"Haaa!"
He burst out the other side and collapsed onto solid ground.
For a heartbeat, he didn't move.
Then he rolled onto his back, sucking in air so sharp it hurt, chest rising and falling like a ballon on the verge of tearing itself apart.
Above him, the sky was pale gold.
The wide-open land around Tarakan stretched out before his eyes, flat, vast and deadly.
Dew-covered grass, shimmered in the light of the rising sun, every blade glowing as if the world itself was pretending nothing monstrous had happened behind those walls.
But in the distant he could saw it. The place he knew already, but not what it really is, till Henry talked to him everyday. His vision to make Tarakan big again, developing this land.
Crooked trees rose from the earth like claws, twisted trunks and interlocking branches forming a wall of shadow and green.
A forest so immense that no map agreed on where it ended. A place where beasts ruled, where people vanished, where even the Kingdoms hesitated to claim ownership.
The Monster Land.
Salvation—or death.
But now he stopped.
Sam looked out across the wide field in front of him, the open land stretching far too clean, far too empty. There was no cover. No broken terrain. Just grass, softly waving in the morning light—beautiful and lethal.
He pressed his back against the broad stone wall behind him, keeping himself buried in its shadow. The cold of the stone seeped into his spine, grounding him, forcing his racing thoughts into order.
If he ran now, they would see him.
The guards on the walls weren't blind. Even half-asleep, even confused, a moving figure crossing open ground, would be an easy target. Arrows. Magic. Dogs. It would only take one shout.
But waiting was dangerous too.
Every second gave them time to organize. To think. To notice what was missing from the dungeon.
Sam closed his eyes briefly and listened.
Shouts echoed faintly from the city. Orders barked. Metal clanged.
He exhaled slowly.
Running straight would be suicide.
Waiting would be execution, no even badder. If Henry would get his hands on him now… a shudder went down his spine. Never again!
His gaze slid sideways, following the line of the wall toward where the stone bent and broke—where moss thickened, where the ground dipped unevenly, where carts once passed and left scars in the earth.
Not safe.
But less visible.
A corner. A chance. So he slowly robbed his body past the wall, till he stood at this corner.
Sam shifted his weight, muscles coiling once more, and waited—not in fear, but in calculation.
Then he moved.
Not all at once—no reckless burst, no scream of panic. He pushed off the wall and slipped into motion, low and fast, feet barely touching the ground at first. For three heartbeats, the shadows still clung to him.
Then he crossed the invisible line.
Open field.
The world seemed to widen violently. Grass tore at his ankles as he sprinted, dew soaking his calves, breath burning his lungs as he forced speed from a body still half-broken. Every instinct screamed at him to zigzag, to drop, to hide—but there was nothing to hide behind.
He ran straight.
A shout rang out behind him.
"THERE!"
The air split.
Something slammed into the ground a pace to his left, dirt exploding upward. An arrow—or worse. Sam didn't look back. He poured everything into his legs, mana flooding his muscles in a raw, unrefined surge.
Pain flared as old wounds protested.
Another impact. This time closer. A sharp sting ripped across his shoulder as something grazed him, skin tearing, blood spraying into the air.
His regeneration flared instinctively, flesh knitting even as he ran—but it slowed him, just for a fraction of a second.
Too long.
The forest loomed ahead, closer now, but still far. Crooked trees twisted upward like grasping claws, their shadows dark and deep, promising monsters, death—Freedom.
A rumble rolled beneath his feet.
Earth magic.
The ground ahead buckled, rising into jagged ridges meant to trip, to slow, to break legs. Sam leapt without thinking, barely clearing the first rise, landing hard and rolling. His ribs screamed.
He was up again before he felt it.
Another shout. Another spell charging.
Sam screamed—not in fear, but fury—and ran harder than he ever had in his life. His vision tunneled. The world narrowed to one thing.
Trees.
Roots tore at his feet as he crossed the last stretch. An arrow struck the ground where his head had been a moment earlier. Another sliced through his thigh, punching clean through.
He staggered—
And then shadow swallowed him whole.
Sam crashed through the first line of trees, branches whipping his face, thorns ripping his skin. He didn't stop. He didn't slow. He ran blind and bleeding until the forest closed behind him like a living wall.
The shouts faded.
The spells died out.
Only his breathing remained—ragged, broken, alive.
Sam didn't stop running, his mind in a trance, until Tarakan was nothing more than a smear of light behind him.
He felt the blood dripping out of his thigh, showing the followers his way.
So he moved the way the wilderness had taught him some months ago—erratic, low, unpredictable.
He dropped from the tree, rolled through damp leaves, and veered sharply downhill, forcing his scent into a stream of cold water. He plunged in without hesitation, biting back a cry as icy current slammed into his wounds.
He stayed under longer than his body begged him to. Letting his body get dragged by the strong currents, pulling the arrow out and letting it get carried away by the river.
He tried to fight against the water, exiting it somewhere safe, but thecurrents were stronger, pulling him into the deep icy wild blue. Sam's vision darkened from pain, icy cold, exhaustion and the instinct to breath, and before he knew his consciousness faded away.