The forest was no longer a place of study or measurement. It was a blanket, a shield, and a maze. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the undergrowth, sent a jolt of adrenaline through Alex. The cut on his arm throbbed with a steady, hot pulse, a constant reminder of how close the Regulator's blade had come.
"They'll have tracking hounds," Lyra whispered, her breath misting in the cool night air. "Enchanted with the Law of the Unerring Scent."
"Then we'll nullify their noses," Alex replied, his voice low and grim. He was already pushing his senses outward, feeling for the subtle weave of animal-specific Laws in the area. It was a new, desperate application of his power—broad, imprecise, and draining.
They moved as quickly as they dared, putting distance between themselves and the estate. Alex focused not on a single hound, but on the general principle of scent-tracking in the air around them. He created a moving, nullified bubble, a zone where the magical component of scent simply ceased to exist. It wouldn't fool a skilled human tracker for long, but it might confuse the hounds.
As they ran, the reality of their situation settled on Lyra. Her breathing grew more ragged, but not from exertion. "They'll disown my family. My name will be struck from the records. I'll be an un-person, just like my sister."
"You're not an un-person," Alex said, grabbing her hand to pull her over a fallen log. "You're a person who finally chose to be free. That's more real than any name in their ledgers."
Dawn found them exhausted, huddled in a hollow beneath the roots of a massive, ancient tree. Alex's arm was stiff, the blood dried to a dark crust on his sleeve. Using a strip of cloth torn from Lyra's underskirt, she cleaned and bound the wound as best she could.
"We need to find Corbin," Alex said, wincing as she tightened the bandage. "But I have no idea where the safe-house is from here. We were always moved blindfolded."
Lyra sat back, her face smudged with dirt, her elegant scholar's robes torn and snagged. She looked more alive, more real, than she ever had in the pristine academy. "Then we don't find him. He finds us."
She opened the small bag she'd grabbed from the estate. Along with the journal, she had taken a few practical items: a water skin, some dried meat, and a flint. And one more thing—a small, smooth, grey stone.
"A sending stone," she explained at Alex's curious look. "A pair. My sister gave one to me, one to her... to a friend. A failsafe. If I ever needed the Unwritten, I was to leave this stone in a designated spot. A dead drop."
"Where?"
"There's a town a day's walk from here. Blackwater. There's a tavern called The Leaky Bucket. I leave the stone under a specific loose floorboard behind the stables. If the network is still active, someone will find it and get a message to Corbin."
It was a fragile thread of hope. They spent the day resting in the hollow, taking turns sleeping. Alex's dreams were fitful, filled with visions of a chained giant made of starlight, struggling to wake. The Dreaming Titan.
When night fell again, they set out for Blackwater. The journey was a test of their new reality. They avoided the main road, moving through fields and woods. Alex used his power sparingly—to mute the sound of their passage through a dry creek bed, to briefly negate the Law of Reflected Light off a pond as they skirted a farm, making them virtually invisible to any casual glance.
They were no longer student and scholar. They were two fugitives, learning the rules of a world that wanted them dead.
Blackwater was a town of hard people and soft morals, a place where the Empire's control was tenuous. The Leaky Bucket was exactly as Lyra had described: loud, smoky, and full of people who knew better than to ask questions.
While Alex kept watch from the shadow of a nearby alley, Lyra slipped around to the stables. She was back within minutes, her face pale but determined.
"It's done," she whispered. "Now we wait."
They found a derelict woodcutter's shack on the edge of town and broke in. For two days, they waited. They ate the last of their dried meat and drank from a rain barrel. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken fears. Had the network been broken? Had Corbin been caught?
On the evening of the second day, as the sun bled red behind the trees, the door to the shack creaked open.
Alex was on his feet instantly, a makeshift club in his hand. Lyra stood behind him, clutching her sister's journal like a shield.
A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, hooded and cloaked. Then a familiar, gruff voice spoke.
"Took your sweet time, boy. And you brought a friend. Could've picked a less conspicuous one."
Corbin pushed back his hood, his weathered face breaking into a rare, grim smile. Behind him, Elara stood, her red hair a fiery banner in the twilight, her hand resting on the hilt of her knife.
"Trouble follows you like a bad smell, Wraith," Elara said, but her eyes held a glint of relief.
The tension drained from Alex's body, leaving him weak with exhaustion. "We have a lot to tell you."
Corbin's eyes fell on the journal in Lyra's hands, then on Alex's bandaged arm. "I reckon you do. But not here. We have a long walk ahead. The Mournful Mountains are calling. It's time you saw the heart of the resistance."
As they slipped out of Blackwater, disappearing into the growing darkness of the forest, Alex knew there was no going back. The academy, the life of Kaelen, was ash. He was the White Wraith, he had an ally who had sacrificed everything, and he carried a truth that could shatter the world.
The first part of his journey was over. The war began now.