Kellal sprinted away from the prison, dashing between alleys and streets. The orange sky shifted to purple as the sun slipped below the horizon. His stolen boots splashed in the puddles from the previous night’s rain. The cold white light of stone lanterns and distant stars shone on his face as he darted through alleys. Glinting icicles of rain began to beat down on Kellal and the rotten city, washing away the mixture of mud and feces that gathered after the day’s activities.

Kellal had heard the distant sound of shouts behind him not long after he escaped. Now it was silent, with only the rare voice from a nearby house to pierce the night.

There was an unofficial curfew in the city of Lucerna. The Tyrant King’s wax dogs, massive flarers completely encased in thick obsidian armor with broad, bowl-shaped pauldrons holding dozens of burning candles, patrolled the city after dark.

Many rumors about the origin of these enforcers circulated amongst the common folk. Kellal had heard everything from them being demonic servants of the Tyrant King, to that they patrol the city at night in search of humans to eat. There was only one rumor that Kellal actually believed: you did not meet one of these things in battle and get away unscathed.

Most of the area surrounding the smooth, dark, needle-like tower at the center of the city was a maze of run-down shacks and thin stone roads. The guards would never take on the futile task of looking for him within such a labyrinth.

Kellal took a sharp right, leaving the street and descending into a tight, sloped alleyway. His run slowed to a crawl as he carefully maneuvered his way around a few large barrels and stray wooden boards.

A stone-lit lantern hung over a squat circular doorway, bathing Kellal in a sterile light. He stopped at the doorway and looked around one last time to make sure that no prying eyes were watching. “I hope she is still here,” Kellal whispered to himself, before opening the door and slipping in.

He had not even finished locking the door behind him before he felt two warm arms wrap around his chest.

“I thought you were dead,” Claire whispered. Tears formed in the corners of her almond-shaped eyes. “You asshole, I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Kellal said, as he turned around and pulled Claire in closer. “It’s good to be back.” The two held each other for a few moments longer before they separated.

Claire smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve before walking over to a pot of boiling potatoes. “They’re almost done. Would you care to join me for dinner?” She said with a smile, her voice quivering slightly. “It may not be much, but I’m sure it’s better than whatever you’ve had recently.”

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“You have no idea,” Kellal said. He walked over to join Claire next to the wood-burning stove.

The small room was sparsely furnished. A thin bed piled high with thick woolen blankets lay opposite to a circular wooden table with a stool on either side.

Kellal crouched down and opened the stove door. A wave of hot air washed over him, bathing him in its searing embrace. Kellal closed his eyes and soaked in every drop of heat he could. Being locked away in that freezing cell had made Kellal realize how empty he felt without warmth. His hunger for heat had been greater than for any food or drink. The hole in his chest was quickly filled as the blazing fire before him was reduced to embers. Kellal got back to his feet with a smile on his face and a renewed energy in his eyes.

“Really?” Claire said, crossing her arms. “You couldn’t have waited for the potatoes to finish cooking before doing that?” She tried to sound annoyed, but there was no hiding the joy in her soft voice and face.

“You never know when the king’s dogs will come bursting down the door looking for us. I wouldn’t want to be caught with my pants down.” Kellal said grinning.

“Please, that would never happen,” Claire said, passing Kellal a bowl of slightly firm potatoes. “Besides, we have things to discuss while we eat. A lot has happened in the weeks you’ve been gone. I doubt you’ve heard about any of it?”

“The only gossip I’ve heard had to do with Stinky and his wife.” Kellal grumbled, shoving a steaming potato into his mouth.

“Stinky?”

“An acquaintance from my stay in prison.”

“Alright; moving on,” Claire said, with a quizzical expression on her face. “Most of our operations have all but stopped. We haven’t been able to smuggle out a single person marked for sacrifice since the mess that got you captured. We tried the first week, but it was a disaster: guards were on us before we even got eyes on the carts holding the prisoners,” She ran a hand through her short brown hair and let out a sigh.

Her demeanor had quickly shifted to seriousness. She was always eager to talk about their work, never giving herself time to rest. “I haven’t been able to get the rest of the group motivated to even try again after two failures in a row,” Claire said in an uncharacteristically defeated tone.

“You guys really are hopeless without me aren’t you?” Kellal joked. He quickly moved on when he was met with Claire’s stony gaze. “When is the next meeting with the group? I think I can get them to give it another shot.”

“Oh I know you can. Those people look at you like a god. Kellal: the man who killed one of the Tyrant King’s enforcers,” Claire said, waving her hands in the air in mocking grandiose gestures.

“Is that what they’re saying now? The rumors about me are starting to get as ridiculous as the ones about the enforcers.”

“They aren’t as ridiculous as you make them out to be,” Claire said, finally starting on her own bowl of potatoes. “I don’t know anyone else who could have taken on an enforcer like you did. You saved my life.”

“It took everything I had to just not die. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only reason I am alive, is ‘cause I got arrested by guards before it could kill me.”

A loud beating on the door interrupted their conversation. The two went completely still and locked eyes for a second before quietly getting up from their stool’s.

Kellal was sure that no one had followed him. He crept towards the door, one hand on the sword on his hip. Warmth spread throughout his body as he flared in preparation for whatever was on the other side of the door. He grasped the cold iron handle with his other hand and prepared for the worst.