By the time they reached the city of Draemir, Lucas's boots were caked in mud, and his patience was down to its last thread. The looming stone walls looked like salvation, but Kaelen's expression was anything but relieved.
"Keep your hood up," Kaelen muttered as they approached the gates. "And for the love of the Eight, don't do anything flashy."
Lucas smirked. "Relax. I can play the boring traveler."
Kaelen shot him a look. "You? Boring? That'll be the day."
The gates were manned by armored sentries in crimson cloaks — the Ashlord's colors. Lucas felt the weight of their stares as they passed, the faint itch of suspicion crawling up his spine. But the guards said nothing, letting them melt into the market streets beyond.
Draemir was chaos in its own way — shouts of vendors hawking fruit and trinkets, the clatter of carts over cobblestones, the thick smell of roasting meat and woodsmoke. Lucas's eyes darted from stall to stall, his curiosity warring with Kaelen's warning.
They stopped at a blacksmith's stall to replace Lucas's cracked dagger. The blacksmith, a broad man with soot-blackened arms, eyed Lucas's build. "Traveler? You look more like a fighter."
Lucas forced a laugh. "Nah. Just… good at running away."
The man grinned and handed him a blade. Lucas tested its weight — and felt a flicker of fire affinity surge through him, heating the metal in his grip. He clenched his fist, willing it down before the glow could betray him.
Too late. A boy across the street had seen. He darted into the crowd, moving fast.
Kaelen noticed instantly. "We've been marked."
"Marked? I just touched a—"
"Shut up and follow me."
They slipped into a narrow alley, weaving through shadows. But Draemir wasn't kind to fugitives; the streets were a labyrinth, and crimson cloaks began appearing at every turn. Lucas's pulse quickened.
One guard stepped into the alley ahead, sword drawn. "You there. Hood off."
Kaelen froze — then subtly tapped the staff against the ground. The cobblestones shimmered faintly, like heat on a summer road. Lucas realized too late what Kaelen meant for him to do.
Act natural. Blend in. Don't panic.
Lucas stepped forward, feigning calm — but the guard's gaze was sharp, and suspicion hung in the air like storm clouds. Then, from deeper in the city, a bell rang three times. The guard's head jerked toward the sound.
Kaelen seized the moment, grabbing Lucas's arm. "Move!"
They bolted, ducking between food stalls and overturned barrels. A flash of blue light split the street behind them as another mage joined the pursuit.
Lucas's instincts screamed. He let water affinity flood his veins, pulling moisture from the air — a mist rose in seconds, cloaking their retreat. Kaelen didn't slow until they'd crossed a bridge into the slums, where the guards wouldn't follow.
Panting, Lucas leaned against a wall. "See? Worked out fine."
Kaelen's glare could have cut stone. "You lit up like a beacon. The Ashlord's agents will know you're here by nightfall."
Lucas shrugged, trying to mask the knot in his gut. "Then we'll just be gone by nightfall."
Kaelen's frown deepened. "If only it were that simple."
Because from the shadow of a nearby rooftop, a cloaked figure was watching them — and smiling.