The fever had broken completely , Arion and Aiden had gone back done from the forest and come get their belongings, Aiden fever had broke down , leaving Aiden vibrant and energized, his four year old body restored to its resilient norm. The intense, feverish clinginess had receded, replaced by a quiet, determined obedience. The soft, parental break Arion had allowed himself was over. They had spent a week meticulously preparing their final escape, collecting dried meats, medicinal herbs, and reinforcing their worn leather boots.
It was just past predawn, the light a cold, bruised purple washing over the snow-dusted pines surrounding the Northern Hunting Lodge. Arion had Aiden wrapped securely in dark wool layers, his small, specialized survival pack now lighter, but still mandatory strapped to his back.
"Remember your lesson, Black Tiger," Arion whispered, his hand resting briefly on Aiden's shoulder. "Silence is a shield. No matter what you see, no matter what you hear, you are a shadow."
"Yes, Papa," Aiden whispered back, his clear amber eyes wide but focused, entirely committed to the mission.
They were moments from slipping out a back cellar window when the movement caught Arion's attention. He heard a door close, not softly as the aging housekeeper usually did, but with a hurried, sharp thump.
The lodge's elderly maid, a woman named Elara (no relation to his mother, the Duchess Maeva), was an early riser, but she never started her tasks until the sun was fully up. Arion's soldier's instinct screamed alarm. He immediately knew they had been discovered, or at least, their imminent departure had been anticipated.
He pulled Aiden back from the window. "Change of plan. Now."
Just then, he heard a shout a sudden, panicked cry from the kitchen corridor. Eli had found the disturbed bedding and the carefully packed food cache. Her voice, thin and terrified, echoed in the lodge's main hall: "Lord Arion is gone! And the boy! They've fled!"
The alarm galvanized Arion. If Elara had seen them, the Duke's small, local security contingent would be mobilized within the hour. They couldn't use the back roads; they had to vanish into the deep, frozen wilderness immediately.
He grabbed the remaining essential satchel containing their small stash of money and the few documents Arion had kept secret and kicked open the narrow, unused maintenance door leading to the mountain slope.
"Run, Aiden! As fast as you can, straight into the trees!" Arion commanded, his voice sharp and urgent.
Aiden didn't question, didn't complain that the cold stung his face or that the incline was steep. He simply ran, his small legs pumping with astonishing speed, fueled by months of Arion's punishing training. Arion followed close behind, his eyes constantly scanning the lodge windows, waiting for the muzzle flashes of crossbows that thankfully never came.
They ran until the lodge was a tiny speck below them, swallowed by the rising mist and the dense pines. They stopped in a small, concealed cave mouth, panting, the adrenaline thrumming through Arion's veins.
"Good, Black Tiger," Arion gasped, checking Aiden for injury. "You moved like a true shadow."
"We go West now, Papa?" Aiden asked, already recovering, the excitement of the chase replacing the fatigue.
"Yes. But not on the road. We move through the mountains. We are going a very, very long way. We are going to the Western Capital."
Simultaneously, back at the Lodge, Eli was frantic. She knew the severity of her failure to notice the subtle signs earlier. She was loyal to the Duke, not Arion, and terrified of the Duke's wrath. She didn't call the local riders; she knew the Duke would want this handled with absolute secrecy.
She grabbed parchment and ink, her hands trembling, and rapidly scrawled a desperate letter detailing the escape:
{To His Grace, The Duke of the East, I write this at the dawn of the fifth day.
I confess my fault, Your Grace. The Lord Arion has fled. He departed moments before I discovered the empty room. He took the boy, Aiden, and all their provisions. They did not take the carriage or the main road.
I believe they have headed north, toward the mountains,attempting to cross the high, passes to avoid detection. They are not
injured but were heavily provisioned and clearly planned this for weeks. His purpose is unknown, but I fear he is heading to where the conflict is hottest.
The bird has flown, Your Grace.
Your loyal servant, Eli .}
She sealed the letter with the Duke's secondary private seal, using a drop of wax heated over a lamp. She immediately handed the message to the fastest runner she could trust, dispatching him to the Eastern Capital with explicit instructions for delivery only into the Duke's hand. The maid had fulfilled her duty, and the Duke was now alerted: Arion was no longer a static shame; he was a dynamic, moving threat.
Arion and Aiden began their grueling journey toward the setting sun,the West. It was an epic undertaking. The distance between the isolated Northern Lodge and the heavily fortified Western Capital was vast, requiring them to cross mountain ranges, dense forests, and countless miles of open plains, all while avoiding the patrols of both Cassian's and Kyon's forces.
Arion pushed them mercilessly. He moved by night, using his old tracking skills and the cold guidance of the stars. They ate cold, dry rations, and slept during the day, hidden in the deepest cover. This wasn't merely survival; it was a high-stakes, two-month infiltration. Every aching step brought them closer to the heart of the Brother's War and closer to the Serpent King.
"The farther we go, the colder the trail," Arion told Aiden one night, pointing at the dark, distant horizon. "Every day we travel is one day Kyon thinks we are safely locked away. We are ghosts, Aiden. Silent, hungry ghosts."
Arion knew that Kyon was obsessed with control and obsessed with his image. The revelation of Arion's survival and the existence of his son would be an explosive political weapon. But Arion would not strike from a safe distance; he would deliver the blow in person, in the very palace Kyon had stolen. The escape was not an end; it was the harrowing first step into the lion's den.