The impact of my inventions at the gala had been swift. The nobles had left in a flurry of excitement, each whispering plans to commission me, discussing the clockwork wonders I'd brought to life. But amidst the praise and offers, I had sensed a shadow moving across the city, something silent yet insidious.
The warning came only a few days later. I'd returned to The Brass Lantern after another late night of work, only to find Mirabel waiting for me in the shadows of the inn's back alley. She looked tense, her dark eyes flickering between me and the street beyond.
"Orion, you need to leave, tonight," she hissed, grabbing my arm with a strength that belied her slim frame.
"Why? What's happened?" I asked, though part of me already knew. The king's greed and his need for control were no secret.
Mirabel glanced around before stepping closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "The king heard about your inventions. Word is, he's ordered his guards to bring you to the palace. He wants to… acquire your talents. And he doesn't take no for an answer."
I met her gaze, unflinching. "I don't plan on bowing to any king."
Her fingers tightened on my arm. "Listen to me. Alastor isn't like the nobles at the gala. He'll seize your work, strip you of your freedom, and use you until there's nothing left. I've seen him do it before." Her voice softened, a trace of concern lacing her tone. "You need to go into hiding. At least until you can find a way off this island."
I considered her words, weighing the options in silence. Running wasn't my style, but neither was charging blindly into a trap. I nodded finally, and she relaxed her grip, exhaling softly.
"Where should I go?" I asked.
She frowned, thinking. "There's an abandoned warehouse near the docks. It's hidden enough, and I have some contacts who can help you lay low."
"Thank you," I said, and her stern expression softened slightly.
"Be careful," she murmured. Her fingers lingered on my arm before she pulled away, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as she'd come.
....
Under cover of darkness, I packed my belongings, slipping from The Brass Lantern and making my way through the winding alleys. The streets were quiet, lit only by the faint glow of lanterns that swung in the evening breeze. The city felt different now, the watchful eyes of the king's men lurking behind every corner, every darkened window.
The warehouse Mirabel had directed me to was hidden within a cluster of decaying buildings near the docks. I slipped inside, bolting the door behind me as I set down my supplies and let my eyes adjust to the dim light. The place was spacious, cluttered with rusted machinery and crates stacked against the walls. Dust hung in the air, thick and undisturbed.
I spent the next few hours setting up a makeshift workshop, using the crates as tables and salvaging parts from the forgotten machinery around me. The place was abandoned, but the gears and metal scraps here would serve my purposes. I wasn't going to let the king take what I had created; if he wanted my inventions, he'd have to face me.
Days passed in tense silence as I worked in secret, perfecting a set of defensive devices and strengthening my weapons. I trained during the dim hours, using the solitude to push my endurance, testing the limits of my senses and stamina. My muscles ached from the strain, but the pain was a reminder of the discipline I'd forged through months of relentless training.
One evening, as I finished calibrating a new weapon, a compact, hand-cranked device designed to fire metal projectiles, I heard footsteps outside. I tensed, hand moving instinctively to the gun hidden beneath my coat.
The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside: Mirabel. Her face was shadowed with worry, her expression tense.
"They know you're here," she whispered, closing the door behind her.
"How long do we have?" I asked, strapping the weapon to my belt.
"Not long. Alastor's guards are coming for you. They've locked down the docks and doubled the marine patrols. The king wants you captured alive." She paused, glancing at my preparations. "But… something tells me you're ready for them."
I smirked, sliding a dagger into my boot. "They'll wish they'd stayed in the palace."
....
It was past midnight when the first wave of guards arrived. They moved quietly, circling the warehouse with trained precision. I watched from the shadows, counting their numbers and mapping their positions. Mirabel had disappeared into the night, leaving me with a final look that held both admiration and apprehension.
The guards stepped inside cautiously, their weapons drawn, their movements methodical. I waited until they were fully inside before activating the first trap: a device I had rigged to release a flash of blinding light and a cloud of smoke. They staggered, momentarily disoriented, and I slipped into their midst, striking swiftly.
The first guard went down with a single blow, my fist connecting with his jaw before he could even raise his weapon. I moved through the smoke like a shadow, striking with precision, each blow calculated and efficient. The defensive training I'd undergone on the island had prepared me for this, my senses attuned to every movement, every sound.
One guard managed to regain his bearings and swung his sword toward me. I dodged, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until he dropped the weapon. A swift kick sent him crashing into a stack of crates, and he slumped, unconscious.
The smoke began to clear, and the remaining guards closed in. I drew the hand-cranked projectile weapon, firing with a sharp, metallic click. The guards recoiled as the projectiles struck, each hit driving them back. They regrouped, but I was already moving, weaving between them with fluid precision.
The fight was short and brutal. Within minutes, the guards lay incapacitated, their weapons scattered across the floor. I stepped over them, breathing heavily, my muscles thrumming with adrenaline.
But I knew this wasn't the end. Alastor would send more, and each wave would be stronger, more relentless. The king wasn't going to give up until he had what he wanted, or until I was no longer a threat.
....
The city slept under a moonlit sky as I tightened the straps of my gear, securing each weapon with meticulous care. I wasn't running tonight. The king's greed, his arrogance, had brought this upon himself. If he wanted what I'd created, he'd have to face me first.
My decision had already been made: if Alastor was determined to capture me, I'd bring the fight to his doorstep.
I moved swiftly through the city's narrow backstreets, the alleys cloaked in darkness as I made my way toward the palace. The sprawling structure loomed above the city like a fortress, its stone walls casting long shadows under the moon's pale glow. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise and unwavering. But I knew their patterns, their blind spots, and I slipped past them like a shadow.
At the palace gate, two more guards stood alert, barely time to register my presence before they dropped under the weight of swift, calculated strikes. They slumped to the ground, silent as the night itself. Their keys jingled as I took them, slipping through the gate and into the inner courtyard.
The palace halls were grand but empty, silent in the midnight stillness. I moved with purpose, my footfalls muffled against the polished marble floors. Each corridor brought me closer to the throne room, where Alastor would no doubt be ensconced in his wealth and power, convinced of his untouchable status. But tonight, he would learn that even kings have their limits.