The flames of Nitchgard painted the night in shades of ruin.
William slipped through the alleys, staying to the edges where the light was dim and the smoke thick enough to hide him. Every street bore scars of the night's betrayal - overturned carriages, blood-slick cobblestones, the smell of burnt oil and sorcery.
The city that once glittered under Roland's rule was silent except for the hiss of fire and the crackle of collapsing wood.
He passed the courtyard of the Scholar's Tower, where bodies lay like discarded marionettes. Each wore the same expression - slack, empty-eyed, caught mid-motion before life had been torn from them. Their armor bore the crest of the royal guard.
Petrid had turned them all into husks.
William moved faster. The longer he stayed, the greater the risk of being found - or worse, losing control again. His hands still bore faint traces of claw marks that hadn't fully vanished. His breath came in slow, measured bursts as he kept the beast locked down.
He reached the old northern gate - half collapsed, its arch smeared with ash and strange runes. The guards stationed there were no longer men; their eyes glowed with the dull silver of enchantment.
William crouched behind a toppled cart, assessing. Four soldiers, all with crossbows, motionless like statues. Beyond them, the open plains stretched toward the dark horizon - and at its edge, the jagged silhouette of the Forbidden Forest.
The Darkwood.
He could feel it even from here - a pressure in the air, like the world itself holding its breath.
He tightened his grip on his sword, readying himself. Then he heard something - faint voices from a nearby side street.
"...the girl... the princess... escaped into the woods..."
William's head snapped toward the sound.
Two of Petrid's men stood beside a wagon filled with crates and scrolls. They were talking in low tones, unaware of him.
"Lord Petrid's furious," one said. "Said she's got the spark now - real magic. He wants her alive."
"Alive?" the other scoffed. "After what she did at the ball? I saw her knock him halfway across the hall."
"Doesn't matter. He says her blood's the key. The forest won't protect her for long."
The first guard laughed quietly. "If the forest doesn't kill her first."
William's heart was pounding before the words even finished echoing. Alive. She's alive.
He moved before they could draw breath - silent as shadow, quick as thought. The first guard didn't even turn before the pommel of William's sword cracked against his skull. The second reached for his dagger but froze when the tip of William's blade met his throat.
"Where in the forest?" William's voice was low, edged like steel.
The guard's eyes widened. "I-I don't know! She ran south, near the Hollow Gate path. The forest swallowed her, I swear!"
William's gaze hardened. The beast in him wanted to finish it - to silence the witness, to taste the fear. But he forced his hand to lower the blade.
"Then pray the forest swallows you too," he said, stepping back.
He turned, slipping through the wreckage toward the north gate.
The guard hesitated, trembling, then shouted after him, "You'll die there, prince! Nothing comes back from that forest!"
William didn't answer.
He reached the gate's edge. The guards still stood, unmoving - their eyes dim, their minds absent. Petrid's enchantment held them like puppets on invisible strings.
He crouched low, scanning the wall. There - a break near the outer arch, half-buried by debris. He could squeeze through if he moved quickly.
The moonlight caught his eyes as he looked up once more at the burning city. For a moment, he thought of his father's words again: The beast is not a curse if you own it.
Then he stepped through the gap and into the open fields.
The night wind hit him like a baptism - cold, sharp, filled with the scent of pine and earth. The smoke of Nitchgard faded behind him, replaced by the whisper of grass and the distant, ancient hum of the forest ahead.
Each step brought him closer to the tree line, where the air seemed to pulse with a rhythm of its own. The stars dimmed as he neared it, as though the forest drank the light.
He paused at its edge. The ground here was soft, the soil darker, threaded with faint blue veins of energy that pulsed under his boots.
The beast stirred uneasily.
Do not go in there, it warned - though the words came without language, pure instinct, pure dread.
William clenched his jaw. "She's in there," he whispered. "And so am I."
He took one step forward. Then another.
The wind rose around him, carrying a strange sound - almost a voice, soft and distant, calling his name.
"William..."
He froze. Elyon's voice.
The hairs on his neck lifted.
He drew his sword, heart racing, and stepped into the dark.
The forest closed behind him like a mouth.