"Kael," Sylas said, calm as a blade sheathed in silk, "do you know why I'm not panicking?"
Kael blinked, still catching his breath. "Because you've finally lost it?"
Sylas smirked. "No. Because your plan A was only the trigger for my plan B."
He reached into his coat, pulling out a small silver vial. The liquid inside shimmered like quicksilver.
He poured it over the thick steel lock.
Nothing happened.
Kael barked a laugh. "Brilliant. The genius at work."
"Try punching it," Sylas replied, almost too casually.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "If this breaks my hand, I'm haunting you."
He drew back his fist and struck the door.
It crumbled like brittle charcoal.
Kael stared at the remains, stunned. "...Oh."
Sylas stepped through the shattered frame. "Let's go home. Mercy'll be furious we failed."
Kael grinned, the fatigue briefly forgotten. "I'd be lost without you."
"And when did I become your emotional support assistant?" Sylas muttered with a smirk.
Kael pointed ahead. "First one to the city gates gets the last massage token."
They bolted.
---
The stairwell spiraled like it wanted to keep them trapped forever. Kael wheezed by the third landing.
"Sylas, how long is this damn staircase?"
Sylas didn't even look back. "Feels long because you won't stop whining."
As they neared the surface, muffled voices leaked from the floor above. Guards—two of them, chatting casually.
Sylas slowed, raising a hand. Kael nodded and crept ahead, peering through a hairline crack in the doorway.
Two guards near the window. Exit in sight.
Kael turned, already grinning.
Sylas mirrored him. They didn't need words.
"Who needs a plan?" Kael whispered.
"Just run," Sylas replied.
They burst through the door. The impact knocked the guards flat.
Kael grabbed one's spear just to toss it away dramatically. "No hard feelings, lads."
Sylas darted past. "Race is still on."
Footsteps thundered behind them as more guards gave chase, the entire tower waking to the escape.
---
They tore through corridors of velvet and gold. Kael turned a sharp corner and collided shoulder-first into a pedestal. A tall statue of King Marceus, robed and regal, wobbled—
Then tumbled.
The crash echoed like thunder as marble shattered across the floor.
Kael winced. "He was overrated anyway."
Sylas didn't even glance back. "Focus on running, art critic."
They smashed through a servant door and leapt into the garden beyond. The midday sun filtered through clouds above, warm and blinding.
They ducked under low branches, vaulted over a dry fountain, darted between statues and hedges as shouting rose behind them.
At the garden's edge, they turned a corner—and slammed into someone.
Both staggered back.
A familiar face stood before them: the old guard from the prison. His armor was scuffed, his beard longer now, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dulled.
He eyed them briefly. Then smirked.
"I suppose it's time I repaid the favor… heroes."
He turned, slammed his spear into the stone wall. Part of the corridor caved in, collapsing behind him just as guards rounded the bend.
Dust flew. The guards shouted in frustration, trapped behind rubble.
Sylas and Kael nodded.
And ran.
---
Outside, the city bloomed in festival colors. Banners danced, children laughed, music filled the air. Fireworks bloomed against the cloud-dappled sky.
They slipped unnoticed through the chaos—just two more shadows in a city too distracted to see.
Down a narrow alley, they reached their inn.
Then up the stairs. Into the room.
Kael grabbed his sword—purple, vein-lined, pulsing faintly with a darker glow. He fastened his worn coat, then tossed Sylas his daggers.
Sylas caught them without a word. Then he paused.
There, on the side of his bed, sat a single coin.
He picked it up.
Memories fludded his mind.
"I've hidden seven coins around the orphanage. Mercy said, her voice bright. Let's find them together."
Her voice echoed like a ghost in sunlight.
He remembered the way she beamed every time he found one, even when she'd clearly planted it in plain sight.
A warmth grew in his chest, unfamiliar and almost painful.
"I hid this one because… I liked the game," he whispered. "I liked the time I spent with her. I didn't want it to end."
He flipped the coin in the air.
Caught it.
Smiled. Mercy never found the coin. But I did.
Kael sat outside. "Let's go."
They returned to the streets.
Sylas glanced behind. The guards were back on their trail.
"We split up if the road splits." he said. "Don't argue."
Kael groaned. "We're not breaking up like some tragic romance."
They reached a crossroad.
Kael pointed left. "Luck says go this way."
Sylas took the opposite road. "I'll take what fate left for me."
Kael ducked through alleyways, weaving through merchant stalls and fruit carts. At one turn, he found himself staring at a dead end.
He laughed dryly. "Luck needs better navigation."
Shouts behind. Guards closing in.
Then—
A hand reached down from above.
Sylas.
"Luck didn't work, huh?" he muttered.
Kael jumped, grabbed his arm. "You were right."
They ran across the rooftops, wind in their hair, boots slapping tile and wood. The sky opened above them, clouds parting for the sun.
Kael laughed. "Even the world wants this to be cinematic!"
Sylas grinned. "true. But not cinematic enough."
He shoved Kael off the roof.
Kael screamed—then landed in a hay cart.
Sylas dropped beside him, perfectly rolled.
Kael groaned. "You psychopath."
"Run."
Kael sat up, confused. "They're not even—"
He looked up.
Guards lined the rooftop, weapons drawn.
"…You're too careless," Sylas said.
---
They vanished back into the alleys, slipping between market stalls and flower carts, evading patrols with every twist.
Finally, breathless, clothes damp with sweat, they reached the city gates.
Kael grinned, pointing. "Made it."
At the gate they saw a cloaked figure.
It's voice was hoarse as it said. "I'm sorry… but you boys are too late."
He raised his hand.
Snap.
The world bent.
The air folded in like cloth.
And when it unfolded—
They stood on ash.
---
The orphanage.
Or what remained.
The structure was nothing but black bones—charred wood, collapsed brick, scorched memories.
The sky was gray now. Quiet. Too quiet.
No corpses.
No voices.
Just the wind.
Kael stepped forward first.
Then froze.
His hand flew to his mouth.
Sylas followed his gaze.
There—on a pike driven into the earth—
Mercy's head.
Blackened.
Lifeless.
Her face frozen in something unreadable.
Sylas's knees gave out.
He knelt in the ash.
Stared.
"…Mother?" he whispered.
The clouds closed over the sun.
And the silence screamed.