Thorne's heart pounded as the metallic sphere's bell-like ring echoed through the air, shattering the calm of the night and alerting the entire estate to his presence. "Oh shit!" he muttered under his breath, panic surging through him like a tidal wave.
His mind raced as adrenaline took over. He had to act fast. Without hesitation, Thorne scrambled to the edge of the balcony, using every bit of his acrobatics skill to leap toward the nearest tree. His muscles screamed in protest as he reached out, gripping a thick branch just as he heard shouts erupt from below.
"Find the intruder!" Lord Durnell's furious voice echoed through the estate, and soon after, the barking of dogs joined the chorus of approaching footsteps.
Thorne didn’t stop to think. He pushed through the sharp pain in his limbs, navigating the branches like a shadow. Every sense was on high alert, his ears attuned to the guards' movements, the pounding paws of the hounds, and the rustling leaves that could give him away. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he forced his body to keep moving, leaping from tree to tree with practiced precision. The estate wall loomed ahead, his only path to freedom.
With one final burst of energy, Thorne launched himself from the last tree, landing lightly on the top of the wall. He glanced back just long enough to see guards flooding the garden like ants, torches flickering in the dark as they scoured the area for him. He took a deep breath, then vaulted over the wall, vanishing into the maze of narrow alleys that made up Alvar City’s underbelly.
But just as relief began to flood his veins, Thorne heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps behind him. The guards hadn't given up. His mind raced. He had to lose them—now. He darted through the tight alleyways, his small frame slipping effortlessly between the crowded stalls and market carts, but the sound of boots was growing louder. One of the guards must have had a tracking skill, able to follow his every move despite his best efforts to shake them.
Fear fueled his movements, making his steps quicker, more desperate. He ducked into shadows, using his small size and agility to disappear behind crates and barrels. His heart raced in time with his footsteps as he twisted and turned through the streets, passing the textile district with its colorful fabrics, busy looms and dimly lit stalls, all blurring into a tapestry of light and shadow.
No matter what he tried, the guards were relentless, their footsteps growing closer. Thorne’s chest burned, his lungs screaming for air, but he couldn't stop. Then, as he rounded a corner, he saw it—a shopkeeper tossing a bucket of foul-smelling water into the street. The water flowed toward a small, covered opening in the ground, and the sound of water trickling down below stirred a dark memory.
Water. His darkest night had ended with water—fleeing through the forests as his world burned. The night when he had lost his parents, his sister, his home...
He had been in the same exact situation, running for his life from a man wearing a noble sigil. Water had been the answer that time too.
Without thinking, Thorne dashed toward the small drain cover. His heart pounded as he grabbed the rusted steel grate and pushed with all his 25 points of strength until the metal groaned, his fingers straining against the cold metal. It groaned in protest, but Thorne heaved with everything he had. Finally, the grate gave way just enough for him to slip through. He dove into the darkness below.
The moment he hit the water, a foul stench assaulted his nostrils, but he didn’t care. He waded through the filthy sludge, his body protesting with every step, but his mind was locked on one thought—escape.
Behind him, the sound of angry shouts echoed through the narrow tunnel. "He's in the sewers!" one of the guards yelled, his voice bouncing off the damp walls. "We’ll have to go around!"
Thorne pushed forward, his feet splashing in the shallow water. He didn’t slow down. He knew the labyrinth of Alvar City’s sewers well—he’d used them before, and they had saved him more than once. He navigated the twists and turns of the tunnels, hoping to throw off any pursuit.
The darkness pressed in around him, the only sound his own labored breathing and the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. His mind buzzed with the information he had overheard. An oldbone. An elder race like him. A cold sense of dread mingled with hope. Could this be a clue to finding Bea? Had she been taken to this Academy? The thought gnawed at him, fueling his desperate need to survive.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Thorne found a small grate leading to the outskirts of the city. With a burst of effort, he pushed it aside and emerged from the sewer into a barren field, the night sky stretching out above him. The air was fresh, salty, and cool—so much better than the foul stench of the tunnels. He gulped it down greedily, savoring every breath as he took in his surroundings.
The city loomed behind him, its distant murmur fading into the night. He was alone, but he knew he couldn’t stay in the open for long. The guards would still be looking for him. His heart still pounded from the chase, but at least for now, he was free. He couldn’t return to the attic yet. Not until he was sure he wasn't being tracked.
Thorne sat on a nearby rock, the stars above offering a cold, distant comfort. His body ached, his muscles protesting every movement, but his mind raced with thoughts of the Academy, of his sister, and of the oldbone. He needed a place to think, to gather his thoughts and plan his next move.
The abandoned lighthouse just outside the city came to mind. It was a place he had discovered during one of his many explorations, a place where he could be alone. With renewed determination, he headed towards the lighthouse, his body aching with exhaustion but his mind focused.
He crossed the bridge over the river that marked the edge of the city, the sound of water rushing below him. He could see the lighthouse in the distance, its dark silhouette that promised safety. As he neared the lighthouse, he glanced back one last time to make sure he wasn't being followed.
He reached the lighthouse and slipped inside, the heavy wooden door creaking ominously as it shut behind him. The darkness inside was immediate and suffocating, swallowing him whole as the musty scent of damp wood and saltwater filled the air. The rickety stairs groaned under his weight as he began his ascent, each step sending a dull throb through his sore legs. His body protested, every muscle aching, but he pushed through the pain, knowing he was almost there.
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By the time he reached the top, his legs felt like lead, and the moment he stepped onto the cold, hard floor, he collapsed, his body drained of energy. He had made it. He was safe—for now.
He had narrowly escaped, but he had the information he needed. Thorne lay on the floor, staring at the cracked ceiling above him, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The flicker of moonlight through the broken windows cast jagged shadows across the walls, but he barely noticed. His mind raced, playing back everything he had overheard: an oldbone, captured and being taken to the Academy. Could that be where they had taken his mother? His sister, Bea—was she there too, held captive like the oldbone?
The thought gnawed at him, stirring something deep inside—a mix of hope and desperation. He needed to think, to plan his next move carefully. The Academy was his only lead now, the only place that might hold answers to the questions that had haunted him ever since that night.
For now, though, Thorne allowed himself a rare moment of rest. His body was beyond exhausted, and the hard, cool surface beneath him offered a strange kind of comfort. He leaned against a broken crate, gazing out through the shattered window at the wild sea beyond. The water surged and receded in a steady, rhythmic pattern, as if the ocean itself was breathing. The constant ebb and flow of the waves had a calming effect, their movement lulling him into a sense of temporary peace. His eyelids grew heavy, and he felt himself being pulled toward the sweet oblivion of sleep.
Before the exhaustion fully claimed him, Thorne pulled up his notifications, the familiar scroll of text appearing before his eyes.
Congratulations! You Have Unlocked the Skill: Escape Artist!
Skill Level Up: Acrobatics!
You Have Reached Level 6 in Acrobatics!
Skill Level Up: Running!
You Have Reached Level 9 in Running!
Information flooded his mind, telling him what the newest skill was. A sleepy smile found its place on his tired face. With his new skill, he would always find a way to escape from pursuit, not only that but techniques on how to slip through bonds, like rope and chains came unbidden to his mind.
As he drifted off to sleep, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. He was not just surviving anymore; he was becoming stronger, smarter, and more capable.
*
Thorne woke up to the still-dark sky, faint smudges of red creeping across the horizon. That particular color in the sky always made his mind calm and focused, but it also carried a heavy weight—a reminder of that fateful morning. His memory flickered back to the image of his father lying in a pool of blood, the same red hues filling the sky as he looked up through their small window. Every time he saw that color, he renewed the same promise to himself: to never be as helpless, to never be this weak again.
He stretched slowly, his muscles stiff from the previous night’s escape. His body was battered and bruised, but it was the mental strain that clung to him the most. The lighthouse was eerily quiet, the only sound the distant crash of waves against the rocky shore. Thorne sat up, taking a deep breath as he stared out of the broken window at the dim sky, which gradually brightened with the approach of dawn.
The events of the previous night replayed in his mind—the deafening alarm, the chase, the conversation about the oldbone. Every detail swirled together, forming a dangerous puzzle he wasn’t sure how to solve. Thorne felt a sharp pang of reluctance about reporting back to Uncle. The man surely already knew something had happened, and he would be waiting for Thorne to fill in the gaps. But how much could Thorne really reveal? How much should he reveal?
Uncle was sharp, too sharp, and Thorne knew that the man had skills to pry out the truth, even without asking the right questions. No matter how much Thorne wanted to protect his secrets, his curiosity about the Academy was dangerous. One slip, one misplaced word, and Uncle would dig deeper, and the consequences could be severe. His acting skill might not be enough to mask the eagerness boiling inside him to learn more about the Academy, where it was, and most importantly, if his sister was there.
Thorne’s mind raced, forming a fragile plan. He needed to provide just enough information to satisfy Uncle's curiosity without revealing too much. It was a delicate balance, but he had no choice. He needed answers, and the Academy was his best chance at finding Bea.
He stood up, gathering his resolve as he made his way down the lighthouse's rickety stairs, each step creaking ominously beneath his weight. The air was cold and damp, sending a shiver through him as he stepped outside. The early morning light was still faint, casting long shadows over the deserted shoreline. Thorne moved quickly, sticking to the shadows as he navigated his way back towards the city.
His senses were heightened, every sound and movement putting him on alert. As he crossed the bridge over the river, the sound of rushing water below filled his ears, but his mind was focused on the task at hand. He needed to get back to Uncle, but he couldn’t afford to be careless.
When he reached the outskirts of Alvar City, Thorne expertly weaved through narrow alleys and backstreets, avoiding the main roads where guards might still be searching for him. His feet moved with purpose, his small frame blending into the morning hustle of the fish market. The pungent smell of fish, mingled with the damp air, filled his nostrils as he maneuvered through the stalls. He pushed through hanging nets and buckets filled with thrashing fish, his heart pounding faster the closer he got to the familiar streets near his attic.
He hesitated, his chest tightening with a mix of dread and determination. Facing Uncle wasn’t something he looked forward to, not after the night he had just survived. But before he could gather his thoughts, the sound of clinking metal caught his attention.
Sid.
The shifty man was leaning casually against the wall of the tavern, flipping a knife between his fingers with an eerie precision. His smirk stretched wide as Thorne approached, the glint in his eyes mocking. Thorne’s first instinct was to widen his eyes in surprise, but his acting skill kept his expression neutral.
Sid let out a sinister chuckle, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm. “When you didn’t show up for our training, I was sure you were dead." His smile widened as he continued. "Or you would have been… but then I heard a few whispers. They say you were running from the guards of that obnoxious noble.” He inspected Thorne carefully, his eyebrows rising in question. “And I see you escaped unscathed. You truly are a sneaky little rat!”
Thorne stood still, his arms folded, waiting patiently for Sid to finish his taunts. He knew better than to engage or react; the man would get to the point only when he was ready. Sid’s expression shifted, his grin fading as he saw that Thorne wasn’t playing along. His voice dropped, taking on a more serious tone. “Uncle is waiting for you.”
Thorne’s heart skipped a beat, but he forced himself to remain calm. He turned towards the small staircase that led to his attic, assuming Uncle was there, but Sid’s hand shot out, stopping him in his tracks. “Nope. Not this way.”
Thorne frowned, the tension rising in his chest. “Where is he?” he asked, his voice laced with frustration.
Sid's smirk returned, his rotting teeth peeking through as he toyed with the knife in his hand. “Follow me,” he said, stepping away from the wall.
Thorne’s patience was wearing thin. “Where?” he half-shouted, the bubbling frustration finally breaking through.
Sid glanced back, his grin widening. "You'll see."