By some miracle—or perhaps due to Mairi’s intimate knowledge of these streets—we manage to slip through a gap in a steadily converging ring of guards. The timing is perfect; their momentary distraction as they exchange information gives us the crucial seconds we need to ghost past their position, our dirty clothes blending with the deep shadows of the night. The child in Mairi’s arms, exhausted from grief, makes no sound as we carefully pick our way through the gathering guard and soldiers.
We’re barely three streets away from the guards when the first bell begins to toll—a deep, resonant sound that seems to shake the very stones beneath our feet. Within seconds, more bells join the chorus, their overlapping peals creating a cacophony that I’ve only ever read about in stories of great fires or enemy attacks. The sound seems to come from every direction at once, and I realize with a sick feeling in my stomach that the entire city must have seen the explosion—the unnatural glow of that blue fire would have been visible for miles, a beacon announcing our handiwork to everyone within the city walls.
Calum’s face goes pale as the implications sink in, his hand unconsciously tightening on his sword hilt. “They’ll lock down the entire district,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the continuing bells. “Every guard in the city will be converging on that explosion. And those imperial bastards…” He trails off, but we all know what he’s thinking - when they return to find their base destroyed, they’ll tear the city apart looking for revenge. The bells continue their ominous warning as we hurry through the streets before they’re closed off entirely, each toll feeling like another nail in our coffin.
We climb to a vantage point atop one of the city’s higher buildings, the rooftop apparently not used for anything more than storage of empty barrels and sacks. Looking out over the city, the full scope of the authorities’ response becomes clear. The massive gates of the bastion—which I’d only seen from the outside during my brief exploration—now stand wide open, disgorging a steady stream of heavily armed soldiers into the streets below. Their formations are tight and disciplined, nothing like the casual patrols of the city guard, and their armor gleams dully in the mixed light of torches and dying flames.
The sight sends a chill down my spine as I count the numbers—not dozens, but hundreds of trained soldiers moving with military precision through the streets. Each battalion splits off at predetermined points, systematically cordoning off entire sections of the city with an efficiency that speaks of long practice. Even from this distance, I can see the difference between these troops and the regular city guard—these aren’t peacekeepers or glorified watchmen, but professional killers trained for warfare. The fact that they’re deploying in such force suggests this incident has escalated far beyond a simple fire or criminal act in their eyes, something I suppose has to do with the eerie blue glow that comes off these flames, and seems to have a hard time stopping. Even at the distance we are at, the site of the explosion is still abundantly clear.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Mairi’s small frame tenses as another patrol passes beneath our perch, their torchlight casting long shadows across the rooftops. When their footsteps fade into the distance, she turns to us with that calculating look I’ve come to recognize, the grieving child still held protectively against her chest. “We should stay here until morning,” she whispers, her voice barely audible above the continuing bells. “They’ll be watching every street, every alley, looking for people trying to slip through their net. But they never look up—not really. Too focused on what’s in front of them.”
The child in her arms has finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, their tear-stained face pressed against Mairi’s shoulder. She adjusts her hold slightly, her movements gentle despite the tension evident in her posture. “Besides,” she continues, her fingers absently tracing her shiv, “they’ll expect them to keep running. Whoever they think did this. But they’d never suspect us street kids, I think. Regardless, the best hiding spot is right under their noses, just high enough that they forget to look.” The tactical logic of her suggestion is sound, though I suspect her decision is influenced as much by the sleeping child in her arms as by strategic considerations.
Calum slumps against a chimney stack, his usual vigilant posture giving way to bone-deep exhaustion as he concedes to Mairi’s logic with nothing more than a slight nod. The events of the night seem to have aged him, the flickering torchlight from the streets below casting harsh shadows across his face that emphasize every line of worry and grief. His hand remains loosely on his sword hilt, but it’s more habit than readiness now, his eyes growing distant as the adrenaline of their escape finally begins to fade.
In the relative safety of our rooftop sanctuary, Mairi carefully arranges the sleeping boy in the lee of the chimney, using her own thin shirt to cushion him from the rough shingles. Once she’s satisfied with his position, she settles beside me, her small frame fitting perfectly into the circle of my waiting arms. The familiar comfort of our embrace carries an extra weight tonight, both of us seeking reassurance in the simple human contact while the city below erupts into chaos of our making. My thoughts are too muddled by exhaustion to process the full implications of what we’ve done, but my arms tighten protectively around Mairi as the bells continue their ominous tolling through the night.