The forest was a living, breathing entity, its shadows stretching like skeletal fingers as Ash stumbled through the underbrush. His lungs burned, his legs screamed, and the cold night air bit at his skin. Behind him, the distant shouts of guards and the baying of hounds echoed through the trees.
He couldn't stop. Not yet.
The vial was still clutched in his hand, its contents spent but its weight a reminder of what he'd done. The Duke was dead. The northern army's plans were in disarray. And Seraphina—
*Seraphina.*
Her face flashed in his mind, those frozen violet eyes thawing for the briefest moment as she'd lowered her dagger. *Run*, she'd said. And he had.
But where could he go? The kingdom was vast, but its borders were guarded, its people loyal to the Crown—or to whoever held the most gold. Ash's name would be on every wanted poster by dawn, his face etched into the minds of every bounty hunter and mercenary in Valencrest.
He pressed on, the forest growing denser, the moonlight filtering through the canopy in fractured beams. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his vision blurred at the edges. He needed rest. Shelter. A plan.
A sound broke through the silence—a low, guttural growl. Ash froze, his heart pounding as he scanned the shadows. Two glowing eyes emerged from the darkness, followed by the hulking form of a wolf, its fur matted and its teeth bared.
Ash's hand went to the hilt of his dagger, but he knew he was no match for the beast. He took a slow step back, his eyes never leaving the wolf's.
"Easy," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I'm not your enemy."
The wolf snarled, its muscles coiling as it prepared to pounce.
Then, a whistle pierced the air—sharp and commanding. The wolf's ears twitched, and it turned its head toward the sound. A figure emerged from the trees, cloaked in shadows and carrying a bow.
"Stand down, Fenrir," the figure said, their voice low and steady.
The wolf hesitated, then slunk back into the shadows, its growl fading into a whine.
Ash exhaled, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse.
The figure stepped into the moonlight, revealing a woman with fiery red hair and eyes like emeralds. She wore a leather tunic and trousers, her bow slung over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable as she studied him.
"You're a long way from the castle, Lord Blackwell," she said, her tone laced with amusement.
Ash's stomach dropped. "You know who I am?"
"Everyone will know who you are by morning," she replied, crossing her arms. "The Duke's murderer. The Black Rose's runaway husband."
"I didn't murder him," Ash said, his voice sharp. "He was a traitor."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "And you're a hero, is that it?"
"I'm a survivor," Ash shot back.
She smirked. "Fair enough. Name's Lyra. And you, Lord Blackwell, are in need of a friend."
---
**Scene Break**
Lyra led him to a hidden camp deep in the forest, its existence betrayed only by the faint glow of a fire. A makeshift shelter of branches and canvas stood at the center, surrounded by crates and barrels. A man with a scarred face and a patch over one eye sat by the fire, sharpening a blade.
"This is Garrick," Lyra said, gesturing to the man. "He doesn't talk much, but he's handy in a fight."
Garrick grunted in acknowledgment, his one eye flicking to Ash before returning to his blade.
"Sit," Lyra said, nodding to a log by the fire. "You look like you're about to collapse."
Ash didn't argue. He sank onto the log, his body trembling with exhaustion. Lyra handed him a waterskin, and he drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.
"So," Lyra said, sitting across from him. "What's your plan?"
"Plan?" Ash echoed, his voice hollow.
She rolled her eyes. "You didn't think this through, did you? You just killed the most powerful man in Valencrest and ran off into the woods."
"I didn't have much of a choice," Ash said, his tone defensive.
Lyra leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "You always have a choice. The question is, what are you going to do now?"
Ash stared into the fire, the flames dancing in his vision. He thought of Seraphina, of the way she'd looked at him in the garden. He thought of the Alchemist, of the vial that had changed everything.
"I need to disappear," he said at last. "Start over. Find a way to protect the people I care about."
Lyra snorted. "Easier said than done. But you're in luck. We're in the business of helping people disappear."
Ash looked up, his brow furrowed. "Why would you help me?"
She grinned, her teeth flashing in the firelight. "Let's just say I have a soft spot for underdogs. And you, Lord Blackwell, are the underdog of the century."
---
**Scene Break**
The next morning, Ash awoke to the sound of birdsong and the crackle of the fire. Lyra was already up, packing supplies into a satchel. Garrick was sharpening another blade, his movements methodical.
"We're heading north," Lyra said, tossing the satchel to Ash. "There's a village near the border where you can lay low for a while. But you'll need a new name. And a new face."
Ash caught the satchel, his mind racing. "A new face?"
Lyra smirked. "We have a friend. An alchemist of sorts. She can help you."
Ash's heart skipped a beat. "An alchemist?"
"Don't get too excited," Lyra said, her tone teasing. "She's not the type to hand out favors. But if you've got the coin—or the charm—she might be persuaded."
Ash nodded, his resolve hardening. He'd come this far. He couldn't stop now.
---
**Scene Break**
As they set out for the northern village, Ash couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the shadows shifting in ways that made his skin crawl.
But he pressed on, his mind focused on one thing: survival.
And somewhere, in the depths of the castle, Seraphina stood at the window, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The Black Rose had thorns, but even roses could wilt.
The game was far from over.
---