His Father Declared My Daughter a Saintess for an Ancient Empire, But I Knew It Was a Sacrificial Death Sentence
The air hung heavy and humid around Kaelen’s residence, a small, unremarkable house tucked away in a quiet street near the Imperial Gardens. Lucas and Jory had staked it out for hours, hidden amongst the overgrown bushes and ancient stone walls. Night had fallen, blanketing the city in a deceptive peace. Lucas, ever the hunter, scanned the darkened windows, his senses heightened, his patience honed by years in the wilderness.
“He hasn’t moved a muscle,” Jory whispered, checking his timepiece. “It’s almost midnight.”
“He’ll move,” Lucas replied, his gaze fixed on the only window with a faint glow. “The Brotherhood won’t let him stay put once they know we’re looking. And he knows what he’s done.” Lucas felt a growing sense of urgency, the eclipse pressing on his mind like a physical weight.
Just as the city bells chimed for midnight, the faint glow in Kaelen’s window flickered out. A moment later, the front door creaked open, and a hunched figure slipped out, moving with a nervous haste. It was Kaelen, unmistakable in his usual drab robes, but now carrying a small, bulging leather pouch clutched tight to his chest. He cast furtive glances around, his movements jerky, a man clearly trying to be inconspicuous but failing spectacularly.
“He’s making a break for it,” Lucas murmured, rising slowly from his hiding spot. “He’s got his payment. Now he’s running.” The sight of the pouch, undoubtedly filled with the silver marks he’d earned from his lies, stoked Lucas’s fury. Kaelen valued money more than Lyra’s life.
Kaelen scurried down the street, heading not towards the Imperial district, but towards the maze of narrow, winding alleys that characterized the lower city districts. These were the oldest parts of Valoria, a tangle of forgotten passages and cramped dwellings, perfect for disappearing.
“Jory, stay here,” Lucas commanded, already moving, a shadow amongst shadows. “If he slips me, sweep the main thoroughfares. I’ll take the alleys.”
Lucas pursued Kaelen, keeping to the deeper shadows, his steps light and silent. Kaelen, despite his haste, was no athlete. He stumbled over loose cobblestones, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He darted into a particularly dark alley, barely wide enough for two people to pass.
“Scribe Kaelen!” Lucas’s voice cut through the stillness, a low, dangerous growl.
Kaelen froze mid-stride, his head whipping around, his eyes wide with terror. He saw Lucas emerging from the gloom, a formidable, armored figure in the dim light. A strangled cry escaped his lips, and he bolted, plunging deeper into the alley’s twisting path.
The chase was on. Lucas moved with relentless efficiency, closing the distance. Kaelen was surprisingly agile for a man of his build, fueled by pure panic. He ducked into another narrow passage, scattering a pile of rubbish, then flattened himself against a wall as a stray dog barked in alarm.
“Stop running, Kaelen!” Lucas called out, his voice echoing in the confined space. “It will only make this harder.”
Kaelen ignored him, scrambling over a low wall into what appeared to be a cramped marketplace, now deserted for the night. Tables lay overturned, barrels stood askew, and the air smelled of stale fruit and rotting vegetables. Kaelen crashed through the market, sending a cascade of empty crates clattering.
Lucas vaulted over the same wall, his movements fluid and powerful. He saw Kaelen duck into a passage beneath a sagging wooden awning. The Scribe was desperate, his breathing ragged, his small pouch of silver marks still clutched tightly, a symbol of his petty, destructive greed.
He thought of Lyra, her innocent face, and how this sniveling man had signed her fate away for a few coins. The image fueled Lucas’s resolve, hardening his features. He pushed harder, his ancient armor clanking softly with each stride. He had to corner Kaelen, force the truth from him.
Kaelen burst out onto a wider, but still shadowed, street. He glanced wildly left and right, clearly disoriented. He spotted a carriage, its horses dozing, and made a desperate lunge for it, hoping to simply escape the city.
Lucas was faster. He burst from the alley, a blur of motion. Kaelen was only a few strides from the carriage door when Lucas’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. The Scribe let out a choked shriek, dropping his pouch of silver marks, which scattered across the cobblestones like glittering scales.
“No!” Kaelen whimpered, collapsing to his knees, his face ashen with fear. “Please, don’t hurt me! I only did what I was told!”
Lucas yanked him upright, spinning him around to face him. Kaelen’s eyes were wide, darting everywhere but at Lucas’s face. He was a terrified, pathetic figure, a stark contrast to the shadowy machinations he had enabled. The sight of his fear, however, brought Lucas no satisfaction. It only intensified his anger at the man’s spineless complicity.
“You’ll talk, Scribe,” Lucas snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “You’ll tell me everything you know about the Brotherhood of the Dark Sun and what they plan for my daughter.” He tightened his grip, pulling Kaelen closer, forcing the Scribe to meet his gaze.
Kaelen trembled violently, his body shaking like a leaf. His eyes, now finally locked with Lucas’s, reflected a profound, animalistic terror. He tried to speak, but only a dry, rattling sound emerged from his throat. The cold dread of being caught was far worse than any guilt he might have felt for his actions.
Lucas kept his grip firm, unyielding. He needed answers, and Kaelen was about to provide them, whether he wanted to or not. The chase was over. The truth, however ugly, was about to begin. The metallic tang of fear hung in the air, a stark contrast to the sweet night air that had moments ago felt so peaceful.
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