Even now, under the moonlight, Nysa could see fine brickwork, carefully cobbled roads, and torch-lit alleyways stretching into the distance.
"Let's find a room for the night," the coachman said. "Can't see anyone doing business this late."
Nysa agreed, and Cara didn't argue. They ended up at a quiet inn on the outskirts of the main square, recommended by the coachman who promised it was clean and fair-priced.
Inside, the air smelled of spices and warmed stone. The innkeeper was a broad woman with rough hands and a sharp eye. She welcomed them without fuss and handed them keys to a modest room with two narrow beds and a pitcher of lukewarm water on the table.
Nysa was too drained to care.
After laying her things down, she sat by the window and looked out at the peaceful streets. Lanterns hung from wooden poles, gently swaying with the evening breeze. Somewhere far off, she heard laughter from a tavern, and music—something fast-paced and joyful.
But inside her chest was only a hollow echo.
She thought of Madame Selene, probably still at her shop, giving out orders. She thought of Lina, Kaeli, and even Lioren. Was he still in town? Would he have asked about her?
Then her thoughts wandered to the night of the celebration.
The thud of the maid's lifeless body. The near death experience. The sound of her feet running through the corridors.
She still didn't know what to make of it. Witchcraft? A curse? A monstrous secret the royal family had hidden for generations?
No matter how many times she played it back, it didn't feel real. It felt like some half-remembered nightmare, twisted and damp, haunting her waking thoughts. She hadn't told a soul.
She didn't dare.
Behind her, Cara had already changed into a sleep tunic and curled up in one of the beds. Nysa changed quickly too, choosing the bed closer to the window. She didn't want to talk, but Cara didn't seem to want to either anymore. Fine by her.
She lay back, listening to the wind outside. The room was warm, yet she couldn't help the chill at the back of her neck.
Just as she was drifting off, the sound of shouting jolted her upright.
At first, she thought it was from a tavern. A drunken brawl maybe. But then she heard it again—louder, closer. Screams.
Followed by the unmistakable clash of metal.
Cara shot up in bed. "What was that?"
Nysa rushed to the window and flung it open.
The peaceful town square was now a swirl of panic.
People ran through the streets, some barefoot, some in nightclothes. Fires had started—small ones for now, but they were spreading. She saw a man collapse in the middle of the street, something glinting in his chest. Soldiers—not from Elyria, not in familiar colors—marched through, weapons drawn, faces shadowed by helmets.
The kingdom was under attack.
"Get up," Nysa said sharply, yanking her satchel and throwing it over her shoulder. "Get dressed. Now!"
"Wh-what's going on?" Cara stammered.
"I don't know! But we need to leave."
They heard pounding footsteps in the hallway—guests rushing down the stairs, some crying, some yelling. Nysa's heart thundered in her chest, but she forced herself to move, grabbing her pouch of coins and securing the clasp. She shoved Cara's cloak at her, ignoring her trembling hands.
Outside, the night had turned to chaos.
Smoke rolled through the square. A nearby shop had been set ablaze. Horses neighed in panic. Somewhere down the street, a woman screamed, "To the gates! Run to the gates!"
"Do you think it's bandits?" Cara asked, half-sobbing.
Nysa didn't answer. Something about this didn't feel like bandits. It felt bigger. Coordinated. Strategic.
She grabbed Cara's hand without thinking. "Stay close. Don't stop running."
The innkeeper yelled for people to flee through the back alley. Nysa followed the crowd, Cara still in tow, trying to keep her breathing steady. Her hands were cold. Her chest hurt.
Just one more thing.
Just one more disaster.
---
The night was alive with screams.
Nysa's heart hammered against her ribs as she sprinted through the dense underbrush, branches whipping at her arms, her bare feet slamming against the uneven forest floor. Beside her, Cara gasped for air, her braids flying wildly as she stumbled over a root.
"Cara!" Nysa hissed, grabbing her wrist before she could fall.
"I'm fine, keep moving!" Cara spat, wiping blood from her split lip.
Behind them, the distant roar of flames and the sharp shouts of their pursuers cut through the trees. The city of Varos—a town in Elyria—burned in the distance, its orange glow painting the sky in streaks of fire. They had been lucky...so far.
Nysa's lungs burned. Every breath tasted of smoke and fear.
"They're coming!" Cara's voice was raw with panic.
Nysa didn't dare look back. She could hear them now, boots pounding against the earth, the snapping of twigs underfoot, the harsh bark of orders in a guttural tongue.
"Faster!"
They wove through the trees, their stolen cloaks snagging on thorns. Nysa's mind raced. They had been at the inn only hours ago. Then...chaos. The innkeeper's warning shout. The crash doors bursting open. The glint of steel in torchlight.
"Run!" She had screamed.
And they had.
Now, they were hunted.
A sharp whistle cut through the air. Too close.
"They've got dogs!" Cara's voice cracked.
Nysa's stomach twisted. No. No, no, no...
A snarl erupted from the darkness.
A massive shadow lunged from the brush, teeth bared.
Nysa screamed, throwing herself sideways as the beast snapped at her leg. Cara grabbed a fallen branch and swung...
CRACK.
The dog yelped, stumbling back.
"GO!"
They ran, legs pumping, terror driving them forward. But the shouts grew louder. The dogs bayed.
Nysa's foot caught on a root...
She slammed into the dirt, pain exploding through her knees.
"Nysa!" Cara skidded to a stop, reaching for her.
A torch flared ahead.
A man stepped into view, his face hidden behind a black mask, his sword gleaming.
"Well, well," he sneered. "Look what we have here."
Nysa's blood turned to ice.
.
.