once more, watching as the landscape rolled by.
Surviving was really the only thing that mattered, in this cruel world.