The driver lashed the reins. The horses surged faster.
But the line held.
They did not flinch. They kept chanting. Even as the beasts galloped closer, even as the ground shook, even as the sound rose like the earth splitting open—the line endured.
The world seemed to stop. Time hung like breath in cold air.
Collin couldn’t move. His legs refused. His eyes locked on the scene with helpless horror.
Then the chain began to break—one pair of hands unclasped, then another. Fear overtook courage.
But not all.
One figure remained, a lone man no older thanthe fallen six, standing in the exact center of the square. His arms stretched wide, head lifted to meet the oncoming storm. His voice cracked but did not falter.
Then—an arm gripped Collin hard around the waist and yanked him back.
He didn’t see the impact. But he heard it.
Bone snapping. Flesh torn. The deafening crash of hooves. And the screams—endless, harrowing—echoing through the square long after the dust had risen and the voices had gone silent.
The days that followed bled together.
Collin moved through them like a ghost, untethered and numb. The scent of his father’s blood—sharp and metallic—seemed embedded in the fibers of his clothes, in the cracks of the floorboards, in the very air he breathed. It never left him.
At night, he couldn’t sleep. And when he did, it wasn’t rest—it was dread. He woke gasping, ears ringing with the memory of hooves pounding stone and the sickening crunch of bone. Those sounds didn’t fade. They echoed long after dawn, laced through birdsong and rustling leaves.
His mother cried until her voice failed her, until she collapsed against the hearth with nothing left to give. He watched her unravel piece by piece, but couldn’t bring himself to move, to speak, to comfort. He didn’t know how.
Under the shroud of night, Ismene ran.
The moon cast long, twisted shadows across the forest floor, warping the trees into monstrous shapes. Eyes gleamed in the underbrush—animal eyes, wide and unblinking. On her back,Collin clung to her like a second heartbeat, his small fists clutching her dress. Behind them, Connor ran hard, breath ragged, feet thudding against roots and earth.
The guards were close. Their torchlight flickered through the trees—wild, jerking flames that carved terror into the dark.
A low branch lashed across Collin’s face. He cried out sharply.
Then a shape leapt across the path. Ismene stumbled, gasping, and fell—Collin tumbling from her shoulders with a cry. Connor tripped over her legs and landed hard beside them.
“Hush now—my love, my darling, you’re safe,” Ismene whispered as she gathered Collin into her arms. She held him tightly to her chest, heart pounding, voice trembling. “It’s only an animal. Just an animal. Nothing to fear, my sweet boy.”
“Mam...” Connor’s voice quivered as he clutched her sleeve. “They’re getting closer.”
She knew. She could hear them—boots crashing, branches snapping, voices barking orders. Time was slipping.
Ismene took Collin’s tiny hand and placed it into Connor’s. Then she pulled both her sons close, gathering them like sacred gifts. Her voice dropped to a rasp. “Connor—listen. You must take Collin now. You run, and you don’t look back.”
“But Mother—”
“No.” She cupped his face, kissed his forehead. “You run until you see the sea. You get on a trade ship. And you never, ever come back.”
The torchlight glowed brighter through the trees.
She stood Collin on unsteady feet and knelt before him, brushing a hand over his tear-streaked cheek. “I love you both. You are all I have left of Jiah—my heart, my soul.”
Collin looked into her eyes, and his heart splintered. He didn’t understand how love could hurt this much. He didn’t understand why fear could weigh so heavily in his chest.
Ismene kissed his brow. “Be brave, Collin. You be brave for me.”
