The night swallowed us whole the moment we left the tunnel behind.
We didn't stop moving until the city was nothing more than a distant glow on the horizon. The firelight was flickering like a dying wound. Aris led the way without a word, limping only when she thought the boy wasn't looking.
She was bad at hiding pain.
I respected that. As someone who couldn't feel pain, when I saw it in others hurt, I felt something similar in the very atoms of my metal.
We crossed broken hills and stone until it gave way to grassy fields and then eventually dirt.
Whatever this place had once been, it was abandoned long before Thorne ever rose to power. That was a good sign.
"Retreating this far out feels like giving up," I said with frustration.
The boy wiped the hair out of his eyes. "I'm not giving up. I just need more time. I need to learn to fight."
"I'll get you there, boy, I promise."
Finally, Aris raised a fist.
We stopped beside the remains of a collapsed watchtower, its stones half-buried and overgrown with weeds. The walls were still standing on one side, enough to block the wind. A shallow hollow inside would keep us hidden from sight.
"This is as good as it gets," Aris said. She lowered herself onto a rock and exhaled sharply.
The boy sat too, slower than before. The adrenaline had burned out. His hands were shaking now.
He rested me against the stone beside him with only a finger touching my hilt now. He stared down at his hands like they'd betrayed him.
"They burned the Slums," he said quietly. "Because of me."
I hated that sentence.
"Because of me," I corrected. "You were just holding me."
He didn't look convinced.
"Look, you gotta understand. I'm important. I am desired. You are not the reason for what happened. Thorne wants me more than you."
The boy frowned. "Your ego really knows no bounds."
Aris tore a strip of cloth from her cloak and wrapped it tightly around her ribs. She didn't cry out, but her jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth.
"We saved people by getting out of there," she said, responding to the boy. "That matters."
"Did it?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
I did.
"Welcome to power," I said. "It never feels worth the cost until it's gone."
Aris looked at me. "So is it speaking to you right now?"
"It? I am not an it. How rude!"
The boy nodded. "Yes. He almost never stops."
Despite herself, she almost smiled. "A talking sword. This world gets weirder by the day."
The boy lay back against the stone, exhaustion finally winning.
"Wait. Boy. Tell her I'm not an it. Don't go to sleep! Boy!"
His breathing slowed. The bond between us hummed. Steady, warm, alive. Stronger than it had been before the Slums burned.
That both scared and excited me.
Aris kept watch while the boy slept. She stood at the edge of the ruins, dagger loose in her grip, eyes scanning the dark.
She needed to sleep.
But it seemed like she never did.
The sun would rise soon. A new day would begin.
I prepared a plan in my head. It was time to get this boy ready for battle.
*******
Silas Thorne stood alone at the balcony of his manor, hands folded behind his back. He was tense. Whatever outcome came, he needed to be prepared.
From here, the city of Pralis looked peaceful. Lanterns glowed softly along the upper districts. Smoke still curled faintly from the lower wards, but distance had a way of dulling truth. From above, suffering became abstract.
A servant approached but stopped short as Thorne turned around.
He already knew what this was about.
"Send him in," Thorne commanded as he made his way back into the Sanctum.
The double doors opened and the Hound entered, dropping to one knee.
Blood matted his fur-lined mask. One arm hung stiff at his side. His breathing was slow and controlled. Something had hurt him. And badly.
Thorne finally turned.
"You failed," he said calmly.
"Yes," the Hound replied.
No excuses. No embellishment. Just the truth.
Thorne appreciated that. That was why the Hound was one of his top enforcers.
"They escaped from the Slums," the Hound continued. "Their scent just…disappeared. A blind man intervened. He knew my movements. Traps. Sound. Scent. He fought like someone who expected me."
Thorne's golden eyes narrowed slightly.
"A blind man," he repeated. "Interesting. And he did…this to you?"
"He did not pursue," the Hound said. "He wanted me to leave. And I did."
Thorne studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded once.
"Good."
The word caught the Hound off guard.
"You learned something," Thorne said. "And you survived to tell me. That is not failure. That is information."
Thorne turned back toward the city.
"The Sword is confirmed," the Hound said. "I had eyes on him multiple times. And the boy spoke to him. Likely sentient," the Hound reported.
"And the boy?"
"Still alive."
Thorne smiled.
"Then this is not over. It is merely beginning."
He stepped away from the balcony and moved toward the mapping table, fingers brushing over carved streets and districts.
"The Slums were a necessary pressure," Thorne said. "Fear forces people to look upward for safety. Tomorrow, they will want reassurance. They will want a face. A voice."
He glanced over his shoulder at the Hound.
"And I will give them one."
"Call all of the enforcers back. Hide them away. Show no association with me. This is imperative."
The Hound nodded in obedience.
Thorne straightened, already seeing the crowd before him, cheering his name.
"There will be a rally," he said. "Tomorrow evening. I will stand before them and promise protection. Unity. Justice. Power," he murmured, "is best wielded when everyone believes it is on their side."
The Hound rose slowly.
"And when they gather," Thorne said, voice turning colder, "we will force upon them our ideals."