Inside the chaos, Nana and Felicia move with quiet desperation, their breaths shallow, their steps hurried. The battle outside shakes the walls around them. The weak body, the unbroken will, but every cry of pain, every howl of a dying wolf still sends a shiver down Nana’s spine and she pushes forward.
She takes Felicia’s wrist and leads the way. “Stay close,” she whispers. She’s weak, strain in her voice, but she won’t give up.
Falling guards; many barely breathing, others long dead litter the path to the outer gates. Nana and Felicia were easier to slip past because the war had taken their focus. And every step is harder, every shadow feels as though it is a danger.
A low growl freezes them as they near the exit.
Marco.
His form is lit by the burning torches, and he stands there. Hi
