It seemed Lock had slipped away in the chaos. He reappeared at Mirak's side, gesturing toward the winding streets of Koona. "We need to move while the crowds are still frightened."
They should not have expected their escape to be so clean.
A Saki dropped from the sky, his wings folding with a practiced elegance as he landed before them. His voice rang with authority. "Halt, thieves!"
Thieves. That was the word he used. Not Publici. Not Revenant. Did they not recognize the shackles around their wrists? Or was this deliberate, an attempt to reduce them to mere criminals? Either way, it was curious.
Lock, ever the performer, swept into a mock bow. "Gentlemen, surely we can be reasonable about this."
Another Saki landed beside the first, his bronze-tipped spear gleaming in the waning light. "Captain Vuhmi, we've encircled the area. The thieves won't escape."
Mirak stiffened. That voice—it was familiar. He recognized it as belonging to the Saki who had guarded the thirteenth wall when he entered the city.
Vuhmi's feathers bristled as he turned his gaze to Lock. "Once you are bound in chains, then we can discuss what is reasonable."
"That doesn't sound particularly reasonable to me," Lock replied, lazily twirling a dagger in his hand, the museum blade unmistakable.
"That dagger is stolen," Vuhmi accused, his wings shifting slightly as though readying for combat.
"Guilty," Lock admitted with a nonchalant shrug, his eyes scanning their surroundings for an opening.
The street darkened further as more Saki descended, their wings arched and ready, their presence a declaration of dominance. The air around them grew oppressive. Civilians had scattered long ago, leaving only the tense stand-off between the Revenant and the Saki.
Vuhmi's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "I will only say this once: drop your weapons and submit to justice."
Mirak laughed—a cold, bitter sound that echoed through the empty street. "Justice? Is that what you call it?" His voice was sharp, venomous.
The captain's eyes narrowed. "I won't be insulted by a thief."
"Your justice," Mirak spat, stepping forward, his shackles clinking ominously with each step, "is nothing but an iron-clad leash, fit only to keep those like me and my partner in chains. You dare speak of justice when the Publici toil in your mines, harvest your crops, and build your gilded towers, all while praying they survive another day? Is that your justice?" He extended his shackled hands toward Vuhmi, the starlight in his eyes piercing through the shadow of his hood. "No. You're nothing but a pet. No freer than I am in the eyes of your so-called nobility."
Two Saki charged forward, their movements precise, but Lock intercepted them. His dagger flashed, carving arcs through the air as he flipped one attacker over his back, knocking the other unconscious in the same fluid motion.
Mirak's voice rose, cutting through the chaos. "Tell me, where was your justice when I was cast into the mines? Where was it when the Watchers came to punish us for not meeting their impossible quotas? Where was your justice when thieves and liars took over this city?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the Saki shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his words. Lock stood beside him, his cloak swaying in the wind, his dagger still dripping with blood.
Captain Vuhmi's voice broke the stillness. "I am… sorry."
Mirak's lips curled into a snarl. "Sorry? Sorry doesn't erase the years of blood and sweat. Sorry doesn't change what your justice truly is—a weapon wielded by the powerful to crush the powerless."
Vuhmi squared his shoulders, his voice steady, though tinged with something like regret. "I cannot change the laws of Koona, established in the first days. My duty is to uphold them, as my father did before me. You destroyed a symbol of Koona's legacy. You will answer for it."
Mirak had no more words to give. His hands trembled as he summoned the Atta to his call. The misting strands began to coalesce, faint lines swirling into compacted forms, their infinite filaments extending far beyond the visible.
"Defend the exits!" Vuhmi barked. "Do not let the Sorcerer escape. Strike at any sign of pressure or sound!"
The Saki held their ground, ready for battle, their wings rustling as they waited for the signal to attack. Mirak, however, had something else in mind. His gaze flicked to the rooftops. Solomon had shown him what was possible with Atta. If he could replicate even a fraction of that power…
Mirak grabbed Lock's shoulder, his grip firm. "Hold tight."
Lock shot him a dubious glance. "What are you planning?"
Mirak's lips quirked in a faint smile. "Have a little trust."
Lock groaned. "I trust my own two feet plenty."
"Well, it's still your feet—just with a bit of air underneath them."
"Mirak…" Lock warned, his tone dripping with skepticism.
But Mirak didn't hesitate. The Atta shifted, compacted, and surged beneath his feet. He stumbled at first, his step colliding with the barely visible boundary of heated air. Warmth thrummed through his body as he took another shaky step upward.
"Bloody hell," Lock muttered, his eyes wide as he followed suit. "Definitely the best partner I've ever had."
"Hopefully you'll still think that if we fall," Mirak shot back, his focus entirely on maintaining the delicate balance of Atta beneath them.
The misting grew fainter with each step. Blood trickled from Mirak's nose, his skin losing its healthy flush. With one final burst of effort, he lunged for the rooftop, Lock close behind. They landed with a jarring thud, Mirak barely managing to catch the edge.
Lock grabbed his arm, hauling him up. "Not too shabby, partner. You just made our escape ten times easier."
Mirak wiped at his nose, smearing the blood across his hand. "Let's move. The misting won't hold."
The pair darted across the rooftops, leaping from one to the next, their cloaks billowing behind them. Below, the Saki scrambled to track their movements, their sharp eyes scanning every shadow.
Lock gestured to an open door. "In here!" They ducked into the building, the sound of beating wings filling the air outside.
"Lock," Mirak said, his voice strained, "I can't do that again."
Lock held up a finger, signaling for silence. "The Saki's eyesight is sharper than a hawk's. Their hearing? Not sure, but it's best not to take chances. We wait here."
They held their breath as shadows flitted past the doorway, wings dragging against the stone. The sound of boots crunching against the ground drew closer. Lock glanced at Mirak, whose pallor had worsened.
"Leave them to me," Lock whispered.
The first Saki rounded the corner, and Lock moved like a striking viper. He grabbed the man and hurled him backward. Another Saki charged, blade drawn, but Lock sidestepped, driving his fist into the attacker's sternum before flipping him over his shoulder. A swift stab to the neck ended the fight.
Lock checked the bodies, ensuring they were dead, before turning back to Mirak. "You good, partner?"
Mirak leaned against the wall, his body trembling. Lock sighed, slinging him over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here. And find you a bed—you look awful."
Mirak's voice was barely a whisper. "That would be… for the best."
As Lock carried him through the darkening alleys, Mirak's mind drifted. The power of Atta still thrummed faintly in his veins, tempting him. He understood why the Sorcerers stayed in their towers. It wasn't arrogance. It was intoxication. Atta was like a storm raging just beneath the surface, impossible to ignore.
"Lock," he rasped, forcing his eyes open. "Kord and Selene called you a Silver Mark."
Lock's stride faltered for the briefest moment. "Did they now?"
"I want to know what my partner is," Mirak said, his voice weak but steady.
Lock's tone turned cold, steel replacing the usual warmth. "That's not something you need to know."
Mirak closed his eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking him. But the question remained, burning in the back of his mind: What is a Silver Mark? And why did Lock hide it with such vehemence?