The bells behind us haven’t stopped ringing. Not the church bells—those are long dead. These are the kind they sound for war.
I can feel River’s heart pounding through the grip of her hand. Can smell her fear—not the sharp, panicked kind. This is old fear, soaked into her bones like smoke in cloth. But she’s running anyway, not looking back. That’s the difference between prey and survivor. She doesn’t freeze. She burns.
We sprint through the market ward, weaving past shuttered stalls and overturned carts, the stink of fish and tar thick in my nose. Something metallic rides the air too—blood and steel. The guards are hunting already. Dogs, maybe. I hear boots on cobblestone. Shouts in the distance.
“Where—” she pants, “—are we going?”
“Out,” I growl. “Fast.”
But the city’s throwing everything it has at us.
The outer districts aren’t like the heart of Kyrdonis. They're meaner, poorer, uglier. Here, buildings lean like drunks, and rooftops sag under rot and age. No lights in the windows. Just shadows. Old bones.
I haul her with me through an alley so narrow we brush walls on either side. My shoulder clips brick, cracks it. I can feel the change already prickling under my skin—my blood’s hot, rushing, hungry. It wants out.
We come out on a smith’s lane, and that’s when I see them—three scouts in red-black livery, moving like they’ve trained for this. City guard. But not the usual ones. These wear symbols I don’t like. Personal sigils. Private blades.
Laertiez’s bastards.
I shove River behind a barrel of scrap metal.
“Stay down.”
“Kragna—”
“Now.”
I step into the open, slow and loose, like a drunk looking for a fight. They raise their crossbows.
Too late.
I let it out.
The shift rolls over me like fire through oil—fast, violent, complete. My skin darkens to obsidian. Not just black, but lightless. My bones twist and bulk beneath muscle, punching through skin in jagged plates. My hands grow claws, my back knots with layered ridges. My face stretches, mouth baring fangs meant to rip plate armor. I don’t scream.
I roar.
It tears the silence apart.
They flinch. That’s all I need.
The first bolt glances off my shoulder, barely scratching the surface. I leap, land hard enough to crack the stones. My fist smashes into one of them—he goes down without a sound, jaw caved in. Another tries to run. I rake claws down his back and leave his spine showing. The last one—he’s young, too young—drops his weapon and bolts.
I let him go.
One scream in the night will carry just as far as three corpses.
“River!” I bark.
She’s already up, running toward me. Her eyes flick over the bodies but she doesn’t freeze. Just grabs my arm and pulls.
“More coming,” she says. “We’ve got to move.”
We take the rooftops.
I throw her up first—she scrambles, then offers her hand. I leap, land beside her. The tiles groan under my weight but hold. Barely.
From here, the city’s a jagged maze of smoke and moonlight. Every roof is a risk, every leap a gamble. But it’s better than street level. Up here, I’ve got room to move. Room to be what I am.
