By the ti the won erged from the baths, the underground room had grown quieter. The loyalists had eaten and rested where they could, most of them huddled together on old mats and cloths laid across the stone floor. The innkeeper moved about briskly, whispering instructions to his old helper as they cleared the bowls and refilled lamps.
Lucas had been moved to a more private corner, covered with a thick woolen blanket. The Empress sat near him now, her expression solemn as she watched the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing had steadied, but his skin was pale and cold, the backlash from the Empress’s Qi explosion still gnawing through his body.
The door at the far end creaked open. The innkeeper looked up quickly, wiping his hands on his apron. "They’re here," he said quietly, glancing toward the Empress.
"Who?" Seraphine asked, standing with alert eyes.
Before he could answer, several figures appeared from the shadows.
At their lead was a tall man, his face was sharp and resolute, his dark eyes assessing the room swiftly before resting on the innkeeper. "You sent for us," he said in a low, even tone.
The innkeeper nodded, bowing slightly. "I did. He’s here."
The man’s gaze shifted toward the corner where Lucas lay. For the first ti, the hardened look in his eyes softened. "Our young lord is alive."
The Empress’s gaze turned toward the armored man. "You’re from Valerion," she said slowly, recognizing the insignia on his chest. "His escort."
The man straightened, his fist over his chest in a soldier’s bow. "Captain Varran, Commander of the Valerion Vanguard. My n and I were tasked to escort him until his mission here was complete. He had asked us to hang around the capital untill he’s back from a mission with you."
Nyx, Selene and Lira recognised them, they gave them nods of acknowledgent.
Varran’s eyes lingered on Lucas once more, filled with both relief and frustration. "If only we had known sooner. We could have intervened before the palace fell."
The Empress sighed softly, her voice calm yet edged with exhaustion. "Do not bla yourself, Captain. The fall was orchestrated long before tonight. Even I could not foresee the depth of their treachery."
Varran bowed his head respectfully. "Still, Your Majesty, we are at your service. We will see you safely beyond the city walls."
The innkeeper stepped forward, rubbing his hands together nervously. "About that... the city’s still locked down. Patrols everywhere, soldiers on every street. You’ll need to move before dawn. That’s when they change shifts."
Varran looked to his n, then back to the Empress. "My n will lead from the front. The escape route you provided will serve us well."
Seraphine, standing near the Empress, gave a slight nod. "Then it’s settled. We move before sunrise."
The Empress looked to Lucas once more, brushing a strand of his hair from his face. Her voice lowered, almost to a whisper. "He will wake soon. He must. I can still feel the strength within him."
In a corner, separated slightly from the rest, sat a frail figure draped in a tattered cloak...the crippled Grandmaster. His long gray hair hung loosely over his shoulders, and his eyes held only weariness and frustration.
He had been Lucas’s prisoner for months now, ever since Henrietta had defeated him and crippled his Dantian and ridians.
The Grandmaster let out a dry, humorless chuckle as he watched the commotion around the unconscious Lucas. "So this is what it’s co to..." he muttered under his breath.
One of the Valerion guards standing near him glanced back but didn’t bother replying. They had no love for him...to them, he was a criminal, a liability tolerated only because Lucas had ordered it.
The old man sighed, lowering his gaze to the flickering lantern at his feet. "That fool," he whispered, his tone caught sowhere between resentnt and reluctant admiration. "You should’ve left to rot, boy. Dragging a broken man like to Lechia... what did you think would happen?"
But even in his bitterness, sothing within him refused to harden completely. He looked again toward Lucas, lying motionless under the blanket. The faint golden flickers of Qi beneath his skin told him that the young man was still fighting....body and soul caught between collapse and recovery.
The Grandmaster swallowed hard, his voice lowering to a whisper no one else could hear. "Don’t you dare die, boy," he muttered, his knuckles whitening around the cane. "If you die... I die with you. There’ll be no cure for . No path back."
He shut his eyes tightly, exhaling.
"...So wake up already. You’ve caused enough trouble."
He still didn’t know why Lucas had brought him along.
_______
Before dawn....the group erged from the inn’s rear entrance dressed as ordinary townsfolk, their fine silks now replaced with roughspun tunics, worn cloaks, and boots that had seen better days. The transformation was jarring. The Valerion soldiers who once glead in polished armor now looked like weary dockhands or tradesn burdened by sleepless nights. Even the Empress, whose bearing could command the silence of a hall with a glance, had her head covered beneath a plain hood and veil that covered her face. Her posture, however, betrayed what no disguise could conceal...an inborn grace that even hardship could not smother.
Lucas lay unconscious on a makeshift carrier built from two long poles and a canvas sheet. Two of the Valerion guards bore his weight between them with practiced precision, their steps asured to keep him steady. His face, pale beneath the flickering lantern light, seed almost peaceful, though the faint tremor of his lips told of the agony that still lingered within him. Lira walked beside him, every few monts adjusting the cloak over his body as though the small act could protect him from the world’s cruelty.
The innkeeper, who had risked everything by sheltering them, stood near the threshold as they prepared to leave. His weathered hands gripped a lantern that cast long, trembling shadows across the cobblestones. "I won’t be coming with you," he said quietly, his tone firm yet sorrowful. "There are still people trapped in the city...families of the loyalists who’ll need a way out. Soone has to stay behind to guide them."
The Empress turned toward him, the light catching the faint streaks of soot across her cheeks. "You have done more than enough," she said, her voice calm yet edged with emotion. "If not for you, we would have been captured before dawn."
The man bowed his head slightly, humility softening the deep lines of his face. "My na is Corvin, Your Majesty. When you return and need my service again, you will find here...no matter what this city becos."
She reached out, touching his shoulder gently. "You have my gratitude, Corvin," she said, and for a heartbeat the title "Your Majesty" seed less a mark of power and more an acknowledgnt of shared humanity. He nodded once, swallowed hard, handed the map to Captain Varran and stepped back as they slipped into the alleyway.
When they reached the first sewer entrance, hidden beneath a pile of broken barrels. One by one, they descended into the darkness. The tunnels were narrow and slick with gri, their ceilings low enough to force the taller guards to stoop. The torchlight flickered against the slick walls, revealing the occasional rat scurrying into cracks. Despite the filth, they moved quickly, their footsteps softened by the steady trickle of water beneath them. Lucas’s bearers kept their pace steady, pausing only when the path grew too narrow to fit the stretcher.
After what felt like an eternity winding through the labyrinth of tunnels, they reached a section of the sewer that opened into a corridor. The innkeeper had described it as the smugglers’ path, a route once used to ferry contraband goods out of the city. Ahead stood a section of the outer wall that looked no different from the rest, save for the faint outline of a small archway concealed by stone and moss.
Captain Varran pressed his hand against the wall and whispered, "This is it." He pushed lightly against a loose slab, and with a soft grinding sound, a narrow passage opened. Cold air rushed through, carrying with it the scent of pine and open fields.
They filed through quickly. Lira and Mirielle helped guide the last of the loyalists while Seraphine checked behind them to ensure no one had been left behind. The Empress entered last, casting a lingering look back into the tunnel. "May Lechia forgive ," she murmured under her breath, "for leaving her behind." Then she sealed the hidden doorway with a pulse of celestial energy, the faint shimr of her power sealing their escape.
When they erged on the other side, dawn had just begun to tint the horizon. The world beyond the wall was quiet, untouched by the chaos within. The Empress straightened, her hood slipping slightly as she gazed upon the open land before them.
They were free.
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