Amiya's Perspective
The moment the first fucking stone was thrown, all hell broke loose. Shouts ripped through the square as the tension snapped into full-blown chaos. The guards surged forward, weapons drawn, and the crowd scattered like a bunch of scared rats. Amiya barely had time to process before a rough hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her back. Her dagger was halfway out of its sheath before she even realized who the hell it was.
Sylas.
"Move, goddamn it," he growled, his grip firm but not painful. As he dragged her through the stampede of bodies, Amiya's mind spun with a mix of rage and fucking fear. She tried to pull her arm free, hissing, "I don't need your damn help!" Even as she struggled, every fucking instinct screamed at her that, in this shitshow, she was screwed if she didn't have someone watching her back. The square had turned into a damn war zone, and she wasn't stupid enough to think she could handle it alone, even if it was him helping her.
They weaved through the crowd, dodging overturned crates, shoving past panicked civilians. The sound of frantic shouts, clanging boots, and angry voices filled the air. A guard caught sight of them and barked orders as he gave chase. Sylas swore under his breath, grabbing her hand again and pulling her through a narrow side alley.
"This way," he muttered, his tone fucking serious.
Amiya followed, not because she trusted him—she didn't—but because the alternative was getting caught or worse. The alley twisted and turned, a labyrinth of shadows and cold stone, until they finally emerged onto a quieter street. Amiya sucked in a ragged breath, pulse pounding, as the adrenaline from the chaos began to wear off, replaced by a cold sense of dread. The night here felt as unforgiving as the stone beneath her feet.
Sylas released her wrist and leaned against a wall, catching his breath. "You really know how to get into shit," he said, shaking his head, half-amused and half-pissed.
She shot him a sharp look. "I wasn't the one skulking around like a goddamn criminal," she snapped, though even as she said it, she knew she was in way over her head. She was on the streets of Selune, a city that gave zero fucks about who she was or what she wanted.
He smirked. "No, you were the one wandering straight into a shitshow you didn't understand." His tone wasn't cruel, but it hit harder than she expected.
Before she could bite back, the distant sound of marching boots—steady, fucking ominous—made them both freeze. Reinforcements. The King's Hounds were coming. The realization sent a shiver down her spine. This wasn't just a random brawl anymore. This was the damn beginning of something worse.
Sylas pushed off the wall, his face hardening. "We need to get the hell out of Selune," he declared, voice cold as steel.
Amiya blinked, caught off guard. "What the fuck are you talking about?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief.
"You heard me," he said, glancing toward the street where the glow of torches and the march of boots confirmed her worst fear. "They're locking this place down after this. And I don't feel like waiting around to see how the hell it turns out. Neither should you."
She crossed her arms, her anger rising. "And where the hell are we supposed to go?"
"Away from here," he said simply. "Unless you want to explain to those guards why you were lurking around in a restricted area." His voice was mocking, but there was an edge to it that was all business.
Amiya ground her teeth. She hated that he had a point. She wasn't naive enough to think she had any chance of escaping this city without help. She had nowhere else to go.
"Fine," she spat, though the word tasted like bitter defeat. "But this isn't fucking permanent."
Sylas grinned, turning on his heel. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replied, his voice light, but there was something deeper in his eyes.
With one last glance at the city behind them—a sprawling, flickering mass of chaos—they slipped into the night, the weight of their choices hanging heavily in the air. The city had no idea what the hell it was in for.
Sylas's Perspective
The night wrapped around Sylas like a blanket as he led Amiya through the twisting streets of Selune. The earlier chaos had bled into the shadows, but the sound of shouting and boots was still close behind them. The square had been a fucking disaster, but it was only the beginning. In Selune, danger was always just a step away. There were too many people to trust, too many factions with their own agendas. It was every man for himself, and if you weren't careful, you ended up dead—or worse.
He kept moving, his mind sharp as hell. Selune was a fucking maze, and the walls seemed to close in tighter the longer you were there. The city's pulse was like a steady drumbeat in his ears: clattering metal, hooves pounding, people shouting. In all of it, his mind kept drifting back to Amiya. She was the spark in the goddamn powder keg, unpredictable and fiery, and he couldn't fucking shake it. He had enough to deal with in his own life, but now, it seemed like fate had decided their paths were tied together.
As they rounded a corner, he glanced back at her. Her eyes were sharp, scanning every corner, her grip on her dagger telling him all he needed to know—she wasn't fucking trusting him. That didn't surprise him. He wasn't exactly trustworthy.
But there was something there—a fire in her eyes that felt all too familiar. He'd seen that look in the mirror when he'd first started making a name for himself. The fire that burned so fucking hot it could either burn you alive or light the way out of hell.
Sylas let them both slip through an abandoned courtyard, the walls crumbling and vines creeping up from forgotten corners. It was quiet here, at least. He paused, listening for any sign of pursuit, then let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Safe… for now," he muttered to himself.
Amiya folded her arms, watching him, and said with a challenging tone, "You seem to know exactly where the hell you're going."
Sylas didn't even bother with a smirk. "I make it my business to know," he said gruffly. "People like you don't survive in Selune without learning a thing or two about this city."
They moved to a stack of crates, where Sylas pulled aside a filthy tarp, revealing a small stash of supplies. He tossed her a waterskin, then snapped, "Drink up. Get some sleep. We leave before dawn."
Amiya hesitated. "And if I don't?"
"Then you stay here and take your fucking chances with the guards," he said, his words blunt and deadly serious.
She scowled but didn't argue further. She uncorked the waterskin and drank deeply, clearly irritated, but at least not fighting him on the obvious.
Sylas didn't give a shit about her attitude; it didn't bother him. What bothered him was that he'd started to think of her as something more than just a pain in the ass—a fucking complication he didn't need. But she was still here, still fucking with his plans, and that was a problem. Yet, despite the constant tension between them, he also knew he needed her. Whether she liked it or not, they were in this together.
As the night wore on, and the sound of the city felt more like a distant hum, Sylas couldn't shake the feeling that their fates were somehow intertwined—whether they wanted it or not.
"Sleep," he muttered, though it wasn't much of an order. It was more a warning. "We leave before they lock this place down."
Amiya's glare was the only response, but it was enough for him. Sylas didn't need anything else from her, for now. She'd come around eventually. After all, what choice did she have?
As he sank back into the shadows, waiting for the dawn, he found himself thinking about the strange pull between them. Something about her kept him fucking hooked. Maybe it was the fire in her eyes. Maybe it was the sheer unpredictability of her. Either way, he was stuck with her for the time being. And that was one hell of a ride waiting to happen.