A man in a dark cloak stepped out, half his face hidden by a black mask.
"Follow me," he said, voice calm but firm.
Roxy froze, tightening her jaw. She didn't recognize him — his stance wasn't one of the royal soldiers, and his uniform carried no emblem. Her instincts screamed not to trust strangers, especially here.
"Who are you?" she demanded quietly.
"No time," the man replied, glancing behind her.
"They're almost here."
The sound of armor clashing grew louder — dozens of guards closing in from both sides. For a second, Roxy hesitated. Every part of her training told her to stay cautious. But she was bleeding, exhausted, and trapped.
She exhaled sharply and made her choice.
"Fine," she muttered, tightening her grip on the sword.
The man nodded once and turned, sprinting down a narrow passage hidden behind a fallen banner. Roxy followed without looking back, her boots splashing through blood and dust as the shouts of soldiers echoed behind her.
The man led her through the dim hallways, moving fast but silent, as if he had memorized every hidden corner of the castle. The sound of footsteps and shouts grew distant behind them.
They stopped before an old stone wall covered with moss. The man pressed his hand against one of the bricks — it clicked softly, and a narrow passage opened with a faint grinding sound.
A cold breeze rushed out from the darkness beyond.
"This way," he said, stepping aside. "Follow this path. It leads outside the castle walls. Stay quiet and move fast."
Roxy studied him carefully. The black mask hid most of his face, but a flash of blonde hair caught her eye in the torchlight. His calm gaze was unnerving — the kind that made it impossible to tell if he was friend or foe.
"And you?" she asked, her voice low but steady.
"I'll stay and delay the search," he replied.
"Go. I'll meet you at the city gate at noon. Then, I'll introduce myself properly."
Roxy's grip tightened around her sword. "How do I know this isn't a trap?"
The man gave a faint, almost tired smile. "If it was a trap, you'd already be caught."
Roxy stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"Fair enough," she said. "You don't need to set traps — if you wanted to capture me, you could have done it already."
Without another word, Roxy stepped into the passage. The narrow tunnel smelled of earth and age, lit only by faint shafts of light seeping through cracks in the stone.
Behind her, the man pressed the hidden switch again — and the wall closed, sealing her path from the chaos above.
For the first time that night, silence surrounded her.
The grinding sound faded, leaving nothing but darkness and the faint drip of water echoing through the tunnel.
Roxy walked forward carefully, her injured arm throbbing with every step. The narrow path slowly widened until a dim orange glow appeared ahead. She pushed open a wooden hatch and stepped into a small, smoky room filled with the scent of iron and ash.
It was a blacksmith's workshop. Sparks flickered from a dying forge, and half-shaped blades lay scattered across a heavy workbench.
A tall man turned toward her. He looked to be in his forties, broad-shouldered and strong, his forearms covered in soot and old burn scars. A thick leather apron hung from his neck, and his left hand bore a deep mark, as if once caught in flame. His brown hair was tied loosely back, but what stood out most was the single gray eye that watched her — the other hidden behind an old scar.
"You can come out," the man said, his voice deep and rough, yet calm.
Roxy hesitated for a moment, still gripping her sword.
He nodded slightly, setting his hammer aside. "Name's Rolsten," he said. "You're the one he sent through the passage, right?"
She lowered her guard a little. "Are you with that man?"
"Yeah," Rolsten replied simply. "He told me to keep the exit ready. Don't worry — you're safe here. You can leave through the alley behind the forge."
He glanced at her arm and frowned. "That wound needs cleaning. I can bandage it for you if you'd like."
Roxy shook her head, tightening a piece of cloth around her arm. "I can handle it myself. Thank you."
Rolsten gave a small, approving nod. "Stubborn one, huh? Just like he said."
She didn't answer — only turned toward the back door. The cool night air seeped in as she stepped outside, disappearing into the narrow alleyways beyond.
Behind her, Rolsten watched for a moment, then went back to the forge. The sound of steel striking steel filled the silence once more.
Roxy moved quickly through the quiet alleys, her cloak brushing against stone walls as she made her way toward the meeting point. Her arm still burned from the wound, but she ignored the pain — her only thought was reaching Cedric and the Third Prince before the enemy could regroup.
The city was too still. No guards patrolled the streets, no footsteps echoed in the distance. It was the kind of silence that made even the air feel heavy.
She turned the final corner leading to the safehouse — and froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
In the wide courtyard below, Cedric and the Third Prince stood surrounded — a sea of steel closing in from every side. Dozens upon dozens of soldiers, their armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight, blades raised and ready. There must have been nearly a hundred of them.
Roxy's heart dropped. No way... How did they find them?
The sight didn't seem real. Cedric stood protectively in front of the prince, his sword drawn, his expression calm but fierce. The prince looked terrified, clutching a short blade that trembled in his hands.
From where she stood above, Roxy could hear the enemies shouting orders, the clash of metal boots on stone, the slow tightening of the ring around her friends.
Her mind raced. What do I do? If I rush in like this, we all will die. But... I can't leave them.
She clenched her sword with her good hand, her breath sharp and quick. The pain in her arm pulsed harder, but she didn't care.
Cedric... Prince...
Her eyes burned with determination.
I won't let us fall here.
Far away from the chaos of the city, the Captain sat on the rocky ground of the cave, legs crossed, eyes scanning the shadows that danced along the jagged walls. A small fire burned between him and Wilson, casting flickering orange light over the uneven stones. The air smelled of damp earth and smoke, mingling with the faint metallic scent from their weapons.
Wilson leaned back, arms resting on his knees, his sharp eyes glinting in the firelight. "So, at the end, the old Captain became the temporary General," he said, breaking the silence.
The Captain nodded slowly, his voice calm, almost casual. "Yes, I heard about it. I expected him to take command."
Wilson's expression darkened. "The rules the king is imposing… if they continue unchecked, they could break the nation from within. Wustania and the Platius Empire won't hesitate to take advantage of this. And… if the monsters from the Land of Darkness sense the instability, we could be facing a far worse threat than politics alone."
The Captain's eyes narrowed, staring into the fire. His mind wandered to Roxy, Cedric, and the Third Prince — and the enemies closing in around them.
"Then we must prepare for every possibility," he said quietly. "No half measures. We can't afford mistakes — not now, not ever."
Wilson's hands tightened into fists.
"I'll gather our loyal forces quietly. The palace is crawling with spies, and the Second Prince's grip only strengthens. But this… this could be our chance, if we act correctly."
The Captain's jaw set.
"Then we wait. We watch. And when the time comes, we strike with precision. Not desperation."
A silence fell over the cave again, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Outside, the wind howled against the rocky entrance, carrying with it the distant echoes of a world teetering on the edge of war.
Outside, the wind howled against the rocky entrance… and the world waited for the storm to come