Night draped itself over the river-town like a burial shroud. Mist rolled low along the cobbles, and above it, the square writhed with restless fire. Torches swayed in countless hands, their flames jagged and uneven, casting long shadows across shuttered doors and sagging rooftops. The air was damp, but beneath the scent of rain was the sharper reek of sweat, pitch, and fear.
The mob had not thinned with darkness. If anything, it had thickened. More faces, more hands clutching tools, more voices roughened into chants that spread like sparks across dry tinder.
Inside the tavern, the caravan stood coiled, every motion deliberate, every whisper swallowed before it could rise. Leather straps pulled tight, buckles cinched flat, packs stripped down to only the barest survival. A hush as deep as the grave hung in the rafters.
Sofia moved among them like the edge of a blade, her scar stark under the lamplight. She checked buckles, tightened straps, fixed each soldier with a gaze that allowed no faltering.
"No steel drawn unless forced," she said, voice low but iron. "No shouting. We move as shadows, not sparks. Understand?"
A ripple of assent passed through the company, quiet, uncertain, but enough.
Leo shifted the straps of the small pack Owen had pressed on him. It held little: water, a crust of bread, nothing else. But the shard was weight enough, thrumming in his chest like a war-drum, eager and hungry. Its whispers were hot against his thoughts:
They would scatter before a single blaze. One spark, and they would kneel.
He clenched his jaw so hard it ached. Not yet.
By the door, the tavern keeper wrung his hands until his knuckles whitened. His voice broke as he whispered, "If they catch you… they'll blame me. They'll burn my hall."
For a heartbeat, Sofia's gaze softened. Then she set a pouch heavy with coin in his palm. "Buy silence. Or a roof elsewhere. Let this keep your house standing."
He swallowed hard, nodded, and bolted the door behind them as they slipped into the alley.
The streets outside breathed unease. Shutters creaked. Dogs barked sharp warnings and fell silent. The square ahead glowed like a single vast bonfire, torchlight spilling down alleys like rivers of flame. Voices carried on the damp air, half-shouts, half-prayers, all sharpened by fear.
Sofia led them through the narrow back lanes, boots muffled against wet stone. Owen muttered intersections under his breath, mind tracing maps that only he could see. Evelyn hugged her healer's satchel close, flinching at every shadow that leaned too far.
The boy from the river clung to Leo's sleeve, steps quick to match his own. His whisper came small, almost lost against the rumble of the mob. "You're shaking."
Leo glanced down, startled. His fists were balled so tight that blood welled at the crescents of his nails. The shard purred, savoring his pulse.
"Stay close," he muttered, forcing his hand to relax.
At last, the northern gate loomed before them. Two guards stood beneath the torches, halberds crossed, their faces washed pale in the light. The mob's roar reached even here, carried on the damp breath of night.
Sofia strode forward, helm tucked beneath her arm, scar lit by flame. "Open the gate. Now."
One guard's throat bobbed. "Captain… the council's order was clear. No one leaves till the boy is given up."
"The mob's been told to watch us," the other muttered. "If we open the gate-"
Sofia drew her sword just enough for the torchlight to kiss its edge. "If you do not open it, you will answer to me before dawn. Choose where your fear lies."
The younger of the two faltered, his eyes caught between the angry glow of the square and Sofia's scarred face. With trembling hands, he slid the bolt.
The gate groaned open, spilling a breath of night air over them, cold, sharp, filled with the promise of escape.
For one trembling heartbeat, there was silence.
Then,
"There! At the gate! They're fleeing!"
The cry split the night like a blade. Torches swung toward them. The roar of the mob swelled, a wave breaking free of its dam. And in its midst, black-robed shapes flickered, serpent tattoos gleaming pale in firelight. The cult whispered, gestured, stoked the frenzy like musicians conducting their song.
The tide turned and surged. The streets filled with running feet, the square vomiting forth its fury.
Sofia's command cut through it all like thunder. "Ride!"
The caravan broke. Hooves struck sparks, wagon wheels rattled over stone, breath plumed in the cold. The gate yawned behind them, the mob slamming against it with fists and shoulders, the timbers shuddering as if to splinter.
Leo clutched the boy tight, the shard burning in his chest like a second sun. Behind them thundered fear, rage, and hunger, pursuit unending.
The night swallowed them whole.