Aelric lay on the cold stone floor, his breath ragged, his vision blurred. His body trembled with the aftermath of the fight, his muscles screaming for rest. The guards lay motionless beside him, their lifeless eyes staring into the void, but Aelric couldn’t feel relief. All he felt was the heavy weight of loss pressing down on him, suffocating him.

Elda was dead. He had killed for her, fought with everything he had left, but it hadn’t been enough to save her. She was gone, and her death felt like the final blow, the one that would break him completely.

And then there was Calder. His death still weighed on Aelric’s mind, the memory of that night clawing at him. He had killed Calder, a man who had been so consumed with fear and suspicion that it had led to his demise. Now, these two guards lay dead beside him, victims of Aelric’s desperate need to survive.

He had killed before. This wasn’t new. But it didn’t make it easier.

Aelric forced himself to sit up, every movement sending jolts of pain through his battered body. His side ached where the guard’s sword had slashed him, and the blood still trickled from the wound, but he didn’t have the strength to heal it. His magic was too weak.

The dungeon was eerily silent now, the only sound his labored breathing. Aelric glanced at the bodies of the guards, his stomach churning at the sight. He had taken lives before, but it didn’t make the horror of it any less. The faces of Calder, the guards, and now Elda, flashed through his mind, and he felt like he was drowning in guilt and grief.

But they had deserved it. They had tortured him. They had tortured Elda.

He stood slowly, using the wall for support as his legs wobbled beneath him. His vision swam, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse again, but he couldn’t afford to stop. He had to get out of here. The dungeon, this town, the life he had known—it was all gone. Burned to ash along with the part of him that had once been innocent.

Aelric staggered toward the open door, his hands shaking as he steadied himself against the frame. His magic was all but drained, the embers of power barely flickering in the depths of his chest, but there was no time to rest.

He paused for a moment, glancing back at Elda’s body one last time. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, a mix of grief and guilt swirling inside him. He had failed her. But he couldn’t stay here. He had to survive—for her, if not for himself.

As he stumbled forward, the sound of distant footsteps echoed through the halls. His heart leaped in his chest, panic surging through him. More guards. He wasn’t sure if he could fight again—his body was broken, his magic all but gone—but he couldn’t be caught now.

He pressed himself against the wall, his breath shallow, his body tense with fear. The footsteps grew louder, closer. His pulse raced as he searched for an escape route, but the hallway was narrow, the walls closing in on him. There was nowhere to hide.

The footsteps stopped suddenly, and Aelric held his breath, listening intently. For a moment, there was only silence, and then a voice—a low, gruff voice—broke through the stillness.

“Search the cells. The witch is still here somewhere.”

Aelric’s heart pounded in his chest, fear coursing through his veins. He had to move. Now.

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With a burst of adrenaline, he pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled down the corridor, his footsteps uneven and hurried. Every step sent pain shooting through his body, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get away.

The dungeon twisted and turned, each hallway looking the same as the last. His mind raced, disoriented by the maze of stone walls, but he kept moving, driven by the fear of being caught.

He rounded a corner and nearly collided with a guard. The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react, Aelric summoned the last flicker of his magic. A weak flame sputtered to life in his hand, but this time, instead of just startling the guard, it lashed out, burning the man’s arm.

The guard cried out in pain, clutching his arm as the fire spread across his sleeve. The flames weren’t strong enough to do lasting damage, but the guard was incapacitated long enough for Aelric to shove past him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs burning with the effort, but he kept running.

Behind him, the guard’s shout echoed through the dungeon. The alarm was raised. More would come.

Aelric’s mind raced as he sprinted down the narrow corridors, the walls seeming to close in on him. He could feel the heat of the fire still flickering weakly in his chest, but it was fading fast, and his body felt like it was on the verge of collapse.

The staircase appeared in front of him, and he stumbled toward it, his heart pounding in his chest. Each step was agony, but he forced himself upward, one foot after the other. When he reached the top, he collapsed against the wall, gasping for air. The cold night air hit his face, and it took him a moment to realize—he had made it outside.

It was night. The sky was an inky black, dotted with stars, and the town of Delsworth lay in silence. He could see the faint flicker of torchlight from the guards patrolling the streets, but he stayed low, slipping into the shadows as he made his way toward the edge of town.

His mind was a blur, but one thought kept repeating: He had to leave. There was nothing left for him here. Calder, Elda, the guards—he had killed for survival, but his place in Delsworth was gone. He was a hunted man now.

As he crept through the outskirts of town, Aelric could hear the faint voices of guards behind him, shouting orders, calling for a search of the forest. He pushed on, his body screaming for rest, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

The trees loomed ahead, dark and foreboding, but they offered the only chance of escape. With one final burst of energy, Aelric plunged into the forest, the branches scratching at his skin as he weaved through the underbrush. His legs felt like they would give out at any moment, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get away.

The shouts of the guards grew fainter as he ran deeper into the forest, but he could still hear them, their voices a distant threat that sent a chill down his spine.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Aelric collapsed against the base of a large tree, his body trembling with exhaustion. The world spun around him, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. But he forced himself to stay awake, his mind racing with the events of the past few days.

Calder’s death. The council’s judgment. Elda’s torture and death. The fight with the guards. It all felt like a nightmare, but it was real. Too real.

He had killed before, but this time, it felt different. Calder’s death had been in self-defense, and the guards—he had no choice. But Elda… her death weighed on him more heavily than anything. She had been kind, selfless, and now she was gone because she had tried to help him.

Aelric clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had left Delsworth, but the weight of his actions followed him. His magic, the very thing that had kept him alive, had caused so much pain.

“I never wanted this,” he whispered into the night, his voice barely audible. “I never wanted any of this.”

He looked up at the sky, the stars barely visible through the thick canopy of trees. He had no supplies, no plan, and his magic was nearly depleted. But he had survived. Somehow, he had survived.

The faint sound of guards searching the forest drifted through the air, and Aelric’s heart raced again. They hadn’t given up. They were still looking for him. He had to keep moving, but his body refused to cooperate. He was too weak, too drained.

For now, all he could do was rest. But even as his eyelids grew heavy, Aelric knew that rest wouldn’t come easily. The world had changed, and so had he.

He was no longer the quiet blacksmith’s apprentice from Delsworth. He was a fugitive, hunted for the magic he could barely control.

And he didn’t know where he would go from here.