The sun dipped low behind the towering arches of the Coliseum, bleeding gold across its cracked stone. The noise of the crowd had dulled to scattered footsteps and fading cheers by the time Leonotis finally spotted two familiar silhouettes waiting in a narrow alley.

  Low nudged him with an elbow, her voice still carrying the gruff rumble of her disguise. “There. Jacqueline and Zombiel.”

  Leonotis nodded and hurried forward. As they reached the alley, Jacqueline broke into a small grin; beside her, Zombiel stood quiet.

  “It worked,” Jacqueline whispered.

  Low peeled off her fake beard just enough to smirk. “More like… it didn’t work. At all.”

  “Why didn't it work?”Zombiel asked looking at the stone.

  Jacqueline touched the stone Low carried. “A dead affinity stone? No, a completely ordinary rock. Jabara really risked everything for that.”

  “I can’t imagine what’s going through the king’s head right now.” Leonotis let out a laugh.

  “Probably wondering if he’s losing his touch. Man’s ego must be shaking.” Low chuckled.

  Even Zombiel’s lips twitched in the hint of a smile.

  Leonotis motioned them onward. “Come on. Let’s head for the abandoned shrine of Oko before the night crowds flood in. We wait there until Rega leaves on his expedition. Then we move.”

  They slipped into the flow of evening foot traffic, Leonotis keeping his hood low while Low mimicked Grom’s short, deliberate strides. Zombiel stayed sandwiched between Low and Jacqueline, a small knot of shadows moving through the golden hour.

  The air was still until they hit the mouth of a narrow alley. Then, a sudden, localized gust of wind swirled around their ankles, tugging at their hems. It didn't just blow; it vibrated.

  “...Left,” the breeze sighed into Leonotis’s ear. “The main road is a trap.”

  He didn't hesitate, steering the group into the shadows. As they moved, the wind picked up behind them, whistling through the rafters of the surrounding buildings. To any bystander, it was just the evening draft, but to the kids, the whistles were warnings.

  “...Someone is following,” the wind hissed, sharper now.

  Leonotis felt the weight of it. A stare boring into their backs.

  “Guys?” Jacqueline murmured.

  “The air says we’re hunted,” Leonotis whispered.

  They turned. Two armored figures—King Rega’s personal bodyguards—were cutting through the crowd. But as the guards reached the alley entrance, the wind suddenly roared. It snatched up a nearby vendor’s loose silks and whipped them directly into the guards' faces, blinding them for a crucial second.

  “Lose the disguises now,” Jacqueline hissed.

  Low ripped off the beard; Leonotis dropped the cloak. They bolted.

  As they ran, the wind became their navigator. Every time they reached a crossroad, a gentle puff of air hit their right or left shoulders, guiding them through the labyrinth.

  Behind them, the guards were struggling. As Kenya and Zuri rounded a corner, the wind didn't just blow—it spoke. It mimicked the sound of frantic footsteps and the scraping of boots against stone, projecting the noise down a dead-end street to the east.

  “There!” Kenya shouted, hearing the ghostly echoes of a chase that wasn't happening. They surged toward the empty street, wasted seconds ticking away.

  By the time the guards realized the trick and doubled back, the kids had reached a high stone wall. Leonotis slapped his palm to the ground. Green light pulsed, and a spiraling column of vines exploded upward.

  “Climb!”

  The wind gathered beneath them, a literal updraft that made their bodies feel light as feathers, pushing them toward the roof. As they reached the shingles, the vines vanished.

  Below, the man in torn clothes emerged from the shadows, eyes gleaming with greed as he approached the frustrated guards.

  “Information’s a valuable thing,” he wheezed, rubbing his fingers together. “I saw ‘em. They went—”

  Before he could point to the roof, a violent, localized miniature cyclone erupted around him. Dust, grit, and old pips from the fruit cart swirled into his mouth and eyes. He gasped, choking on the debris.

  “Speak!” Kenya commanded, grabbing his wrist.

  “They—ack—they went through the basement!” the man gasped, his brain scrambled by the wind's confusing pressure. “Through the cellar of the bakery! Towards the west gate!”

  The wind had whispered so deeply into his ear that he believed it himself.

  Kenya stared at him, her eyes cold. She didn't believe in luck, but she believed in results. She squeezed his wrist until it cracked. The man shrieked, but through his tears, he pointed frantically toward the bakery.

  “They’re underground,” Zuri muttered, looking at the cellar doors. “Orders are orders. Rega said: if their disguises drop, kill them.”

  A sharp whistle echoed—not from the wind this time, but from a palace scout. Four more guards emerged from the shadows, their boots thudding in rhythm.

  “They’re in the tunnels!” Kenya barked to the reinforcements. “Seal the bakery exits!”

  Kenya couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

  Low darted between hanging laundry lines, nearly clotheslining herself on a damp shirt as she slipped on a trailing wet sheet. She skidded sideways, caught her balance, and tore through a pottery yard, scattering stacks of drying bowls.

  The clay shattered behind her in an explosion of shards, but the guard didn’t slow. Heavy boots slammed through the debris like the bowls were made of paper.

  As she reached a fork in the alley, a sudden, sharp gust of wind caught the back of her head, physically tilting her chin toward the left. It wasn’t a random breeze; it was a directive. A low, resonant hum vibrated through the air, echoing directly into her mind.

  "...The kiln, little one. Through the fire."

  Low knew that voice. This was the voice of the High Seer.

  Jabara, she realized. She’s speaking through the wind.

  She didn't have time to wonder. She vaulted across a wide kiln, heat brushing her ankles. She slid under a workbench so quickly her shoulder scraped wood, then burst out the back exit into an alley thick with cooking smoke and street dust.

  “Persistent freak,” she muttered between breaths, her eyes darting.

  The wind swirled again “...Do not stop.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Before she could process the command, she shot past a lone man standing near the mouth of a side street. He wasn't the Seer; he was younger, built like a soldier but dressed in the nondescript wool of a laborer. Hood up, posture relaxed, hands crossed like he was simply waiting for the world to catch up to him.

  As she sprinted by, the man inhaled slightly—a sharp, knowing intake of breath. He didn't look at her, but his shoulder shifted, preparing for the impact he knew was coming.

  Low didn’t slow. She didn’t even look back. If Jabara was the one pulling the strings of the wind, did she know if this man was a savior or something else. Getting to the old Shrine came first.

  Behind her the guard barreled into the lane. The man stepped in front of the guard’s path.

  Low didn't turn—she only heard the confrontation ignite.

  “Move,” the guard growled, the sound of a blade clearing its sheath echoing off the walls.

  “I don’t think I will,” the man replied, his voice calm and immovable.

  A sudden crack of pressure filled the air—the sound of the atmosphere itself being torn apart. A spell was igniting, the sound roaring through the market lane.

  Low didn't know who the man was, but she knew he was helping her for now. She pushed herself harder, weaving past crates of onions and piles of baskets, running until her lungs burned and the sounds of the struggle behind her blurred into indistinct echoes.

  She didn’t dare look back.

  She didn’t dare stop.

  Whatever that man wanted with her... it would have to wait.

  Right now, she just had to get away.

  Jacqueline sprinted across the rooftops, treating the gaps between buildings like stepping stones. Each leap sent loose shingles skittering into the street below. Behind her, the guard moved with a terrifying, predatory silence, gliding after her like a weightless bird of prey.

  Suddenly, the air around her ears began to hum. It wasn't a random whistle of the wind; it was a rhythmic, resonant vibration that made the very marrow of her bones ache.

  “...To the left. Trust the leap.”

  Jacqueline’s eyes widened. She recognized that resonance. It was the same heavy, cosmic pressure she had felt in the arena when the High Seer had commanded the very air to carry her decrees to the masses.

  Jabara, she thought, her pulse hammering. She’s guiding us.

  She didn't question the High Seer. She veered left, bounding toward the next roof, and landed on a fabric awning stretched over a market stall. The cloth sagged, stretching—stretching—until it snapped downward, launching her like a slingshot. She tumbled through the air, but as she fell, a localized updraft caught her mid-drift, softening her impact as she crashed into a pile of grain bags and rolled to her feet.

  A heavy thud shook the alley behind her. The shadow of the guard loomed.

  Jacqueline spun, heart thundering, and thrust out both hands. A surge of cool, rushing à?? responded to her panic. Water swirled from the humid night air, gathering into a shimmering orb—then she snapped it forward like a whip.

  The spell struck the guard full in the face, but as the water broke against his helmet, the wind did something miraculous. It caught the droplets, spinning them into a localized mist that began to hum with the High Seer’s voice.

  The wind didn't just blow; it vibrated the sound of running footsteps. To the blinded guard, Jabara’s magic made it sound like three different Jacquelines were sprinting in three different directions. The air whistled the sound of a heavy cloak flapping to the right and the scrape of boots to the left.

  “Which one?!” the guard roared, wiping blindly at his eyes.

  Jacqueline watched in awe as the mist and wind collaborated. A perfect, shimmering silhouette of her—made of rippling water and held together by Jabara’s invisible pressure—darted toward a dead-end alley.

  The guard’s face twisted in fury. He heard the "boots" hit the cobbles in that direction and lunged, his blade swinging through the empty air. The illusion burst into a spray of harmless droplets the moment his steel passed through it.

  Jacqueline didn't wait to see his reaction. Guided by a gentle breeze at her back that seemed to physically push her forward, she was already three alleys away.

  “Too late,” she whispered as she vanished into the maze of the streets.

  Zombiel wasn’t fast enough.

  His small feet thudded desperately against the stones as he darted through an alley, his breath hitching with every step. Fire flickered faintly under his skin—the salamander soul reacting to his panic. He didn’t want to burn anyone, not unless he had no choice, but the heavy rhythm of the guard’s boots was closing the distance.

  Then, the air behind him tightened.

  A sudden, forceful gust slammed into the small of his back—not a chaotic wind, but a firm, steady hand of air. It lifted his heels and propelled him forward, turning his desperate trot into a blurring sprint. He felt almost weightless, his feet barely touching the cobbles as the wind whispered a secret resonance in his ear.

  “...Faster, little one.”

  Zombiel didn't know who Jabara was, but he felt her strength in the wind. With that supernatural shove, he reached a window whose shutters were slightly ajar just as the guard rounded the corner. He slipped inside, the wind pulling the shutters shut behind him with a gentle, silent click.

  The room was small and dimly lit, smelling faintly of lavender and clay. A child’s bedroom—cozy and cluttered with wooden toys. A girl—maybe nine—sat cross-legged on her bed, hugging a stuffed hippo. She blinked at him, startled, but not scared.

  Zombiel froze, chest heaving, and brought a trembling finger to his lips. The girl nodded once, slow and calm.

  Heavy footsteps approached. The door shook beneath a powerful fist.

  “Did a boy come through here?” the guard barked.

  The girl moved with uncanny steadiness. She opened the door just enough so the guard wouldn’t see Zombiel pressed behind it. “No,” she said softly. “I’ve been alone.”

  The guard scanned the room with razor-sharp suspicion. Zombiel could see her boots from his hiding spot… inches away. After a tense second, the guard exhaled and stepped back. “If you see anything, report it.”

  The girl closed the door. Silence.

  Zombiel let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He bowed slightly, hands trembling. “…Thank you.”

  The girl’s smile was small, but strange. When she moved her arm, her sleeve shifted to reveal faint green scales that shimmered like river pebbles. Her pupils were slightly slit, and sharp little teeth peeked from her mouth.

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered back.

  Zombiel went to the window. As he pushed it open, a warm, encouraging breeze swirled into the room, ruffling the girl's hair and nudging Zombiel toward the ledge. He climbed out quietly, the wind catching his weight to ensure he didn't make a sound.

  As the window clicked shut, two adults stepped into the doorway—a human woman and a man with the broad snout of a crocodilefolk.

  The father’s eyes scanned the room. “What happened in here?”

  The girl hugged her stuffed toy tight, her cheeks flushing an emerald-pink. Outside, Zombiel vanished into the maze of rooftops, bolstered by the High Seer's wind, never realizing the tiny, scaled girl watched him go with a bright and hopelessly smitten smile.

  On the rooftop, the kids watched the guards swarm the wrong building. But the victory was short-lived. A sudden, freezing gust slammed into Leonotis’s chest, nearly knocking him backward.

  “...Stay... hidden,” the wind moaned.

  Two guards had ignored the snitch. They had already noticed their silhouettes on the roof.

  “Come down,” one yelled. “Or we come up.”

  Leonotis leaned over the ledge, looking at the distance between the buildings. It was a jump no human could make. “You have no way across!”

  The guards shared a look and bent their knees.

  The wind suddenly went dead silent. The air felt heavy, pressurized. As the guards launched themselves skyward. A massive, invisible wall of air slammed into the guards mid-jump, trying to knock them from the sky.

  But the guards were too strong. They cut through the pressure like stones thrown through paper.

  “Scatter!” Leonotis yelled as the armored boots hit their roof.

  Leonotis sprinted across the roof, the thundering footsteps of the pursuing guard echoing just behind him like a rhythmic drum of war.

  A sudden, sharp gust of wind slammed into his chest, not to slow him, but to push him toward a sturdy stone balcony to his left. "...Not that way," the breeze whistled, a frantic, cooling pressure against his ribs. "...The wood is rot. The stone is sure."

  Leonotis gritted his teeth, his stubbornness flaring. The stone balcony looked too far, and the gap between the buildings was narrow. He ignored the wind’s guidance, banking on his own momentum.

  "I've got this!" he yelled.

  He flung himself off the edge into the open air of the alley. The wind tried one last time to catch him, swirling beneath his boots to provide a cushion, but Leonotis was already moving too fast. He ignored the invisible hands of the air, planting his boot firmly against the right-hand wall.

  Kick. Pivot. Launch.

  He climbed the alley like a frantic lizard, his feet hitting the stone so fast the impacts blurred into a drumbeat. With one final, powerful thrust, he pushed off the left wall and soared over the lip of a wide, shingled roof.

  He landed hard, expecting the solid thud of timber. Instead, he heard a sickening crack.

  The wind wailed as the roof gave way instantly. Leonotis didn't even have time to gasp as he plummeted crashing onto a hard, filth-covered stone floor fifteen feet below.

  He groaned as he rolled onto his side. As the dust settled, a low, rattling growl rippled through the air.

  Leonotis froze.

  The "cellar" he had crashed into was an illegal training pit. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood and the musk of predators. Bones littered the ground like discarded shells, and heavy iron cages lined the walls—some with the doors hanging suggestively open.

  Out of the shadows prowled the hyena demons.

  Their bodies were covered in black smoke that pulsed with every breath, and their ribs stood out in ragged, jagged motions.

  One sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring. Another crept closer, shoulders rolling with predatory grace, strings of thick saliva dripping from its serrated jaws. A third bark-laughed—a warped sound that made the hair on Leonotis’s neck stand on end.

  Above him, through the jagged hole in the roof, he heard the guards skid to a halt.

  "He fell in!" A guards’s voice barked from the ledge. "Check the perimeter! Don't let him crawl out of the shadows."

  Leonotis slowly pushed himself up, his fingers trembling as green à?? strained just beneath his skin. He heard the wind fluttering weakly at the hole above, unable to reach him in the cramped space of the kennel.

  One of the demons took a step towards him, its claws scraping the stone.

  Leonotis shifted his stance, his hand flying to the hilt of his wooden sword.

  "Okay," he whispered, the green vines beginning to glow through his arm. "One problem at a time."