They left before sleep could deepen.
Rhael did not allow rest to soften urgency. When Aarinen's breathing steadied and his hands stopped shaking, the old man nudged him awake with the end of his staff.
"Up," Rhael said. "Before patience finds us."
Aarinen groaned but obeyed. His body protested every movement, a chorus of small, sharp pains stitched together by exhaustion. Still, he stood.
The underground river guided them at first. They followed it downstream through passages carved smooth by centuries of water, their lantern light trembling across damp walls. The air grew colder, cleaner, carrying the scent of minerals and something faintly metallic.
"Where are we going?" Aarinen asked quietly.
Rhael did not look back.
"Out," he said.
"That seems optimistic."
Rhael huffed.
"Optimism is loud," he replied. "This is preparation."
They reached a point where the river disappeared into a crack too narrow to follow. Rhael turned sharply into a side tunnel marked only by three shallow grooves cut into the stone at ankle height.
"Don't step on those," he warned.
Aarinen frowned but avoided them anyway.
"What are they?" he asked.
"Reminders," Rhael said. "From people who didn't listen."
The tunnel sloped upward steeply. Aarinen's breath came in ragged gasps as he climbed, every step sending pain flaring through his injured leg. Sweat mixed with blood under his clothes, chilling him as soon as he stopped moving.
They emerged eventually into moonlight.
A narrow cleft in the hillside opened onto a rocky ledge overlooking a forested valley. The night air felt shockingly fresh, filled with the scent of wet leaves and distant earth.
Aarinen leaned against the rock, dizzy.
Behind them, far below, faint lights flickered—lanterns probing cave mouths.
"They'll come out soon," Rhael said. "They always do."
"Why?" Aarinen asked.
"Because caves turn hunters into guessers," Rhael replied. "And guessers lose patience."
Rhael led him along the ledge, then down a hidden path that wound through dense undergrowth. Thorns caught at Aarinen's clothes, reopening wounds. He gritted his teeth and pushed on.
After an hour, they reached the valley floor.
Rhael stopped.
"This is where I leave you," he said.
Aarinen turned, startled.
"You're not coming?" he asked.
Rhael shook his head.
"My place is behind," he said. "Holding doors open just long enough."
Aarinen swallowed.
"You saved my life," he said.
Rhael shrugged.
"You weren't finished with it," he replied.
He studied Aarinen carefully.
"They've learned something important," Rhael continued. "You can be hurt. That makes you less frightening—and more dangerous."
"How?" Aarinen asked.
Rhael tapped his chest lightly with the end of his staff.
"Because now, when you act," he said, "it will be a choice."
He turned to go, then paused.
"One more thing," he added.
"Yes?"
"They will stop trying to capture you," Rhael said. "From now on, they will try to end you cleanly."
Aarinen nodded slowly.
"That tracks."
Rhael smiled faintly.
"Good luck, Aarinen," he said, and vanished into the trees without another word.
Aarinen stood alone in the valley.
Dawn was not far off. The sky had begun to pale at the edges, stars fading reluctantly. He could hear birds stirring, the forest preparing for morning.
He started walking.
The path through the valley led toward low hills and, beyond them, the suggestion of roads that actually went somewhere. Civilization, or at least its shadow.
By midmorning, he reached a crossroads marked by a weathered stone pillar. One arm pointed toward Merrowen—scratched out violently. The other pointed east, its carving worn but intact.
He followed east.
By noon, the pain had become a constant companion rather than an adversary. His body found a rhythm that hurt but did not stop him. He ate sparingly, drank from streams, avoided open ground.
Movement became discipline.
Near evening, he spotted smoke ahead.
Not a city.
A camp.
Tents clustered around a low fire, guarded by watchful figures. They wore no uniform but carried themselves with shared purpose. Traders? Mercenaries? Something in between.
Aarinen slowed.
He could bypass them.
He could also use them.
He stepped into view.
Hands went to weapons instantly.
"Easy," Aarinen called. "I'm injured, not stupid."
A woman stepped forward.
She was young, sharp-eyed, her hair braided tight against her head. A curved blade hung at her hip.
"You're bleeding," she observed.
"Yes."
"And you walked out of the hills alone," she added.
"Yes."
Her gaze sharpened.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Food," Aarinen said. "Water. Directions."
She studied him for a long moment, then gestured.
"Name?" she asked.
"Aarinen."
Her expression changed—not to fear, but recognition.
Whispers rippled through the camp.
"That's him," someone muttered.
The woman raised a hand for silence.
"You're expensive," she said. "Alive or dead."
"Yes."
"Why come here?" she asked.
Aarinen met her gaze steadily.
"Because you haven't decided yet," he said.
She considered that.
Then she smiled—slow, thoughtful.
"My name is Kael," she said. "And we like things undecided."
She gestured toward the fire.
"Sit," she said. "Eat. Then we'll talk."
Aarinen lowered himself onto a log, every muscle aching, but something else stirring beneath the pain.
Interest.
Around him, the camp resumed its low murmur. People watched him openly now—not with awe, not with fear.
With calculation.
This was new.
As he ate, Aarinen felt it clearly:
The chase had changed shape.
The cave had not ended the pursuit.
It had widened it.
The hounds would come again.
But now, others would come too—not to manage him, not to study him.
To choose sides.
And for the first time since Merrowen, Aarinen was not running blindly.
He was standing at a crossroads.
Bleeding.
Watching.
And learning what it meant to be wanted for more than his failure to fit.