It’s the day.

  The city is still asleep, but we aren’t.

  We packed in the dead of night—no words, just movement.

  Ellina ordered a carriage, took our things, and left with them before dawn. A clean break.

  She left a message for Obelius. Short. Just enough to be an excuse, not enough to be a lie.

  He’ll read between the lines. He always does.

  Baz is still not here.

  If he doesn’t come, we’ll have to gamble.

  The others have already moved to the slum and are waiting.

  I stayed in Ellina’s room, waiting for the signal.

  Outside, the city is quiet.

  The kind of quiet that comes before everything goes wrong.

  I press my rapier against the floor and let Shin energy pulse through the bde. A clean cut—thin, controlled, no wasted movement. Silence is key. A single misstep and all of this falls apart.

  I peel the floor away yer by yer, careful not to splinter the wood. If I do this right, there will be no sign of disturbance until it’s too te for them to stop us. The others will strike from below soon. I need to meet them halfway.

  The bde glides through. Wood. Then stone. Then packed earth. Each yer vanishes beneath my touch, carved out with surgical precision. The st barrier crumbles and my fingers sink into cool dirt. Almost there.

  I set the rapier aside, plunging my hands into the soil. Faster now. No more finesse—just speed. The others will be waiting below. Timing is everything.

  And finally, I touch something.

  A stone. Cold and solid beneath my fingertips. I brush the dirt away, revealing its surface. I recognize it instantly—the same stone used in the slum structures.

  This is it.

  I knock once. Nothing.

  I knock again.

  A response. A single tap from the other side.

  This is the st yer. The sun is rising. In two, maybe three hours, the court will begin its search for Grant. We have to be gone by then.

  I tighten my grip on my rapier and slice. The stone fractures, crumbling into jagged pieces. Dominic and Mop move swiftly below, catching the falling debris before it can hit the ground. No sound. No traces are left behind.

  I crouch, pressing my hands against Grant’s shoulder. He’s still asleep—blissfully unaware of the chaos waiting to consume him. There’s no time to wake him.

  I lift him, passing his limp body through the hole. Mop catches his head first, Dominic steadying his back.

  Then—a voice cuts through the air outside.

  “Grant! Where are you?”

  Baz.

  Then—the voice of terror.

  “Where is the fugitive prince? Take him. Search the pace.”

  Ovivica.

  Curse it.

  “Yes, m’dy!” The Divine Legionnaires’ reply is crisp, absolute. Their boots strike the ground in unison, an iron wall closing in.

  And then—Baz.

  “Let me go! We’re not in the court yet,” he yells, struggling.

  Idiot.

  Not now. Not when we’re seconds away.

  This is the worst time for him to come back.

  “There’s no court if there’s no Grant.” Vivi’s voice is cold and sharp. Unfazed.

  Think.

  They’ll search our rooms—empty.

  Ellina’s room will be next. Vivi is too smart not to check.

  I move. Fast. Hands steady, heart racing. I press the stones back, slide the wood over, and pull the carpet into pce. No trace. No hesitation. At least on the surface.

  I need to find another way out for me and Baz. No one should know where Grant heads to.

  I might need to be the distraction.

  A single breath. Then I jump out of the window.

  I climb onto the rooftop, moving like a shadow.

  Below, Baz stands in the garden, held between two Legionnaires.

  Vivi. Obelius. Both here.

  “What is this lousy security, Commander Uda?” Vivi’s voice is razor-sharp, full of irritation.

  “Vivi, that’s not what you think,” Obelius replies smoothly. “Prince Grant, as promised, has never left the pace this entire week. I guarantee he hasn’t walked out from the front gate.”

  “And where else can he go?” Vivi presses.

  Obelius exhales, casual, calcuted. “My guess? The sea. But it’s a mountain-high cliff. He wouldn’t survive the dive—especially at Starry Cape. It’s where the two oceans meet. Even the best Shin master wouldn’t make it through those waters. None of his people have that capability.”

  Vivi scoffs. “But you could.”

  Obelius smiles. “But I’m here.”

  Vivi looks away into the sky.

  “You’re always like this. You always think you’re right. Obelius.”

  “No, I don’t, Vivi. That’s why we have ws. Without them, I’m nothing but a tyrant.”

  Obelius turns to her.

  “I know you don’t like Grant. But I find him interesting. He’s been hunted for a month—called a fool, a murderer—yet his team keeps growing. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “Liers get their crowd.” Vivi’s voice is cool and dismissive. “Are you implying Omenmia’s ws are failing?”

  “Do you believe that? Grant, capable of lying?”

  Silence.

  Then, quieter—sharper—Vivi murmurs, “I spent all these years trying to follow your ways, and you still cannot see me.”

  Obelius exhales, looking away. “You know it’s not your fault.”

  The weight between them settles—heavy, unresolved.

  Vivi and I were once both close to Obelius. The Civil War fractured that, but something deeper drove a wedge between them.

  Something she never told me.

  Vivi regains her composure first. “If you’ve lost Grant, then at least we should negotiate the release of my inspectors.”

  Obelius doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

  He turns to the Legionnaires. “Take the mage to the jail.”

  Then, without looking at her, he gestures toward the corridor.

  “This way.”

  I follow the Legionnaires and Baz down to the dungeon.

  We need him to fix the machine—or the others will be trapped below.

  The jail is built into the cliffside, its stone walls damp with ocean mist. I scale the outer wall carefully, gripping onto the rough surface, moving inch by inch until I get a glimpse inside.

  Gustaff is there, tossing handfuls of hay against the wall—agitated, restless.

  Then, further down the corridor, I see them.

  They drop Baz into one of the cells.

  After they leave, I stay pressed against the wall, waiting.

  The wind howls against the cliffside, tugging at my clothes, threatening to rip me from my hold. I tighten my grip, pressing my body ft against the stone. The damp chill seeps into my fingers, but I don’t move.

  Not yet.

  The muffled voices in the distance settle into silence.

  I knock softly against the bars.

  Baz looks up, eyes widening.

  “What are you still doing here? I thought you guys escaped already.”

  I sign: We. Need. You.

  Baz frowns, then signs back: Master. Agree. Go.

  I shake my head and sign again: Machine. You. Fix.

  His brows knit. “What machine?”

  I sign back: Back.

  Baz exhales sharply, stepping backward as I press my bde to the stone.

  Slow. Precise. Silent.

  Just like before, I carve through the wall, peeling away yers until there’s a clean hole.

  I move to step inside—

  Baz signs me to stop.

  “There’s a barrier,” he warns. “We can’t just go. They’ll know.”

  I freeze.

  He’s right.

  There must be an enchantment woven into the walls—one that alerts the guards the second a breach is made.

  I gnce at the sea below.

  Baz won’t survive that jump.

  Neither will I.

  So how do we get to the slum?

  All of a sudden. “Hey, you there!”

  A patrol Legionnare sees us.

  No time to think. I pull Baz out, triggering the barrier.

  “I cannot swim!” Baz yells.

  The Legionnaires stare down at us from the jail.

  The wind howls past my ears as we plummet. The cliff face blurs in my vision, water surging closer—too fast. My stomach lurches, weightless for a heartbeat, then—

  CRASH.

  The sea is not soft. It sms into me like a solid stone, the impact ripping the breath from my lungs. The world flips, weightless again, then heavy, then—dark.

  I thrash against the tide, but it drags me deeper, wrapping around me like unseen hands. The cold sinks into my bones. My lungs burn.

  I see Baz sinking. Not moving. His arms float lifelessly, bubbles slipping past his lips.

  No. NO. MOVE!

  I kick down, but Shin energy is not working well through water. My strength is lost. I push myself toward him before the dark swallows us both.

  But then—

  Another tide comes over.

  Bck spots speckle my vision. My chest spasms—my body desperate to inhale, but there’s only water, only pressure, only—

  Darkness.

  Before I lose my senses, something blue and cyan cuts through the abyss. A glimmer. A shape. A hand?

  I try to grasp it, but my fingers won’t move.

  Baz.

  I catch a final glimpse of him, floating limply in the dark, his arms outstretched as if reaching for something unseen.

  Then—

  Nothing.

  ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

  “Felicia! Baz!”

  Voices. Loud, urgent, near.

  I choke, gasping. My lungs burn as I spit out water, my body convulsing. The stench of stagnant filth clings to my throat. My fingers press against something rough, solid—stone?

  Where am I?

  I try to move, but strong hands pull me up.

  “She’s breathing! She’s awake!” Someone grips my shoulders. Dominic.

  I blink, my vision blurred. Figures come into focus. Grant. Sharon. Benica. Mop.

  Baz coughs violently beside me, rolling onto his side. He spits up water, gasping for air.

  “We saw you guys floating over. I’m gd you’re alright.”

  Grant kneels beside me, his forehead creased with concern.

  Floating?

  I force myself upright, gncing around. We’re in the slums. In the sewage canal, barely above the surface. The walls of the underground city loom above us.

  We should be dead.

  How?

  The tide?

  I gnce at Baz. His skin is too cold. His fingers twitch slightly, but he’s still disoriented.

  Grant exhales, relieved. “You’re both lucky. Another few minutes, and…” He doesn’t finish.

  I swallow hard, but the unease won’t leave me.

  Was it just the tide?

  Or was someone—something—down there with us?

  “Mommy… fish?” Mop questions innocently, staring at me with wide eyes.

  I sigh. No need to pander.

  Instead, I focus on my breathing. On the fact that I’m still here.

  Baz stirs beside me. His fingers twitch. A sharp inhale. Then, a groan as he shifts onto his elbows.

  It takes him nearly an hour before he fully comes to.

  We finally reach the machine.

  Baz is panting, still soaked, but he forces himself to work. His hands move with practiced precision, connecting wires, shifting gears, and fitting broken parts together.

  He attaches a magem to the main console, exhaling sharply. “This… might… at least give us… a one-way trip.”

  He focuses, eyes narrowing. The magem begins to glow.

  A low hum vibrates through the air. Then—a click. A shift. The gears begin to grind.

  A moment ter—

  A distant rattle. A faint screech of metal against old tracks.

  Then, from the darkness—

  A cart.

  It rolls into view, slow and jerking at first, before settling with a heavy clunk.

  I sign to Baz: Where? Go.

  “I don’t know… We’ll have to gamble… on… this one.”

  We climb onto the cart, settling in as the old metal creaks beneath us. The rails groan as the wheels wobble forward, slow at first, then gaining a steady rhythm.

  A deep hum fills the tunnel. The ride is surprisingly smooth for something this old.

  Baz exhales, exhausted. His body slumps against the side. I don’t try to fight the fatigue either.

  The dim glow of the magem flickers, casting eerie shadows along the tunnel walls.

  The sound of wheels clicking against the tracks guides us into stillness.

  Before I know it—

  I drift into dreams.

  ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

  Where am I?

  This is Grant’s mansion in the pace.

  Mop is standing in front of me.

  She looks confused. Innocent. But something inside me coils. A fear—of her, why?

  I cannot control it. Why do I fear her?

  Then—

  ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

  Darkness shifts.

  I feel warmth. A steady rhythm. A presence.

  I stir, my body weak, and my eyes flutter open.

  Dominic is carrying me.

  Is that a dream of Felicia’s again?

  Why does she fear Mop? She is just a Knomia. An unknown Knomia.

  His expression is stiff, yet warm. Silent, as always.

  “We’re almost there,” Sharon’s voice calls from ahead.

  I gnce sideways.

  Grant is carrying Baz on his back, his breath heavy, shoulders tense.

  “Mommy is awake!” Mop’s voice rings out, full of relief.

  Dominic meets my gaze, offering a faint smile before continuing forward. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

  The air shifts. Salt. Waves.

  We emerge onto a rocky coastline.

  This must be the pirate’s docking area.

  The scent of the ocean is sharper here, carried by the wind that whips at our damp clothes. The sky is a deep dark blue, stretching endlessly over the dark waters. The night has taken over.

  A figure stands at the dock.

  A red-haired young man waves at us. His right eye is covered by an eye patch.

  He stands by a small boat, his smirk visible even from a distance.

  Waiting.

  “Hey!” The red-haired man shouts, his voice hoarse, roughened by years at sea.

  Sharon and Benica stride forward to meet him.

  He studies our group, gaze flicking over each of us. Then, with a lopsided smirk, he scoffs—

  “So where’s the princess?”

  His eye narrows, unimpressed.

  “All I see is a bunch of half-drowned, broken men.”

  Benica exhales. “She’s coming.”

  The red-haired pirate—Captain Oh-Ker—leans back zily, stretching his arms behind his head.

  “Well, a deal’s a deal.” He tilts his head, a cocky smirk pying on his lips. “No princess, no ship.”

  Without another word, he drops onto the sand, arms crossed, staring out at the waves—aloof, almost childish.

  Benica tries again. “Captain Oh-Ker, can we at least set our wounded on the boat?”

  “Nope.” He doesn’t even gnce at her. “No princess, nothing.”

  Grant bristles, stepping forward, agitation clear in every movement, with Baz on his back.

  “They’re really—”

  Oh-Ker cuts him off.

  “I don’t talk to men.”

  Silence.

  Grant stiffens. His breath catches. Then—pure indignation.

  “What did you just say?!”

  Dominic, ever the level-headed one, grabs Grant by the arm, pulling him back.

  “There’s no use. Let’s just wait.”

  Grant grits his teeth but relents, colpsing onto the sand with a huff, dropping Baz behind.

  Dominic sits beside him, still holding me in his arms.

  For a while, the sea breeze caresses my face, cool and salty. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this… light. Unburdened.

  For the first time in weeks, I’m not running, not fighting, not plotting. Just existing.

  It’s almost nice.

  Except for the part where I’m being held by a man.

  …But it’s a comfortable bed.

  I sigh, closing my eyes.

  Fine. Just for now.

  Then, horses hiss, breaking the sea breeze’s rhythm.

  A carriage arrives.

  Dominic sets me down on the sand, covering me with his cloak. Then, without a word, he grabs Mop and moves to unload our things.

  The door opens.

  Then, she steps out, with a crutch.

  Ellina. Drenched.

  Salt clings to her, dark locks damp against her skin. Her emerald eyes catch the moonlight, stealing the breath from the shore itself. She doesn’t bother fixing herself. Doesn’t care to straighten her posture, wipe the water from her face, or soften her stance.

  She doesn’t need to.

  She owns the moment anyway.

  Captain Oh-Ker stands up, jaw open, eye wide, as if witnessing divinity walk out of the ocean itself, even if she is disabled.

  He wipes his hands clean of sand. Then smooths his hair. Then adjusts his coat. Then wipes his hands again.

  His usual arrogance vanishes.

  “Wow,” he exhales. “Wow.”

  He clears his throat, straightens up, and finally addresses us—

  “Get your lot aboard. Don’t waste my time.”

  Grant exhales sharply.

  But he isn’t looking at us. Not at all.

  His feet carry him forward, each step magnetized as if the waves themselves push him toward her. He extends his hand.

  “Pleasure to finally meet you. My Princess.”

  It’s the most formal tone I’ve ever heard from him.

  Ellina reluctantly lifts her hand. He takes it—gentle but eager—and presses a kiss to the back with exaggerated grace.

  “Please, follow me.”

  Ellina walks with him wobbly, the air of effortless grace never fading. Her hair drips down her back, leaving small trails of saltwater on the sand.

  Grant watches in silent agony, teeth gritted. His fingers twitch as if they want to grab something—anything—and stop this moment from happening.

  Instead, he closes his eyes. Sits down.

  And starts meditating.

  Sharon watches. Sees the tension in Grant’s jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his side.

  She smirks. “Jealous?”

  Grant exhales sharply. Eyes closed, shoulders stiff. He does not answer.

  The rest of us board. The small boat rocks with the tide, carrying us toward the looming silhouette of a rger ship, anchored just beyond the coast.

  A new destination. A new path.

  The City of Serenity awaits.