Chapter 5 The Shape of Escape
Night came early to the Lower Rings.
Not because the sun set faster here, but because darkness learned how to cling. Lantern light struggled against it, halos of gold swallowed by soot-stained stone and narrow streets that folded inward like secrets. I watched it happen from the doorway of our room, my pulse steady, my mind sharp.
Fear was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Lio slept, breathing slow and even. The fever hadn’t returned. I pressed my fingers to his wrist again, feeling the quiet proof of life there, and allowed myself one measured breath of relief. Whatever else I had become, I had saved him—for now.
The dragon stirred, warm approval brushing my thoughts.
Not yet, I warned it silently. No more magic tonight.
It acquiesced, withdrawing like a tide held by the moon.
I packed quickly. We owned very little—clothes patched thin, a few keepsakes, dried food wrapped in cloth. I left anything that could slow us down. Survival required lightness.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Once.
Twice.
I didn’t reach for a weapon. I didn’t need to.
When I opened the door, Alaric Nightfall stood there dressed for disappearance.
The leathers were darker tonight, unmarked by sigils, the weight of his presence sharpened rather than diminished. His hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, exposing the hard line of his jaw. He looked like a man stepping into exile without ceremony.
“You’re late,” I said quietly.
“I needed eyes elsewhere,” he replied. “You’re ready.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
His gaze flicked past me, taking in Lio, the room, the poverty that clung to every surface. Something unreadable tightened briefly in his expression.
“Good,” he said. “We leave now.”
My mother hovered at the edge of the room, fear etched deep into her face, but she nodded. She trusted me. That realization sat heavy and sharp in my chest.
We moved through the streets without drawing notice, slipping into the current of night workers and shadow. Alaric led with unerring precision, never hesitating, never glancing back to make sure we followed. He knew we would.
The entrance to the tunnels lay beneath the old aqueduct, hidden behind a rusted iron grate marked with a sigil so old it barely whispered anymore. Alaric pressed his palm against the stone, murmuring something too low for me to hear.
The wall shifted.
Stone slid aside with a muted groan, revealing a narrow stair spiraling downward into darkness that smelled of damp earth and forgotten time.
“Stay close,” he said.
I did not bristle at the command. This wasn’t authority—it was necessity.
The moment we descended, the city vanished.
The air cooled, heavy with moisture. The stone walls bore scars of ancient magic, wards layered upon wards until they hummed faintly against my skin. The dragon recoiled slightly, displeased.
Contained places, it rumbled faintly. Built to hide sins.
I swallowed. Then we’re in the right place.
The tunnel narrowed after the first turn, forcing us into single file. Alaric slowed, allowing my mother and Lio to move ahead with him, leaving me behind him in the tight passage.
His presence became unavoidable.
Every step brought the brush of his cloak against my arm, the heat of him a constant at my back. The closeness sharpened my awareness until every breath felt deliberate.
“Your wards,” I murmured, careful to keep my voice low. “They won’t hold forever.”
“No,” he said. “But they’ll confuse pursuit long enough.”
“And after that?”
His shoulders shifted. “We improvise.”
I almost smiled.
We reached a wider chamber where the tunnel branched in three directions. Alaric halted abruptly, raising a hand.
I stopped with him, close enough that my breath caught against his shoulder.
He closed his eyes.
The air shifted subtly—not with the raw surge of magic I carried, but with something precise and disciplined. Shadow pooled briefly at his feet, rippling outward like ink in water.
“Two patrols above,” he murmured. “Council mages. One inquisitor.”
My stomach tightened. “Already?”
“They’re efficient,” he replied. “And angry.”
“Because you lied.”
“Yes.”
“And because I exist.”
That earned me a sideways glance, sharp and assessing even in the dim. “That too.”
The dragon pressed closer to the surface, heat licking my ribs. I steadied it, grounding myself in the cold stone beneath my boots.
“We go left,” Alaric said. “It’s longer, but shielded.”
“Then why does your pulse just spike?”
His mouth curved faintly. “Because nothing worth doing is easy.”
I followed him anyway.
The left passage dipped sharply, forcing us to crouch. At one point, the ceiling lowered so far I had to brace my hand against the wall to keep my balance.
Alaric turned abruptly, catching my wrist before I slipped.
The contact sent a jolt through me.
Not magic—awareness.
His fingers were warm, firm, steady. He didn’t pull me close.
He didn’t let go either.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” I said, voice steadier than my pulse. “Let go.”
He did. Immediately.
The restraint was deliberate. Appreciated. Infuriating.
We continued until the tunnel widened again, opening into a cavern where faint bioluminescent moss clung to the stone, casting everything in soft blue light. Alaric stopped, gesturing for my mother to sit with Lio against the wall.
“They need to rest,” he said. “Five minutes.”
“That’s not safe,” I countered.
“It’s safer than exhaustion.”
I hated that he was right.
While they settled, I paced the perimeter of the cavern, restless energy coiling tight beneath my skin. The dragon hummed, restless now, responding to proximity, to pursuit, to him.
“You’re bleeding,” Alaric said.
I looked down. A thin line of red traced my palm again, the earlier wound reopened by tension.
“I’m fine.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t bleed the way others do.”
I stiffened. “What does that mean?”
“It means your body is adapting faster than it should.” His gaze flicked to my hand. “Dragon magic changes vessels as much as it grants power.”
“I didn’t ask to be a vessel.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “You chose to be a shield.”
The words struck deep.
I met his gaze, unflinching. “You keep saying things like that. As if you’re trying to convince yourself.”
His eyes darkened. “Maybe I am.”
The cavern felt suddenly smaller.
Closer.
“I won’t be your redemption,” I said quietly. “If that’s what this is.”
His expression hardened—not offended, but resolute. “I’m not asking you to be.”
“Good.”
Silence stretched, weighted but not fragile.
“I chose this,” he said after a moment. “Helping you. Whatever that costs.”
I studied him—the man shaped by obedience, standing in a forgotten tunnel with everything to lose.
“Then don’t hesitate,” I said. “Not with me.”
He nodded once. “I won’t.”
A distant tremor rolled through the stone.
We both felt it.
“Time’s up,” he said sharply. “We move.”
As we resumed our path, the tunnel narrowed again—this time too much for comfort. Alaric moved behind me, one hand hovering near my waist without touching, ready to steady me if needed.
The proximity was a test.
Of control. Of restraint. Of desire that simmered just beneath the surface, unspoken but undeniable.
The dragon watched with keen interest.
Careful, it warned, amused. Fire spreads.
So do boundaries, I replied.
When the tunnel finally opened into night air beyond the city’s outermost ward line, I sucked in a breath that tasted like freedom and fear combined.
Behind us, Valmere loomed—unaware that something ancient had slipped its grasp.
Ahead of us, the world waited.
Alaric stood beside me, gaze fixed on the horizon, expression unreadable.
“This is only the beginning,” he said.
I squared my shoulders, the dragon’s warmth steady and strong within me.
“I know,” I replied.
And for the first time since the shrine, I didn’t feel hunted.
I felt ready.