Smoke still clung to Aurelian D’Arvel’s lungs as he ran. The stables had gone up in flames, sparks blooming against the night sky, and in the chaos the gate had been left unlatched. For the first time in ten years, the world had opened before him. He had slipped through like a shadow, barefoot, half-believing he would be cut down before the threshold. But the alarm had risen too late. The bells now tolled behind him, harsh and metallic, carrying across the city like a summons for the hunt.

Aurelian’s lungs burned as though he had swallowed fire itself. His chest heaved, ribs aching, each step raw with pain. His hair, unbound, clung to sweat on his brow, the braid he had carried like a chain unraveling as he stumbled forward. He could still hear it: the crack of whips, the clink of shackles, the echo of doors slamming shut. His body had escaped, but the sounds of captivity ran beside him, louder even than the hounds baying in the distance.

He turned a corner, colliding with the life of the city. People were there — walking, watching, living. Strangers, free men and women who had never known chains. His voice tore out of him in hoarse desperation.

“Please—hide me—”

A woman carrying water looked at him in terror, the bucket trembling in her hands, before she turned her face and fled into shadow. He stumbled on, nearly tripping over the uneven stones, and caught sight of another, a man with a basket of bread.

“They’ll find me—please, just a door, a corner, anything—” His words broke. The man only averted his eyes and walked faster, shoulders hunched as though pursued himself.

Aurelian gasped for breath, panic rising sharper. He tried again with a cloaked figure, his voice cracking like dry wood: “Don’t let them take me back. I swear, I’ll work, I’ll bleed for it—only give me shelter—” But the figure turned, slipping away without a word.

Rejection after rejection pressed in like a wall. His heart raced not just from the run, but from the weight of every silence. Ten years of being passed from hand to hand, displayed like property, admired but never helped, never chosen — and here, even free, the world still turned its back.

He staggered against the side of a building, one palm scraping stone, his body shaking from exhaustion. The air carried the smell of smoke and burning hay, the reminder of the fire that had opened the gate. He could still see the flames in his mind — freedom forged in destruction. Yet already, the chance slipped like sand from his grasp.

Aurelian pushed himself forward again, stumbling toward a small group at the mouth of an alley. “Please,” he begged, his voice no louder than a cracked whisper, “they’ll chain me, kill me—don’t let them—” But they shifted aside without a glance, vanishing into the night.

He pressed a trembling hand against his chest, ribs shuddering beneath it. His vision blurred; the world tilted. He thought of the years stolen, of silks draped over bruised skin, of doors locked behind him each night. He thought of being nothing but a name whispered by masters who never cared to learn it. And he thought, bitterly, that perhaps the world beyond the gates was no different.

Still, his legs carried him. Still, he ran, though his body screamed to fall. He turned another corner, and there — another stranger, a silhouette in the haze of torchlight. His mind told him not to hope, not again, but his body lurched forward anyway, driven by desperation deeper than breath.

He stumbled, knees threatening to give, and his hand shot out blindly. His fingers closed around the man's wrist, trembling but iron-strong, gripping as if his life hung on that contact.

He lifted his head, eyes wide, pupils blown with fear. His lips parted, words spilling ragged and raw, torn between sob and plea.

“...Please. Help me! Don’t let them take me, sir.”

His grip tightened, desperation making his whole body tremble. His voice broke again, frantic, unsteady.

“I begged them—everyone—I begged—but no one would—”

The bells tolled once more, the sound rolling like doom across the streets. The hounds barked nearer. Smoke thickened the air. His chest rose and fell in violent rhythm, eyes locked upward, searching for mercy in the only face that had not yet turned away.

His grip trembled, refusing to release, his body shuddering as though the night itself would swallow him if he let go.