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Elisha's POV
The air outside was sharp, biting my bruised skin as they dragged me across the gravel. Shackles clinked against my wrists and ankles, each jolt making the cuts on my body throb and reopen. My head was pounding, but it wasn't from the beating — it was from the roar of the crowd. The people of Ardenfel gathered like vultures, their hungry eyes gleaming at the promise of blood.
I was shoved onto my knees before a tall wooden structure — the execution block. The rough surface of the chopping board smelled of old iron and dried blood. The executioner, faceless behind his hood, tested the weight of the massive axe in his hands. The blade glimmered in the morning light, and for the first time in my life, death felt close enough to taste.
So this is how it ends? Like a chicken for slaughter? Not even something epic — no heroic death, no noble last stand. Just… this. False accusations in a town drunk on blood.
I lowered my head, pressing my chin against the cold block. My heart slowed. My lips whispered a prayer I hadn't said since I was a boy thief: If rebirth exists, let it be better than this life.
The world went silent.
The axe lifted.
Then—
Instead of steel biting my flesh, a hot splash burst across my back. Warm liquid dripped down my spine. For a moment, I thought my death had come. But the pain never arrived.
Confused, I opened my eyes. The crowd gasped. Blood sprayed — not mine.
Standing in front of me, blade dripping crimson, was Darcelle. Her eyes burned with fury, her crimson cloak flowing like fire in the wind. The guard's throat she had cut spilled onto the dirt, his body collapsing beside me.
"Run," she hissed, extending her bloodied hand. "Run, Elisha. I'll handle these useless dogs."
There was no hesitation. She was a Red Raider — a high-ranked one at that. If anyone could hold them off, it was her. I clasped her hand, pulling myself up on shaky legs. My knees wobbled, but the instinct to survive drowned out the weakness.
The execution ground erupted into chaos. Screams filled the square. Guards drew their blades, rushing at Darcelle, but she met them head-on, cutting down one after another in a storm of steel and crimson.
I bolted.
The crowd's roar chased me through the streets. My breath tore in ragged bursts. My ribs ached, my wounds stung, and every step sent fire shooting through my body.
Then— thwip!
An arrow hissed past my cheek, embedding itself into a wall. My eyes widened.
"Oh, so now they're using arrows?" I muttered under my breath, a grim smirk forming despite the blood in my mouth. "What kind of possessed town is this?"
I darted left, slipping into an alley. My feet splashed through puddles, boots scraping over cobblestones. The thief in me — the one I thought I'd buried — came alive. My body knew how to run, how to vanish into shadows, even when my mind screamed of pain.
But running reopened half-healed wounds. Warm blood trickled down my side, soaking into my clothes. I coughed, spitting copper onto the ground. Still, I pushed forward.
That's when I stumbled onto the street with the weapon store.
The bastard's store. The one who accused me.
I froze for half a heartbeat, then a wicked idea clawed into my mind.
My lips curled into a grin. "If he said I stole the spear… then I might as well really steal it."
I slipped inside, the door slamming against the wall. The store was eerily empty — shutters half-open, dust hanging in the sunlight. My steps echoed as I crept into the back room.
There it was.
Behind a glass case stood the silver double-edged spear. My spear. The one that had called to me.
Without ceremony, I kicked the glass. It shattered into a thousand pieces, ringing through the silent store. I grabbed the spear, its weight perfect in my hands, the gleam catching my reflection in the shards at my feet.
I laughed quietly. "Well, old friend… looks like you're mine now."
Guards shouted outside. No time. I darted through the back, bursting out the south window. The road ahead led straight toward the magistrate's office.
Of course.
My grin darkened. "Guess it's time to pay him a visit."
Two guards blocked the path, swords drawn. They looked more terrified than confident, hands trembling.
"I was planning on knocking you out," I said, spinning the spear. "But then I remembered — you all nearly had me beheaded."
The spear whistled through the air. Their screams cut short. Blood sprayed, painting the cobblestones. My heart pounded, but it wasn't fear anymore. It was power.
I stormed into the magistrate's office.
The hallway was silent. Too silent.
Then I saw it.
Corpses. Guards littered the floor, their faces twisted in terror. Blood smeared the walls, dripping in long streaks. It wasn't a battle. It was slaughter.
And at the end of the corridor, in the magistrate's office, sat Nathan.
Cross-legged on the magistrate's chair, a glass of red wine in his hand, his cloak draped elegantly over one arm. The magistrate's head hung from a shelf like a grotesque trophy. His body lay sprawled on the floor, twisted, broken — tortured before death.
Nathan looked every bit the devil sipping calmly in the aftermath of carnage.
He lifted his eyes lazily toward me, lips curving. "Took you long enough."
I tightened my grip on the spear, breath uneven. "How'd you know I'd come?"
He stood, smooth and unhurried. "Knowing your personality? It was obvious. You couldn't resist teaching the man a lesson. So I waited."
He stepped closer, boots silent over the blood. His gaze flicked to the spear in my hands. "Standing there, bloodied and clutching that weapon… you look like someone with ambition."
I clenched my jaw, cleaning the blade with my sleeve. "I've always had ambition. You were just blind before."
But he'd already turned, walking past me as though the conversation meant nothing.
My temper flared. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!"
He didn't even glance back. Just strode out, cloak sweeping behind him.
Outside, Xavier, Paige, and Darcelle waited. Relief flickered across their faces when they saw me — alive, holding the spear. Even Darcelle smiled faintly.
Nathan, however, looked furious at my presence, his jaw tight, eyes cold.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I missed you too."
We barely had a chance to breathe before imperial guards swarmed the street, their golden armor glinting.
No one had to say it. We ran.
Through markets, across alleys, down stairs. My body screamed in protest, every wound tearing wider, but I forced myself forward. Not now. Not yet.
We ducked into an abandoned store. The musty scent of dust and wood rot filled my lungs. I staggered, nearly collapsing.
thwip!
Another arrow sliced through the window, almost grazing my back.
Suddenly, strong hands shoved me into a cramped storeroom. My back hit the wall, and before I could protest, Nathan pinned me there, his cloak brushing against me.
His eyes blazed. "Look at you. You're a bloody mess."
I smirked weakly. "Hey… did you just save me?"
He scoffed, releasing me. "I've no idea what you're talking about. Just keep your mouth shut and let the guards pass."
I chuckled, despite the pounding in my chest, and leaned my head back against the wall.
The darkness of unconsciousness pulled at me. My last sight was Nathan's silhouette, sharp against the crack of light through the boards.
Then the world went black.
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