Jalissa stirred the next morning, her head throbbing dully, like a distant drumbeat echoing through her temples. She gradually opened her deep brown eyes, blinking against the harsh morning light as the previous day's events played back in her mind like a grim tapestry. A soft moan escaped her lips as she recalled the tumultuous journey, the terror that gripped her heart, and the deaths that seemed to surround her like a shroud. Nausea swept over her in waves as she remembered the rotting corpses, their images burned into her mind's eye. She slowly sat up, clutching her stomach as if trying to keep herself anchored in the present. Tears streamed down her face, carving paths through the grime and dust that still clung to her skin, as she processed everything—the thought of her own mortality and the men who died beside her consuming her every thought.
Several minutes passed as she cried silently, her shoulders shaking with each suppressed sob. This was not the life she had envisioned as a child, filled with dreams of adventure and heroism. Nor was it the mission she imagined when the Queen asked her to accompany Isaac. This realization troubled Jalissa deeply; she wondered if the Queen expected them to lose their lives on this quest. Were they intended as sacrifices for the fugitive? The thought made her shudder, as she believed the Queen aimed to bring good to the world, not further harm. She clung to the hope that there was a greater purpose behind their trials.
Taking a deep breath, she composed herself, standing up with newfound resolve and clarity. Jalissa moved towards the door, her footsteps echoing softly in the quiet room. She opened it, seeing Nicholas in the kitchen, his hands deftly preparing a meal. The scent of cooking food filled the air, but she felt no hunger, only a gnawing unease. She looked around for Isaac but couldn't find him anywhere in the small dwelling.
"Um, Nicholas?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she approached the kitchen. Nicholas glanced at her and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth.
"Good morning, my lady! Hungry?" he asked, gesturing to the food he was preparing.
She shook her head, despite her stomach's protests. "Maybe later? Do you know where Isaac is?"
Nicholas gestured towards the door with a nod of his head. "He's been up for hours and went to take care of the bodies. Not wise to leave them in the alleyway for too long, especially in this heat." Jalissa nodded, thanked Nicholas, and headed outside. The bright sunlight made her wince, and she raised her arm to block it, stepping out and closing the door behind her with a soft click. As she approached the dark alley, she found Isaac sitting on the ground, the bodies now gone, leaving only empty shadows where they once lay.
She walked up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, kneeling beside him. She noticed a clump of his hair missing and a knot where he had been struck the night before, a testament to their harrowing ordeal. Isaac turned to her, his expression despondent, his eyes reflecting a deep well of guilt and sorrow.
"I failed you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Immediately, Jalissa wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly, as if trying to shield him from his own doubts.
"No, you didn't," she reassured him, her voice steady and sure. "We're both still alive. We can continue and complete our mission." She marveled at how much Isaac had opened up to her, how the walls he once kept around himself seemed to crumble in the face of their shared trials. "You were so brave last night. We were outnumbered, and yet you fought with everything you had."
Isaac looked at her, his gaze searching hers. "That wasn't the fugitive."
"He was trained by him," she explained, her voice low as if sharing a secret. "If the fugitive could train Nicholas that well, imagine how skilled he is."
"I wonder where he is," Isaac mused, his brow furrowing in thought.
Jalissa nodded, pondering the same questions. She stood up and offered her hand to Isaac. He looked at it and smiled, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "We both know you'd topple over if I gave you my weight," he joked, trying to lighten the mood. Jalissa laughed, a genuine sound that felt foreign in the heavy air, and watched as Isaac stood up on his own, brushing the dirt from his clothes.
"I feel like we have more questions than answers," Jalissa said, her voice tinged with frustration. "Do you think the Queen knew how dangerous this would be? How much our lives would be at risk in just one evening?"
Isaac considered this, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. Then he shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible motion. "It's hard to say. The Queen isn't one to put her people in harm's way without good reason. But on the other hand..." His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, hanging in the air like an unspoken secret. Jalissa looked at him, puzzled, her eyes searching his for an answer.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Isaac hesitated, then nodded, as if coming to a decision. "Fine. It's just that we're entering dark times, Jalissa. Your Queen might be willing to do whatever it takes to prevent things from getting worse. She might be willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good."
The thought hadn't occurred to Jalissa, but it didn't shock her as much as she expected. If the Queen had decided to fight back against the atrocities plaguing the eleven nations, she might be prepared to do whatever was necessary, no matter the cost. Jalissa didn't relish the idea of being a sacrifice, but she knew the Queen acted with deep thought and consideration, her every move a piece in a much larger game.
As they stood there, lost in their thoughts, they heard footsteps rushing down nearby stairs, the sound echoing through the quiet alley like a warning drum. They turned to see Tom, the barkeep, approaching with a worried expression etched onto his face. As he neared, it was clear something was wrong, his eyes darting nervously from side to side.
"Time to go," he warned, his voice low and urgent. "The Royal Guard is here, looking for you two." A chill ran down Jalissa's spine, like a cold finger tracing a path of dread. The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the danger that never seemed far behind.
* * *
The trio found themselves once more in Tom’s cabin, hastily collecting their belongings, the urgency of their situation palpable in the air. The room was filled with the sounds of hurried movements and the rustling of fabric as they gathered their essentials.
“Why are they after us?” Jalissa asked as Tom grabbed a few items from the wall and stuffed them into a bag, his movements swift and practiced.
“Because,” Tom started, his voice grim, “those fools from last night ran to the Royal Guard and reported everything. He couldn’t accept his defeat like a man. Instead, he told them about you two searching for the fugitive, Nicholas killing those men, and our connection to the fugitive.”
Jalissa shook her head, her expression a mix of disbelief and frustration. Nicholas looked disheartened, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I should’ve ended them all when I had the chance,” Nicholas muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Tom walked over to him and gripped his arm, his grip firm yet reassuring.
“You did fine, son. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault, understand?” Tom pleaded with Nicholas, who swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes meeting Tom’s with a hint of gratitude.
“We don’t have time for this,” Isaac murmured, his tone urgent. They all knew it was true. They needed to flee Widow’s Peak quickly, or it might already be too late. Gathering what they could, they left the house, the door creaking shut behind them with a sense of finality. Nicholas turned to lock the door, his hand pausing on the latch.
“No,” Tom said, his voice firm. “We’re not coming back here. We’ll never be able to return.” Nicholas looked at the house, then at his father, before the quartet began to ascend a set of stairs, their footsteps echoing in the early morning silence. Tom led the way, scanning the area with a keen eye, and pointed to an opposite alley. They rushed across the street into another alleyway, their hearts pounding in their chests. Tom continued to guide them through the various alleys of Widow’s Peak, determined to avoid the Royal Guard at all costs.
Jalissa felt her heart pounding fiercely against her chest, desperate to escape. She looked at Isaac, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if ready for the Royal Guard to pounce at any moment. Tom led the group through the alleyways, taking advantage of the early morning and the lack of witnesses. Nicholas followed closely behind, his sword at the ready, the metal glinting in the faint light. As they turned a corner, Tom paused and held up his hand. They stopped, hearing rustling nearby, their breaths held in anticipation.
“They’re around here somewhere,” a voice said, the words cutting through the silence. Jalissa recognized it as belonging to the Royal Guard. They were in Widow’s Peak, and the realization sent a chill down her spine.
“Enough,” another guard spoke, his tone authoritative and cold. “I ordered the village to be set ablaze. Do so.”
“Your highness, we can find them without burning the village—“ the voice trailed off, replaced by the sound of someone gasping for breath, then silence.
“Does anyone else wish to defy me?” the Royal Highness asked, his voice echoing through the alleyways. Silence followed, heavy and oppressive. “Good,” he said, satisfied. “Now, set fire to this pathetic village.” Jalissa’s eyes widened as she looked at Isaac and Nicholas, the horror of the situation dawning on them. The sound of hooves pounding the ground filled the air, a grim symphony of impending doom.
“What are we going to do?” Jalissa whispered to Tom, her voice laced with fear and desperation.
“Get the hell out of here,” Tom replied resolutely, his eyes hardening with determination.
Jalissa shook her head, her voice rising slightly with emotion. “But, these people. They will all die.”
Tom glared at her, his expression stern. “And?”
“We can’t just let them die! Innocent lives, on OUR heads!” Her voice rose slightly, setting off alarms in Tom and Nicholas’s minds.
“Quiet, you silly girl!” Nicholas hissed, his voice filled with urgency. “You will get us killed! These people are lost. There’s no stopping this now. We might as well not be part of the death toll.”
Jalissa shook her head, her eyes filled with tears, but Isaac placed his hand on her shoulder, his grip gentle yet firm. “I’m sworn to protect you. You are sworn to find the fugitive and deliver your message, to bring him to the Queen. We cannot fail our missions, do you understand?”
“We are no better than them,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “If we just let them die.”
Tom walked over to Jalissa and nodded, his expression softening slightly. “You’re right, we are no better than them in this moment. If we don’t live to fight another day, many more will lose their lives. You tell me what we’re supposed to do in the light of that?” Jalissa sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of their decision. She felt torn apart inside, knowing the reality of the situation and hating herself for it, hating herself for not being able to do more to stop the atrocity unfolding before her.
She finally acquiesced, nodding and looking at Isaac with pure sadness and disappointment in her eyes. Isaac swallowed hard before looking at Tom, and with a simple nod, the quartet was back on the path to escaping this forsaken town. Before long, smoke filled the air, and they knew they had limited time to escape unseen. Tom looked back at the group, his expression serious.
“There’s a path out of here, through the sewers, that will get us away from the Royal Guard’s eyes. My lady,” he looked at Jalissa. “I apologize in advance for what you’re going to see in there.” Then Tom peered around the corner and began to sprint towards the end of the street, away from the Royal Guard. As Jalissa raced down the street, she could smell the fire and felt tears welling up in her eyes, the acrid scent a stark reminder of the destruction they were leaving behind.
Before long, they reached a small grate in the ground. Jalissa worried whether Isaac would be able to fit inside the grate, her heart pounding with anxiety. Tom pulled the grate open and pointed towards Nicholas. “You first,” he told his son, and Nicholas nodded, taking a deep breath and dropping into the grate. Jalissa heard a splash of water as Nicholas landed and felt relieved it wasn’t a far drop. Tom looked at Isaac, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Do you think you can fit?” he asked, sharing the same concern as Jalissa. Isaac walked over and shook his head, his expression grim. Jalissa felt panic rising in her throat, her heart pounding wildly.
“No,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper.
Tom slowly nodded, his expression resigned. “Okay.” Jalissa was upset with how quickly Tom had resigned to leaving Isaac behind. Her eyes locked onto Tom, pleading with him, but she could tell by his expression that there was no other solution.
Isaac grabbed Jalissa and made her look at him, his grip firm yet gentle. “Listen, your mission must go on.”
“No, no,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Please, I will go with you.”
“Nonsense,” he told her, his voice firm yet kind. “You have to go find him. Only you can convince him. That’s what the Queen told me.”
She began to silently sob and hated everything about her life and this world in that moment. She immediately ran into Isaac’s arms and gave him the strongest hug she could muster before turning to his ear.
“I will never forget you,” she told him and then broke the embrace, mustering all of her strength to walk into the grate. She dropped into the sewer, and the smell hit her nostrils, but she didn’t care, because her protector was gone.
Up above, Tom and Isaac shook hands, their grips firm and steady. “I’m sorry, mate. This is not how I wanted it to end.”
Isaac smiled, a sad yet determined smile. “It’s how I envisioned my life ending. In a beautiful display of violent glory.”
Tom chuckled, a sound that held both sadness and respect. Then, he looked at Isaac, his expression serious. “I will protect her with all of my life.”
Isaac simply nodded and then pointed at the sewer. He turned his back to the old man, pulled the sword from its scabbard, and twirled it around a few times, the metal glinting in the sunlight.
“I plan on taking out as many from the Royal Guard as possible today,” he told Tom and then walked off, ready for the battle of his life.
“Isaac, if you make it out somehow, you will find us at the Grove of Illana. We will wait there for you tonight and tomorrow before making our way out the day after,” Tom informed him. Isaac didn’t respond, for both knew the odds of them crossing paths again were very slim until the next life. Tom then followed behind the other two, grabbing the grate as he dropped down to ensure it locked back into place.
Isaac strode down the street, blade out, ready for whatever came his way. As he reached the end of the street and turned right, he found a Royal Guard standing there, his back to Isaac, and immediately swung with his sword, removing the Guard’s head from his body and walking past him as his body collapsed to the ground.
For my Queen, he thought to himself.
As he emerged from another street, he found four or five of the Royal Guard there. They were surprised to see the hulking figure of Isaac. They tried to rush at him, but his blade was too quick as it tore through their skin and organs, leaving blood and pieces of themselves behind.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
For Jalissa, he would do anything for, he thought to himself.
He then walked into hell, knowing there was no way back, his heart filled with a mix of determination, sadness, and a fierce love for those he was leaving behind.
* * *
Jalissa's legs felt like dead weight, each step a laborious effort that sent waves of exhaustion crashing through her body. Partly, this was due to the endless hours of trudging through the sewers, though she'd lost track of time in the monotonous, dimly lit tunnels. The other part was undoubtedly the grief from losing Isaac, a pain that resonated through her entire being, gnawing at her heart and leaving her with a hollow, empty feeling. Ahead, Tom and Nicholas waded carefully through the shallow, murky waters, their silhouettes barely visible in the faint light. Both men likely wished they weren't in this predicament, physically and emotionally drained, their lives having taken a drastic turn in mere hours. As Tom guided the group, he recalled the fugitive's warning when they first met—that this day would come. There was an unmistakable certainty in his voice, a grim conviction that had been echoing in Tom's mind, along with other details confirmed in recent days.
Rounding a corner, Tom halted and turned to Nicholas. "We're here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. They both looked at Jalissa, her head hung low, eyes swollen from tears that had long since dried, leaving streaks of salt on her cheeks. Sympathy washed over them as they took in her disheveled appearance, her once vibrant spirit now reduced to a flickering flame. She was far out of her comfort zone, relying on two near-strangers for guidance and protection. Yet, they were determined to stand by her, to help her deliver her message to the fugitive, and see her safely through this ordeal.
Jalissa approached them, her shoulders drooping under the weight of her grief and exhaustion, unable to meet their gaze. She felt a pang of guilt for burdening them with her troubles, but she was too worn out to dwell on it.
"My lady," Tom began, his voice filled with a kindness that made Jalissa's heart ache.
Jalissa interrupted him sharply, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Please, stop with the 'my lady' stuff. I'm no lady."
Tom regarded her with a mixture of understanding and respect. "You were sent by the Queen. Therefore, you should be addressed as such."
Jalissa shook her head, her eyes filled with a profound sadness. "I'm no lady. And I certainly don't feel like one. Just call me Jalissa."
Tom simply nodded, accepting her wishes without argument. "Jalissa, we're here. Climb this ladder, and we'll be in the Grove of Illana. I imagine you're eager to leave this sewer?"
Jalissa gave a weak shrug, her energy fading with each passing moment. The thought of leaving the sewers behind should have filled her with relief, but she was too numb to feel much of anything.
"If Isaac made it out, he'll meet us here," Tom informed her, his voice filled with a hope that Jalissa couldn't share. She showed no reaction, her exhaustion evident in every line of her body. Nicholas climbed the ladder first, his movements swift and agile despite the day's trials. He removed the grate to allow their exit, the sound of metal against metal echoing through the tunnel. He surveyed the beautiful, largely uninhabited garden before helping his father and Jalissa out. The Grove of Illana was a stark contrast to the sewers, its lush greenery and fragrant blooms a balm to their weary souls. Nicholas began setting up camp, his movements efficient and practiced, while Tom gathered wood for a fire and laid out food he'd brought from his cabin.
Jalissa sat quietly, taking in the dusk and wondering what came next. Thoughts of the fugitive stirred anger within her, a slow-burning ember that smoldered in the pit of her stomach. If he'd been there, none of this would have happened. But she stopped herself, believing the blame lay solely with her. She had insisted on meeting Samuel, leading to everything that followed. Tears didn't come; she was too drained, too empty to cry anymore. She lay down, consumed by memories of Isaac and the moment their connection deepened. She'd touched him before, but never with such a profound outcome. Her eyes grew heavy as she cherished those stolen memories, her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep a bittersweet mix of love and loss.
Hours later, she awoke to Tom's gentle touch. Blinking, she saw the darkness punctuated only by the small fire Tom and Nicholas had built, its flames casting a warm, flickering glow over their makeshift camp. She sat up slowly, her body still heavy with sadness and guilt, every movement an effort. Tom sat beside her, offering a plate of meat and greens, the aroma wafting through the air and stirring a faint hunger within her.
"You should eat," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. She shook her head, uninterested in food, her appetite dampened by her turbulent emotions. "That's foolish," he chided softly. "You need strength and nourishment. Isaac wouldn't want you to waste away."
Her response was harsher than intended, her voice raw with pain. "Isaac doesn't get to decide what happens to me anymore." She buried her face in her knees, her body shaking with silent sobs.
Tom's voice was soft, filled with a compassion that made Jalissa's heart ache. "I doubt that's entirely true," he said. "Your body is weak. You're exhausted, both emotionally and physically. You need to eat if we're going to see this through. Understand?"
Reluctantly, she nodded, knowing he was right. Tom handed her the plate, and she took a small bite, the meat's juices seeming to revive her dulled senses. She looked at Tom in surprise, the flavor more intense than she'd expected.
"Nicholas, before we met the fugitive, was a cook. Quite a talented one, if you ask me," Tom said, glancing at Nicholas with a proud smile.
Jalissa took another bite, her appetite slowly returning. "You don't call him the fugitive, do you? What do you call him?" she asked, her curiosity piqued despite her exhaustion.
Tom shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Mostly, the fugitive. He's never shared his name. Not sure if it's due to amnesia or embarrassment. When we found him—well, Nicholas found him—he was disoriented. Right here in this field, actually."
Jalissa looked at Tom, her eyes searching his for answers. "Unconscious?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Tom shook his head, his memory of that day still vivid. "Maybe? Hard to say. We were stuck here during a storm, sheltering under those trees." He pointed to a pair of large trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. "Lightning struck all around us. After a series of strikes, we heard a loud thud. We searched for a while and found him behind a tree, dazed and confused. He complained of a ringing in his ears and drifted in and out of consciousness."
Jalissa took another bite and swallowed, her mind racing with questions. "Was he struck by lightning?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Tom chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to ease the tension in the air. "Nicholas thought so too. But if he had been, he'd be dead. There were no marks on him, just confusion. When we finally got him home and cared for him, he couldn't remember anything. Just asked for a journal. Over the following weeks, he'd jot things down after waking up. Never saw what he wrote, though. Eventually, we tried to get information out of him, but he couldn't remember a thing."
Jalissa looked puzzled, her mind struggling to make sense of it all. "But he wasn't struck by lightning?" she asked, her voice filled with uncertainty.
"And he had no bumps or injuries to explain the memory loss," Tom confirmed, his expression as puzzled as hers.
Jalissa sighed, her body weighed down by a mix of exhaustion and confusion. "Then what happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tom's expression grew serious, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the fire. "He'd sit in the bar, writing in his journal, looking uncomfortable and confused. Some nights, he'd wake up in a panic, shouting the name 'Anne.' Whenever I asked who Anne was, he had no idea. It was strange."
"When did he first kill in front of you?" she asked, her voice filled with a morbid curiosity.
Nicholas joined them, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond their camp before settling on the fire. "All clear," he said, his voice filled with a sense of relief. "What are you two talking about?"
Tom looked at his son, his expression thoughtful. "The fugitive."
Nicholas nodded, his expression growing serious. "That man is... different."
"How so?" Jalissa asked, her eyes searching Nicholas's for answers.
Nicholas hesitated, his gaze shifting to the fire as if seeking answers in its flickering depths. "There's something about him, something different," he replied, his voice filled with a sense of awe and unease.
"Such as?" Jalissa inquired, her curiosity piqued despite her exhaustion.
Nicholas looked at her, his eyes reflecting the flames of the fire. "As if he's not of this world," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words hanging in the air like a secret, waiting to be unraveled.
* * *
Jalissa slept poorly that night. As she lay on the unyielding ground, silence enveloped her save for the fire's crackle, singing its tune to the starlit sky. She found herself tumbling from one nightmare to the next. Sometimes Isaac was there, and she saw his bloodied, headless corpse. In other scenes, he pursued her with lifeless eyes, seemingly unaware of her identity. Each time she slipped into these dreams, she jolted awake not by Tom or Nicholas, but by her own will, as if her mind was battling the dreams' essence. Each time, she saw either Tom or Nicholas nearby, the other keeping watch.
Each time, she drifted back to sleep, only to find herself in the same troubled dreams, until she encountered the fugitive in one. Though she had never seen him and had only glimpsed a rough sketch once, she felt she knew exactly what he looked like, his voice, and his mannerisms. It was the only dream he appeared in, the only one that wasn't a nightmare, the only one she didn't escape when the tension grew unbearable. Instead, he approached her, took her hands, and gazed deeply into her eyes.
"Come with me, please?" he asked, and she simply nodded. There was a calming aura about him, as if he had always been present in some way. She followed him as they ventured through a dense, unyielding forest. As they delved deeper, a faint mist seemed to rise from the ground, obscuring her vision just enough to make her wonder if she might lose sight of the fugitive. Yet, he remained visible, clearing a path for her as they continued on a journey whose destination and end she was uncertain of. Even then, she felt no fear. There was a trust she felt with the fugitive, unlike any she had experienced before.
As minutes turned into hours, the mist grew denser with each step, but she never lost sight of the fugitive. They emerged from the forest to a vast panorama. Before them lay more trees, a forest of its own mystery. Looking down, she saw a vast city, one she couldn't quite place, one that didn't make sense but felt familiar. She searched her mind, recalling books she had read, trying to identify the city's architecture, but nothing came to mind. She was at a loss for words.
Jalissa looked at the fugitive. "Where are we?" He turned back and looked at her, solemnly. "This is where it all began," he started, then turned back to the city. "And where it will all end."
His words confused her. "What do you mean?" Her voice was inquisitive, and the fugitive turned back to her, smiled reassuringly, and walked back over.
"I wish I knew more. I truly do. There are still so many questions I have, and I'm afraid they'll never be answered. You are the key to those answers," he began.
Jalissa shook her head. "I don't have the answers."
The fugitive smiled. "I imagine you don't. Not today, you don't. I don't know how or when you will find them, but I know you will."
"How?"
"I just have a feeling," he told her. "And I will be there for your entire journey. Maybe not always by your side, but I know this much: nothing will happen to you. I won't let it."
She thought she should be scared, but she wasn't. Instead, she was intrigued. "Why am I the key?"
The fugitive shrugged. "I don't know. You just are."
She gave him a quizzical look, sensing he was hiding something, an understanding he both knew and didn't know. "If I'm the key, what are you?"
His eyes grew cold. "I'm the sword."
The answer sent a shiver up her spine. It didn't frighten her, though. While his eyes were cold, he radiated a warmth that made her trust him even more, as if there wasn't a malicious bone in his body, that he was just as lost and confused as she was, if not more. She walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you scared?" she asked, and his head dropped.
"Every second of every day." The facade he had maintained for the past two years seemed to crumble in an instant with her touch, as if he was trying to be something he knew he had to be but wasn't yet confident in it. She sensed their stories were intertwined in a way she didn't understand, but where she found strength in him, he would find strength in her.
"Will we meet soon?" she asked, and he slowly nodded.
"Yes, I believe so. Very soon actually."
Then his head snapped up, and he looked at her. There was a certain intensity in his eyes, as if he was staring at her through the fire burning nearby in reality. His jaw tightened, and he placed both hands on her shoulders.
"Listen to me, and listen closely," his voice grew urgent. "You must wake up. You must wake up Tom."
She shook her head. "Why?"
"Because they're there. They're going to be on top of you within seconds, and you're the only one who can save them."
As the words burst from his mouth, the fear she had felt earlier came flooding back, and she immediately recoiled. She watched as the fugitive drew a weapon from behind his back. Suddenly, every image around her seemed to fly past—the trees, the mist, the vast unknown city, and the fugitive.
Then, she was back on the floor, feeling as if she had slammed back into the ground.
* * *
Jalissa bolted upright, her eyes darting around, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Initially, she saw nothing but darkness beyond the flickering flame's glow. As she sat there, her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, steadying her frayed nerves. She recalled her father's lesson from her childhood, his voice echoing in her mind: "Trust your other senses, Jalissa, for the eyes can deceive if relied upon too heavily." It took a few moments for her to block out the din of her own pulse, but soon she heard everything—the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wings, the distant buzz of a frog, the whisper of leaves rustling in the breeze—and it felt like time slowed, allowing her to pinpoint the sound she was waiting for.
The faint snap of a branch, crushed under the boot of one of the Royal Guards, echoed through the night. As she sat there, stealing a few precious seconds, she discerned the rhythmic footsteps of five other guards, their cadence giving away their precise number and location. Her eyes flew open as she rushed to Tom's side, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly as she shook him awake. His eyes shot open, and he saw the fear in her gaze, understanding instantly that they were in danger. He swiftly rolled to his knees and began to draw a long sword from his bag, the metal singing softly as it was freed from its sheath.
“Nicholas,” he started, his voice low and urgent, “he went down to the brook to fetch water for the morning. Remember the brook where we gathered wood?” She nodded, her breath hitching in her throat. “Run. Stealth no longer matters. They’re going to hear you. They’ve dispatched their best after us, and we need Nicholas here if we’re to stand a chance.” She nodded again, her heart drumming in her chest. “RUN!” he roared, and she sprinted with all her might, her legs propelling her forward into the night.
Each stride grew heavier as she heard the guards converging on their campsite, their armor clanking ominously. Her path, however, would not allow any guard easy passage, for she knew these woods like the back of her hand. Her heart raced faster with each step, knowing time was short and Tom's life hung in the balance. There was no way he could hold them off alone. An idea struck her, a desperate plan forming in her mind, and she turned back towards the approaching guards.
“The fugitive! He’s over here!” she cried out, her voice cutting through the night air. The ruse worked, as four guards broke away and pursued her, their heavy footfalls echoing behind her. She immediately turned and sprinted towards the brook, aware that she had placed Nicholas and herself in grave danger but hoping to give Tom a chance to survive until they could return. As she ran from the campsite, a loud, piercing scream echoed behind her. For a brief moment, she feared it was Tom, but she pushed the thought away, her mind focused solely on reaching Nicholas.
She saw him, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the horizon warily. He spotted Jalissa and rushed to her, his face etched with concern. “What’s wrong?!” he asked, fear gripping him as he saw the panic in her eyes.
“They’re here. They found us,” was all she managed to say before Nicholas began racing back up the hill, his sword already drawn. But as he did, the four guards charged at them, their blades glinting menacingly in the moonlight. He unsheathed his sword in a flash, ducked under one guard's blade, and found himself locked in fierce combat with another. The other three guards, confident that one of them could handle Nicholas, continued their relentless pursuit of Jalissa. She immediately turned and ran in the opposite direction, her lungs burning as she prayed her legs wouldn’t give out.
She leaped over the brook, her feet barely touching the water as she kept running, her stride long and desperate. Despite their heavy armor, the guards seemed to be gaining on her, their pursuit fueled by a sinister determination. Jalissa considered what they would do if they caught her, knowing they had been searching for her relentlessly. She weaved among the trees, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but felt them closing in. A thought raced through her mind—she decided not to run anymore but to face her attackers head-on, knowing they would catch her either way. She would not go down without a fight.
As she turned to face the guards, they slowed down, eyeing her warily, their breaths harsh and labored. “Where is he?” one guard demanded, his voice heavy and muffled by his helmet, a threatening edge to his words.
She smiled, a cold and defiant smile. “I lied.”
This only infuriated the men, and the lead guard drew his sword, the metal hissing as it left its sheath. Jalissa took a few steps back, fear rising in her throat like bile, as the guards advanced, their intent clear in their cold, unyielding eyes.
The guard's sword rose high, and her mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound came out. Just as the sword reached its zenith, a creature burst from the woods and slammed into the attacking guard, sending him flying through the air with a crunch of metal and a cry of pain. The other guards turned to face the massive beast, their swords at the ready. Jalissa caught glimpses of it dancing gracefully as it fought, its movements fluid and deadly. She heard a guard's piercing scream and the gurgle of blood as it spilled from his throat, staining the ground crimson.
Jalissa heard the unmistakable thud of a skull landing nearby, followed by the sickening sound of the body it belonged to hitting the ground with a heavy thump. She felt a lump form in her throat, knowing the beast would come for her next. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, her voice gone, her body trembling. Then she heard the ringing of a sword being drawn and the unmistakable sound of it piercing the skin of another guard, ending his life with a final, chilling cry.
The original guard attacked the beast, their blades clashing with powerful strikes as the beast collided with the guard, its strength overwhelming. The guard's last gasps echoed through the night as the bones in his neck snapped, his body crumpling to the ground.
Jalissa's heart felt like it was in her throat, pounding in her ears, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She tried to move but was frozen, her limbs heavy with fear. She heard the beast's footsteps approaching her urgently, the sound of its breath harsh and ragged. She prayed silently, believing her final moments had come, her life flashing before her eyes in a series of vivid, fleeting images.
“My lady,” a voice boomed around her, one she recognized but denied, her mind refusing to accept what her ears were telling her.
She slowly opened her eyes, her lashes wet with tears, and saw a flame dancing near the beast. As her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, she saw not a beast but a man, his hand extended towards her, his face illuminated by the flickering light. She looked up from the hand and gasped as she recognized the man to whom the hand belonged.
It was Isaac.