I grabbed Kass' hand and pulled her deeper into the undergrowth. We scrambled over fallen logs and waded through patches of damp earth, the sounds of pursuit growing closer.

  Reaching a steep incline, we clambered up the loose rock face, fear lending us a strength I never knew we possessed. Reaching the top, we collapsed on the damp earth, gasping for breath. Below us, the frustrated shouts of the soldiers faded away, swallowed by the dense foliage.

  My lungs burned, each ragged breath a shallow rasp against the cool night air. We lay sprawled on a bed of damp leaves and moss, clinging to the precarious ledge overlooking the tangled undergrowth below.

  Kass, her face pale in the moonlight, shifted closer to me. "Do you think they've given up?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  I shook my head, my gaze fixed on the spot where we'd last seen the glint of armor disappear. "No," I murmured, "they won't stop until they find us."

  As if on cue, a harsh voice broke the silence, sending shivers down my spine.

  "They couldn't have gone far," it growled. "This entire area is dense as a troll's beard."

  Another voice, gruffer than the first, replied, "That girl we chased? Pretty sure that's the bookseller's daughter."

  "Maybe the girl knows more about the scrolls. Her father wouldn't budge under questioning, but a young chit like her..." The implication hung heavy in the air, making my stomach churn.

  I froze, my heart hammering in my chest as Kass turned to me, her brows knit in confusion. "Scrolls?" she whispered. "What scrolls?"

  My blood ran cold. The weight of the moment, the destruction, and the pursuit all pressed down on me. There was no use hiding it anymore. Kass was already in the middle of this mess, and she deserved to know why.

  I swallowed hard and leaned closer to her, my voice barely audible over the crackle of distant fires and the murmurs of patrolling soldiers. "They’re searching for something my father hid. Something we’ve been collecting."

  "What are you talking about?" Kass whispered back, her expression a mix of worry and disbelief.

  I hesitated, but there was no time for evasions. "Banned books," I said quickly, the words tumbling out like a confession. "Books, scrolls, artifacts. Things the king doesn’t want anyone to have—things about magic, history, truth. My family… we’ve been restoring them, hiding them. Preserving what the king would destroy."

  Kass stared at me, her expression unreadable for a moment before shifting to one of quiet realization. "That’s what’s in the basement," she murmured.

  I nodded, glancing back toward the rubble, my throat tight with fear and frustration. "My father thought if we could save the knowledge, maybe someday we could... I don’t know. Use it to fight back. To protect people from the king’s lies. But now..." My voice broke, and I gestured helplessly at the ruins around us. "Now they’ve burned it all."

  "But the scrolls," Kass pressed, her urgency matching mine. "Did they get them? Or did your brother...?"

  "I don’t know," I admitted, my voice hollow. "Some of the rarest books and scrolls are missing. Kilian might have taken them. Or the Dusk Cloaks might have." I turned to Kass, my face twisting with anguish. "And if they have him..."

  I didn’t need to finish the sentence. The unspoken horror of the Dusk Cloaks getting their hands on Kilian—and the knowledge we’d worked so hard to protect—hung in the air like a blade poised to fall.

  Kass’ gaze lingered on me, her confusion giving way to something more serious. "Your brother... You said he was dead."

  The weight of the truth threatened to crush me. This wasn’t how I wanted her to find out, but there was no point in pretending any longer. "Yes," I whispered, barely able to meet her gaze. "We staged his death. Told everyone he drowned in the river."

  Kass’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but in an attempt to understand. "Why?"

  "To keep him safe," I admitted, my voice trembling with guilt.

  Kass’s eyes widened, but she didn’t interrupt. I pressed on, the words spilling out now that the truth had started to unravel. "Kilian was about to turn eighteen, and the king’s draft orders came not long after. After we lost my mother, my father couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else. So, we made the story up, buried an empty casket, and kept him hidden in the basement ever since. That’s where he’s been all this time. Restoring books. Helping us."

  I paused, taking a shaky breath, before adding, "I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to. But the fewer people who knew, the safer we all were."

  Kass didn’t speak right away, her expression flickering with surprise and then something softer. When she finally did, her voice was steady. "It’s fine," she said. "I get it. If it were my brother..." Her voice caught for a moment, and she swallowed hard. "I would’ve done anything to keep him safe, too."

  Her words hit me like a balm, easing a small fraction of the guilt that had been weighing me down for years. I looked at her, grateful and relieved, and nodded. "Thank you," I whispered.

  Kass gave me a small, understanding smile and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Let’s find him," she said. "And your father. We’ll figure this out."

  Her calm resolve steadied me. Even in the chaos, with danger pressing in on every side, Kass’s loyalty shone through, anchoring me when I felt like I might drift away.

  But then, a chilling realization cut through the fog of sorrow. Father wouldn't have let us leave town without a reason. This wasn't just some random attack. No, this devastation, this organized chaos, pointed to something more sinister – something he knew about.

  He knew.

  The secrecy surrounding the delivery, the lack of travel documents, it all clicked into place with a horrifying clarity. Father had sent us away, not just to deliver some dusty books, but to keep us safe. He knew something terrible was coming to Eldoria, and he had orchestrated our escape, however messy and desperate it may have seemed.

  The missing papers – it wasn't an oversight. It was deliberate. He wouldn't risk us being detained at checkpoints or turned away at the city gates. He wanted us to struggle, to disappear into the anonymity of the countryside, away from the watchful eyes of the Dusk Cloaks. The "secret" cargo, those innocuous-looking books, were just a cover, a smokescreen to hide his true motive – getting us out.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A surge of bittersweet gratitude washed over me. My father, ever the cautious man, had sacrificed his own safety for ours. He had sent us away with a cryptic mission and a flimsy excuse, hoping it would be enough.

  Anger, hot and potent, bubbled up alongside the gratitude. Why hadn't he told us the truth? Why cloak his intentions in secrecy? The answer, I realized with a sinking heart, was fear. Fear of the rebellion being exposed, fear for our safety if we knew too much. He'd taken the burden onto himself, leaving us blissfully unaware until it was too late.

  But now, we were caught in the crossfire. Homeless, paperless, branded as potential rebels simply by association. The sudden clarity hit me like a physical jolt. Naivety had been a shield, but now it was gone, replaced by the harsh reality of our situation.

  "They took him. My father. They questioned him. He's probably already dead," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I thought about the shattered remnants of my father's life's work, of our home.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked, blurring my vision as I struggled to come to terms with it.

  Memories of my father flooded my mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love and warmth he had brought into my life. I remembered the countless hours we had spent together in the cozy confines of the shop, my father's gentle voice guiding me through the pages of countless tales and adventures.

  But now, all that remained were charred remnants of a life once lived, a testament to the cruel whims of fate and the fragility of existence. Grief washed over me in waves, each one more crushing than the last as I struggled to come to terms with the harsh reality of my father's absence. It felt as though a part of me had been torn away, leaving behind an empty void that echoed with the silence of my despair.

  Kass' voice trembled with emotion as she reached out to me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry, Kira," she murmured, her words heavy with sorrow.

  My throat tightened at the sound of Kass' voice, my own grief threatening to overwhelm my fragile composure.

  "I... I don't know what to do without him. Without them," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion.

  A sob ripped through me. My knees buckled, and I sank onto the ground, tears blurring my vision. More memories flooded in – the scent of old paper, the comforting weight of leather-bound volumes, my father's gentle voice reading me stories by the warm glow of the gaslight.

  It was all gone. And with it, them.

  The ground rushed up to meet me, the world dissolving into a swirling vortex of ash and smoke. My stomach lurched, a wave of nausea rising within me. The ragged gasps for air that had been fueling my frantic escape transformed into dry heaves, each one a silent scream of despair.

  My body, spent and trembling, refused to obey. My limbs turned to lead, my eyelids drooping with an exhaustion that transcended the physical. Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, a suffocating blanket threatening to steal the last vestiges of consciousness.

  Through the haze, I felt a rough hand on my shoulder, a firm but gentle shake that jolted me back from the precipice. Kass' face swam into view, her features etched with concern and a sliver of something I couldn't decipher. Her lips moved, forming words that reached me as a muffled echo, their meaning lost in the fog clouding my mind.

  All I could do was stare back at her, a hollow shell devoid of the fire that had fueled me just moments before. The floor felt strangely comforting beneath me, the damp stone a stark contrast to the searing heat that had consumed our town.

  Kass was still there, her voice a persistent drone in the background. She might have been pleading, cajoling, even threatening, but it all reached me as a muffled cacophony devoid of meaning. She knelt beside me, her hand on my shoulder, a silent offer of comfort. But words failed her, as they failed me. All that remained was a crushing emptiness, a hollowness that echoed with the absence of his booming laugh and his twinkling eyes.

  Kass’ voice trembled as she spoke. "If the Dusk Cloaks are still here, they will come for us. We have to run."

  The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of smoke and ash. My lungs burned, each ragged gasp a desperate claw for air amidst the suffocating haze. The once vibrant melody of my town had been replaced by a cacophony of screams and crashing timbers.

  My father, reading me fantastical tales by the flickering lamplight, his voice a warm rumble that soothed my childhood fears. The feel of his rough hand in mine as we browsed the endless shelves, his gentle guidance leading me to my next literary adventure.

  Gone. It was all gone.

  The afternoons Kilian and I used to spend in the dimly lit corners of our home, nestled together on the floor of the shop, surrounded by stacks of dusty books. We had our own little world back then, one built on the quiet joy of discovery. We would argue over which book to open first, our fingers flipping eagerly through the pages of stories that felt like an escape, a place where nothing else mattered.

  All gone.

  Suddenly, a rough hand gripped my arm, yanking me back from the brink. "Kira, come on!" Kass’ voice was a lifeline in the storm. "We can't stay here."

  But my body refused to obey. The world swam before my eyes, the pounding in my head a relentless drumbeat drowning out reason. "My father…" I choked out, the words catching in my throat. "He's…"

  Kass understood. Her own eyes welled with tears. "We can mourn him later," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hand. "But right now, we have to survive. The Dusk Cloaks won't hesitate to finish what they started."

  Her words were a cold slap of reality. I looked around, finally registering the distant shouts of soldiers combing through the wreckage.

  With a surge of adrenaline, I scrambled to my feet. My vision blurred, but Kass kept me steady, her arm a pillar of support. Anger, a white-hot ember, flared within me. This wasn't just about the destruction of my town, the loss of my home. It was about the king, this tyrannical monster who reveled in suffering.

  He wouldn't win. I wouldn't let him.

  Where could we go? Every corner felt choked by the king's army, their dark armor glinting under the dying embers.

  The north was out. The simmering rebellion there was a hornet's nest we wouldn't want to disturb, especially without proper documentation. We wouldn't last a day.

  The east, the once independent kingdom of Zilara, shrouded in perpetual twilight, held no solace either. Whispers spoke of shadow creatures lurking in towns fit only for nightmares.

  The very thought of that harsh, frozen land sent a shiver through me. Its jagged mountains and treacherous passes were as unforgiving as its people, who had long ago traded their independence for the dubious honor of serving King Alaric. It was a land of wolves—both the kind that stalked the forests and the ones that wore crimson cloaks.

  The Crimson Legion.

  Fifteen thousand men, sworn to the king’s will. Hardened soldiers, every one of them, forged in the icy crucible of Zilara’s winters. Their discipline was legendary, their loyalty unshakable. And at their head was the man whose name alone inspired terror across the kingdom: Ilyskar Korsakov, Warden of the Shadowpeaks. The Crimson Reaper. The Iron Blade of Zilara. The King’s Fist.

  The fabled merfolk of the southern seas might offer a fantastical escape, but reaching the coast was a journey fraught with its own perils.

  Across the western border lay the elven kingdom of Aethel, a land of ethereal beauty and aloof inhabitants. We wouldn't be welcome there – outsiders with no papers and a face wanted by the very king they despised. Besides, the treacherous Stone Isle, rumored to be haunted by vengeful spirits, stood sentinel before its shores.

  The tangled woods of Eldoria, a realm whispered to be haunted by restless spirits, loomed as our only option. Kass, her face streaked with soot and tears, mirrored my trepidation.

  "Deeper into the forest," I rasped, my voice hoarse from the smoke and the desperate sprint through the burning city. "It's our only chance for now."

  It wasn't a perfect solution, but for now, it was our only hope for survival. We had to disappear, to become ghosts in the land of the living, until we could decide our next move. As long as we stayed one step ahead of the soldiers, as long as we could unravel the secrets my father died protecting, there was a chance.

  I rose from the damp leaves, my body protesting the sudden movement. The forest loomed before us, an unknown labyrinth that offered both danger and a chance at escape.

  The forest loomed in the distance, a dark curtain promising some semblance of safety. Each desperate step fueled my resolve. I would find a way to fight back. I would make the king pay for what he'd done, for the lives he'd stolen.