The rain swallowed their footsteps as they ran.
Koshu gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward. Blood poured from the wound in his leg, but the pain barely registered over the echoes in his mind.
"I will not leave his side till his death."
Koshu let out a bitter breath. "That damn Vilrux..."
Ahead of him, Silvas moved with purpose, guiding them through the war torn battlefield, her cloak drenched from the downpour. Koshu cast a glance behind him—Sabrael struggled to keep up. She clutched her stomach, her breaths sharp and uneven.
Koshu slowed, then wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet. There was no way he'd give up now. Not on his wife. And not on his daughter. Rozeree.
"She'll never be safe," Silvas's voice was tight, controlled, but Koshu could hear the fear underneath.
Koshu tightened his grip on Sabrael, his jaw clenched. "She will be. We'll make sure of it."
They both knew the truth. The past does not let go so easily.
The war they had left behind. The people they had betrayed. The country they had abandoned. It would all catch up to them one day.
But that was a battle for another time.
For now, they ran.