The spiral stone stairs of the abandoned tower were narrow and steep. The air smelled strongly of dust and mold. Erik took two or three steps at a time, running upwards desperately. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest. Every breath hurt his lungs.
Below him, heavy footsteps and the sound of clanking armor got closer. Angry shouts from the lawkeepers echoed up. "He went up! Block all exits! Tell the others below to surround the tower!"
A cold feeling shot down his spine. *They're too fast!* He had to find a way out before they had him completely trapped!
This old tower hadn't been used in a long time. It was an old observation tower from the academy's early days, later replaced by newer buildings. Usually, only people like Erik, looking for a quiet corner, ever came here. But because of that, he knew its layout well—it was a secret hideout he'd found during his many times avoiding crowds to study his symbols alone.
He rushed onto a small landing. There was a broken stained-glass window showing the grey sky and steady rain. In the courtyard below, he could already see dark armored figures moving quickly, blocking paths to other buildings.
No way out. Unless...
Erik looked at the stairs leading higher up. The top of the tower was an abandoned bell platform. There...
A risky plan formed in his mind instantly.
He kept running up. His footsteps echoed in the empty tower, mixing with the sounds of the hunters below into a scary song of chase.
Finally, he burst out onto the top floor, pushing through a creaking wooden door. Icy rain immediately hit his face. He was on an open circular platform with chest-high walls. The beam that once held a great bell was empty above him. The wind howled, making his robe flap wildly.
He ran to the edge and looked down—the height made him dizzy. Below the tower was a deserted back yard of the academy, with piles of old building materials and dead bushes. The lawkeepers were already gathered at the tower's base entrance. More were coming.
No time to hesitate!
He turned away from the edge and rushed towards a pile of junk on the other side of the platform—left over from past repairs. There were old planks of wood of different lengths and thick, rusty iron chains.
His mind raced, remembering basic symbol combinations for "slow fall" and "strength" from his father's notes. No time to carve them properly! No good materials! He needed something now, something rough but that would work!
He grabbed the sturdiest-looking plank, about the size of a door. He quickly tore a strip of rough cloth from the lining of his robe—it would have to work for the symbols.
*BANG!*
The door to the top floor was smashed open. Two lawkeepers charged out. Rain splashed off their cold armor.
"Give up, traitor!" one knight yelled, raising his sword. It began to glow with magic-blocking light.
Erik kept his back to them, ignoring the shout. He bit his fingertip. Pain shot through him, and a bead of red blood welled up. Using his blood as ink and the plank as paper, he poured all his focus and his weak magic into desperately drawing two twisted, crude symbols onto the wood—a plea to slow falling, a plea for the object to be strong.
It couldn't even be called a real enchantment. It was more like a desperate scream, based on instinct and knowledge, a plea to the basic rules of magic.
"He's casting! Stop him!" The other lawkeeper saw what Erik was doing and lunged forward.
Just as the lawkeeper's sword was about to come down, Erik finished the last mark!
He spun around and threw the marked plank over the edge with all his strength! At the same time, he jumped after it!
"Madman!" The charging lawkeeper stopped, horrified, and rushed to the wall to look down.
He saw Erik's body falling fast, blurred by the rain. But the plank he had thrown—the moment it left his hand—the two blood-red symbols on its surface flashed with a weak, unstable light!
Then something strange happened. The plank's falling speed seemed to slow just a little. It became strangely tough, not spinning and breaking in the wind like a normal plank would. It stayed almost level, creating a weak but real upward push!
Falling desperately, Erik reached out and miraculously grabbed one end of the plank!
The force of the fall almost tore his arm from its socket. The plank shook violently. The blood symbols screamed under the strain, their light flickering wildly, seeming ready to fail any second. This crude "buffer" couldn't stop the fall, but it greatly slowed his speed, turning the straight drop into a steep, incredibly fast slide downwards!
Wind screamed in his ears. Rain made it hard to see. The ground rushed up to meet him!
*THUD—CRACK!*
He hit the pile of old building materials below the tower hard, still holding the plank. Rotten wood and soft dirt helped cushion the final impact. But the huge force still made his vision go black. Pain exploded in his chest, like all the air was knocked out of him. A sharp pain shot through the arm holding the plank.
He lay in the wreckage, soaked, covered in mud, pain washing over him. He couldn't move.
From the top of the tower, he heard the lawkeeper's furious yell: "He fell! Over by the wood pile! Get him!"
Running footsteps came from all directions, closing in on the pile.
The will to live overcame the pain again. Erik struggled to get up. He coughed, tasting blood. His left arm hung limp, maybe dislocated. He looked around and saw the academy's high outer wall nearby. At its base was a narrow drainage hole, half-hidden by weeds—a secret path outside the academy he had found before! It usually had a rusty iron grate, but one bar looked broken!
He stumbled towards the drain.
"Stop!" A soldier who had come around the side saw him and raised a crossbow.
Erik threw himself to the ground. A crossbow bolt whistled over his head and stuck into the wood behind him.
He scrambled into the narrow, stinking drain hole, crawling forward desperately. Behind him, he heard soldiers shouting and cursing as their armor got stuck in the opening.
Darkness, wetness, and stink surrounded him. He crawled on, guided only by feel and memory. Every movement hurt his injured body.
After what felt like forever, he saw a dim light ahead and heard the sound of rain. He pushed out of the hole and fell heavily into a muddy ditch in a deserted alley outside the city walls.
Cold rain washed over his face. He gasped for air, looking up at the grey sky.
He was out... for now.
But from this moment on, he was no longer Erik von Heinrich, auditor of Silverstar Magic Academy.
He was a traitor. A fugitive. A wanted man who had lost everything, hunted by the Empire.
Cold rain mixed with tears from his eyes, but the rain washed them away almost instantly. He struggled to sit up, holding his injured arm, leaning against the cold, wet wall. The initial shock and fear in his eyes slowly changed into something deeper, something colder—the spark of hatred, and a fierce will to survive.
He had to get away from here. Now. Immediately!