The moon hung low over Aerysthal, its pale light spilling across the palace walls, bathing the dungeons in silver. Selene Varkos crouched in the shadows, her wrists aching but her mind sharper than any blade. Every heartbeat, every breath, was a calculation—timing, movement, sound. Escape was no longer a dream; it was a necessity.
The loose brick she had discovered days ago had been her secret companion. Hidden behind it, a small notch in the wall, she had fashioned a tiny hook from scraps of iron and broken chains. Through it, she could lift the lock's mechanism, a trick she had learned from prisoners and spies alike. Patience, she reminded herself. One wrong move, one misjudged step, and the palace would have her head displayed before sunrise.
Outside, the corridors were alive with night activity. Guards shifted in pairs, torches clattering, boots echoing against stone. Their shadows stretched like skeletal hands along the walls, moving in predictable patterns. Selene watched and waited. Timing would be everything.
She worked quickly, her fingers numb from the cold stone. The cuffs loosened just enough, the iron groaning but holding. She didn't dare celebrate. Every second counted.
From the window above, a faint whisper of movement—her ally. Whoever "L" was, they had risked their life to warn her. A thin wire had delivered another note earlier, this one with a small key, stolen from the council chambers, small enough to hide in a palm.
"East wall. Guards rotate every third bell. Move quickly. Trust no one inside. —L"
Selene studied the dungeon layout from memory: twisting halls, hidden passages under stairwells, an old guard post that had been abandoned decades ago. If she could reach the east wall, she could slip into the forgotten alleyways of the city, where the vanguard—or her hidden allies—could extract her.
The first step was the corridor.
She waited until the torches outside dimmed as the guards moved to their next post. She slithered forward, chains whispering against stone. Every sound echoed like a drum in the silent dungeon. She froze when a guard passed, their shadow brushing her hiding spot. Heart hammering, she stayed still, counting each step, each breath. The guards continued, oblivious.
The east wall was only thirty paces away. Every second stretched into eternity. When she reached the corner, she paused, peering into the dim hallway ahead. Her escape route led past an old storage room, now used by palace servants, some loyal, some fearful, all unknown. One wrong turn and the exit could be sealed forever.
Selene pulled the key from her pocket. Her fingers were trembling, but her hands worked with precision, inserting it into the ancient lock she had observed the previous nights. The mechanism clicked softly, almost inaudibly. She exhaled, careful not to make a sound.
The door to the old passageway swung open just enough for her to slip inside. The air was musty, thick with dust, but it was freedom nonetheless.
She moved quickly, crouched low, shadowed by the darkness. Every sound—the drip of water from the ceiling, the scurrying of rats—was a potential alarm. She had trained for this her entire life, and yet the weight of betrayal made every step feel like walking on a razor's edge.
Then, a sound that made her freeze: a soft whisper from ahead.
"…who's there?"
Selene pressed herself against the wall. The voice was female, scared but curious. She could see the faint outline of a servant, torch in hand. The girl's eyes widened as they met hers.
"I… I'm—" the servant started.
"Not a word," Selene hissed. Her eyes narrowed. "If you alert the guards, you will die. Quiet. Help me, and I'll protect you."
The girl hesitated, then nodded, eyes glimmering with fear and awe. "East wall… I know it…"
Together, they moved, careful, silent, each shadow a potential enemy. Selene's mind worked constantly, anticipating patrols, predicting guards' rotations, memorizing every twist of the corridor. She had been betrayed, yes, but not yet defeated.
As they reached the outer passage, the stone stairs leading toward the city walls loomed. But a guard had paused at the top, looking down. Selene froze. The servant ducked behind a pillar. The guard's eyes scanned the shadows. Selene could feel the pulse in her ears, the blood rushing, the adrenaline sharpening every nerve.
Timing. Precision. Patience.
The guard turned to speak to a companion. Just one breath. Selene dropped silently down a side passage, her body pressed against the cold stone. Her heart threatened to betray her, but she remained steady, moving past the unsuspecting soldier.
The alley outside was quiet. The moonlight glinted off wet cobblestones. Freedom, at last, felt within reach. But Selene knew better than to celebrate. The palace would send men to hunt her. Every street corner could hide an enemy. Every shadow could conceal betrayal.
From a hidden rooftop, a signal—a faint flicker of light. Her ally. She climbed quickly, pulling herself onto the roof, chains rattling softly. She could see a small group waiting below: three soldiers from her vanguard, hidden among crates, faces grim but determined.
"Selene," one whispered, "we thought you were gone. We thought—"
"No time," she cut in. "Move."
The group descended, moving swiftly through the rooftops toward the eastern gate. Selene followed, every step calculated. They reached the outer wall, where an old postern door, barely used, allowed them into the alleyways of the city.
They ran, shadows among shadows, every corner a potential ambush. Selene's mind raced—not with fear, but strategy. The palace believed she was confined. They would send reinforcements, yes, but not here, not yet. She had hours, maybe even days, to regroup.
Finally, they reached the safehouse, a forgotten cellar beneath the marketplace, hidden from the streets above. Inside, Selene allowed herself a moment to breathe. Her hands trembled, not from fatigue, but from the reality: she had escaped.
Her vanguard comrades looked at her, a mix of awe, relief, and worry. Captain Rhys stepped forward. "General… we can gather more men. Strike at the council. Show them—"
Selene raised a hand, silencing him. Her mind was already racing. "No," she said. "We do not strike yet. The palace believes me broken. They think I am powerless. That is our advantage. We rebuild first. Gather intelligence. Rally allies. Then… we return."
One soldier asked, "What about Kael?"
Selene's eyes hardened. "Kael… betrayed us. But I will not forget. One day, he will answer for his choice."
The night stretched on. Maps were unfurled. Secret messages were sent to loyalists still inside the city. Selene's plan was methodical, precise. Every detail, every contingency, every hidden ally accounted for.
Outside, the moon sank lower, casting long shadows over Aerysthal. The palace thought its chains had ended her story. They thought her power broken, her spirit crushed.
But Selene Varkos, the general betrayed by crown and blood, was only beginning.
The first step had been taken.The reckoning would follow.
And when it did… the kingdom would burn—not with fire alone, but with truth.