The King staggered back, clutching at his wound, but before he could process what was happening, the door to the chamber burst open. A swarm of guards flooded in, their armor clanking loudly against the stone floor. Gale’s heart raced—he had no time to think. His instincts took over.

The first guard lunged at him, but Gale reacted in an instant, dodging low and sweeping the guard’s legs out from under him. The man hit the ground with a loud thud, but more were coming. There was no room to fight them all, not now.

Gale’s eyes darted around the room, searching for his bow. There—just a few feet away, abandoned when the chaos began. Without thinking, he dove for it, grabbing the weapon just as a sword swung toward him. He barely managed to duck in time, the blade missing his head by inches.

Gale’s muscles screamed in protest, but he didn’t stop. The bow was in his hands, and the familiar weight was a fleeting comfort. He grabbed an arrow from his quiver and nocked it in one smooth motion, releasing it just as another guard charged toward him. The arrow found its mark, and the guard crumpled to the floor.

There were too many to fight. Gale’s pulse hammered in his ears as he sprinted across the room, heading for the window. It was his only way out. The guards were closing in fast, their shouts growing louder, but Gale didn’t look back. He needed to get out.

He reached the window in a blur of motion and, with a final glance over his shoulder, he jumped.

The air rushed past him as he freefell, the cold wind biting at his skin. His body twisted in midair, and for a heart-stopping moment, Gale thought he might not survive the fall. But then his feet hit the ground with a painful jolt, and he rolled instinctively, trying to absorb the impact.

Pain shot through his legs, but he didn’t pause. He pushed himself to his feet, his legs unsteady but moving. The sound of alarms echoed from the castle behind him, but he was already running, weaving toward the edge of the courtyard. His bow was still in his hand, and the distant rumble of pursuit was the last thing on his mind.

For now, he was free.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The night was dark, and the woods lay ahead, his only chance to escape the King’s reach.

The battle for his survival was far from over.

Kayla continued sleeping, dreaming of Gale as he was timelessly dragged away and always came back alive over and over. These memories only made her admiration for him grow

Kayla woke, confused slightly but still drowsy from sleep. "What?" She muttered, her mind still half-asleep as she realized she was being carried. Her eyes popped open, but she didn't move, looking at his face. Gale. She couldn't believe it, he was running but...why was she with him? She was confused, but mostly trusted him to not hurt her

Gale’s body felt as if it were made of stone, each step heavier than the last. The blood soaking his clothes, mixing with the dirt and grime, made him look like he had crawled through hell. His hands were slick with sweat, his knuckles grazed and raw, and his chest ached with every shallow breath he managed to take. The poison still lingered in his veins, dulling his thoughts, dragging him into a fog of exhaustion.

Every muscle screamed, his body trembling with the strain of the escape. His head spun, dizzy from the effort, and his vision blurred at the edges. His face was smeared with blood, some of it his own, though it was hard to tell which injuries were new and which had been inflicted earlier. His tunic was torn, soaked through with sweat and blood, clinging to his skin.

The weight of the princess in his arms was no longer comforting. It felt like an anchor, dragging him down with every step. His legs wobbled beneath him, trembling as if they were on the verge of giving way. He couldn’t keep going much longer. The sharp sting of his injuries, the poison working its way through his blood, and the overwhelming fatigue pressed in on him.

He stumbled once, then again, his knees buckling, but he caught himself just in time. The sounds of pursuit were getting closer, the echo of guards’ boots growing louder. He couldn’t stop. Not now.

Finally, his legs betrayed him. He sank to his knees, his breath coming in short, pained gasps. The world seemed to spin around him as he struggled to keep his balance. His hand shot out, catching the princess just in time, before he slowly lowered her to the ground, his movements sluggish and pained. The grass felt cold beneath him, the only thing solid in a world that had turned to fog.

For a moment, he just sat there, his body shaking, trying to steady himself, trying to make sense of the world around him. But it was too much. The pain was too much. His vision darkened, his eyelids heavy as he slumped against the rough bark of a tree. The poison, the blood loss, the relentless exhaustion—it was all catching up to him.

His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, and he could feel his strength slipping away. Every inch of him ached, a dull throb that started in his bones and spread outward. His body was breaking down, but still, he fought against it. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not yet. Not with her depending on him.

But his body was no longer listening. His head swam with dizziness, and before he could even register it, his eyes closed, his body giving into the overwhelming tide of fatigue. The pain, the struggle—it all faded as he finally let go.

Kayla quickly stood, grabbing him gently and pulling him into the nearest empty room across the hall. She gently propped him against the wall, hoping he'd wake before the guards found them

Gale’s mind was a fog. His head felt too heavy for his neck, and the sharp sting of pain in his chest was almost enough to drag him under. He could barely think, couldn’t even make sense of where he was, but there was one thing clear: he couldn’t stay here.

The walls around him were closing in, the stone cold against his back as he leaned heavily against it. Blood soaked through his torn tunic, his skin slick with sweat and grime. His breath was shallow, each intake a battle, each exhale a whisper of agony. The poison in his veins felt like ice and fire at once, dulling his thoughts but searing his body.

I can’t stay here.

The guards—he heard them. Their boots echoing in the hallway, getting closer. His heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t afford to be caught, not like this. The world spun, and for a moment, he thought he might just collapse against the wall and let the darkness pull him under.

But then he remembered: No. Not yet.

He tried to push himself up, his legs shaky beneath him, his body resisting, like a broken machine trying to start again. His hands gripped the stone, nails digging into the rough surface, his knuckles white. His chest tightened with every shallow breath, a sharp pain stabbing through him with each movement. He couldn't stop. He had to get out.

One step. Just one step.

He tried to stand, but his legs barely obeyed, his knees buckling beneath him. The pain was unbearable, and for a second, he thought he might lose consciousness completely. His hands shook as they tried to steady himself, palms pressed against the cold wall, but even that felt like too much effort.

Move. Move, damn it.

A groan escaped his lips, but he bit it back, grinding his teeth. He didn’t have time to slow down. The guards would be on him soon. His body was telling him to give up, to collapse, but his mind—his mind refused to let go.

He felt the sting of the poison again, crawling through his veins, slowing everything. But in the chaos of his thoughts, there was something—something that pushed him forward. A memory, a flicker of something. You can’t stop now. You have to keep going.

He clenched his fists, his entire body trembling with the effort. Sweat dripped down his forehead, blurring his vision, but he kept pushing through it, pulling himself up one inch at a time. The walls around him spun, but he couldn’t afford to care about that. Every movement felt like a struggle, his body heavy and sluggish, but he kept forcing himself forward.

Just one more step. One more...

He dragged himself forward, the walls around him becoming a blur. His body felt like it was giving out, but his legs moved. Barely. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest burning. But still, he moved.

The sound of the guards’ footsteps grew louder, their voices carrying down the hall, but it didn’t matter. He had to get out. He had to move.

Kayla watched him for a second before grabbing his arm and placing it around her shoulders, her arm wrapping around him to try and support him. She quickly ran through the castle's map mentally before remembering there was the kitchen right below them. She turned her head to Gael. "We're right above the kitchens. There's a door to the gardens next to the border there." She breathed, rushing through the words and hoping the guards had passed.

Gale’s mind was a haze, a blur of pain and confusion, the words Kayla spoke barely registering. The only thing he could focus on was the gnawing ache in his chest, the unrelenting pull of exhaustion dragging him down. His limbs felt too heavy, like dead weight, and his body ached in places he hadn’t even known could hurt.

He felt Kayla’s grip on his arm, her support a brief comfort, but it was fleeting. He couldn’t rely on her, not like this. He could barely hold himself together.

Her voice was a distant hum as she spoke, something about a door to the gardens—the gardens—but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because his body was failing him, every muscle and bone protesting against the effort to stay upright.

I can’t let her down. Not now.

His chest was tight with pain, his breath shallow and ragged. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the sound almost deafening in the stillness. Every step was agony. His legs wobbled, threatening to give way beneath him, and his fingers trembled where they clung to the cold stone of the wall. He was so close to collapse. The guards were out there—he could hear their voices in the distance. Every passing second felt like an eternity.

Kayla was saying something again, but he couldn’t make sense of it. His vision was starting to go dark around the edges, his thoughts muddled. The poison was still in his veins, and every movement sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. His body was trembling, his muscles spasming with the effort it took to stay upright.

He could feel her hand under his arm, her body supporting his, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he was already dead—because there was no way he could still be standing with how badly he felt. The pain was so overwhelming, so complete, that he wondered if he’d finally reached the point where his body would just stop fighting back.

Move. Just move.

The words echoed in his mind like a mantra, and somehow, he dragged himself forward, his legs barely moving beneath him, but still he pushed on. He felt like a ragdoll in Kayla’s arms, but he didn’t want to be the weight holding her back.

His vision swam, and he stumbled, but he didn’t fall. Not yet.

Each step was a battle, each movement an act of defiance against the pain, against the fatigue that felt like it was eating him alive. He couldn’t feel his arms anymore, or his legs, or his chest. It was as if his body had gone numb, but the pain lingered like a cruel reminder of how close he was to the edge.

He felt her arm tighten around him, supporting him as they moved, and he clung to that for all it was worth. He had to make it out. They had to make it out. He couldn’t stop now.

His throat burned, his stomach churned, but still, he stumbled forward.

I can’t stop. Not now. Not when we’re so close.

His fingers were slick with sweat, and he fought the dizziness that threatened to pull him under. Each breath was a labor, and the air tasted bitter, like metal. His head swam, but he fought through it. He had to keep going. Just a little longer.

He barely registered the sound of the guards’ voices fading. Kayla had said they were close to the door. The garden. The exit. It felt like a distant dream, but he didn’t dare let himself stop now.

His chest tightened, another wave of nausea rolling through him, and for a second, he thought he might collapse right there. His legs buckled, and his vision went black at the edges. But Kayla’s grip on him kept him upright.

Stay with her. Keep going.

He forced his eyes open, his vision swimming, but he could see the door now—the dark outline of it ahead. The last push. He could do this.

One more step.

He tried to move again, but his legs were trembling, his body refusing to cooperate. It was all he could do to stay standing, to keep putting one foot in front of the other. His hands were shaking, his breathing erratic.

Then, without warning, his knees gave way. He heard Kayla’s voice again, but it was too late. His body had reached its limit. His vision darkened, the world tilting violently as the darkness closed in on him. Gale let out a agonized sound,just as his word tipped black.

They had nearly reached the border when he fell. She held onto him, refusing to let go. "Gale." She whispered. "C'mon, we're so close. We're at the fence and then freedom." She encouraged him, lifting him as best as she could. She carried most of his weight as well as her body allowed, brining him into the cool forest's darkness until she was too tired to keep moving. She propped him up against a tree, making sure he wouldn't get hurt, and sat beside him while she listened for voices. After a while, she didn't hear anything and decided they were safe enough for her to relax, at least a bit.