Braedon's plan of escape hadn't exactly gone as smoothly as he would have liked.

After slipping away from the event, he rummaged through various cupboards to find one of those green backpacks stamped with the letters 'BP', which he had seen a few Border Patrol carry around sometimes for what he could only assume was one of their longer surveillance trips. When he finally found one, he quickly went to work stuffing it with a bunch of food and a large flask of water he had requested the maids bring to his room earlier that day while Raena and Iris were together, claiming he was hungry – not that they had questioned him at all; the maids rarely spoke around those they served, it seemed, probably deeming it safer not to question anything remotely suspicious under Jasper's roof. He had then snuck downstairs to where he had previously noted a medicinal cabinet, filling the rest of his backpack with whatever other supplies, healing herbs and other nonsensical but hopefully useful tablets and medical instruments he could find and fit. He didn't know how long he'd be gone, nor in what state he would find Grandpa Sage, but he wanted to be prepared, nonetheless.

He had then changed out of his tux into something more flexible – a tan blouse and black trousers with his old, comfortable dark-brown boots. Then he had picked up his backpack, double-checked that the corridor outside his dedicated room was empty, and was ready to leave, when he suddenly discovered the massive flaw in his plan.

Which Border Patrol member was he supposed to stalk? Which one would lead him to the Lymphan District? He debated following any random BP and then finding his own way above ground, but other than the Tenebris Forrest, he knew nothing of the surrounding territories. He only remembered the Kingdom as it once was, the four elements united. The palace gates that had stood tall and mighty around the devastatingly glorious castle, and the private chambers that had been dedicated to the once mighty archer, Sage Slate and his only grandson.

Braedon shoved the memory to the back of his mind as he slipped out the emergency staircase and onto the front lawn, waiting in the shadows around the side of the mansion for one of the Border Patrol to return and swap shifts with a fellow co-worker. He knew that the security guard that had escorted Raena and Iris – Al, something or other his name was – would be paroling next, for Braedon had heard him complaining to another security guard about having to take a double-shift tonight due the ball, and only having enough time to return to the mansion for his utility belt and a bite to eat.

Braedon had seen the security guard leave the event, had successfully grabbed his own supplies quickly and quietly, the mansion practically empty thanks to the event held in Iris's honour – save for a few maids that continued going about their duties.

Braedon was almost beginning to think he had missed Al exit the mansion, when the entrance doors swung open, and the tanned man in his green Border Patrol uniform trudged down the front steps, utility belt strapped to his waist, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand, ready to exit.

The man gave a curt nod ahead, and Braedon noted a second man in an identical uniform, entering through the front gates. He returned his companion's nod, his eyes shifting to the sandwich.

"Double-shift?" the second man grunted in sympathy.

Al scoffed, shoving the remaining bread into his mouth in answer.

"Yeah," the returning BP sighed while the other chewed. "I feel you. Anyhow, Ignis District, Section Three."

Braedon's heart leapt into his throat. Ignis District? That was not good news. How was he supposed to get to the Lymphan District and save his grandpa now?

Braedon ran a hand through his hair. Maybe Ignis and Lymphan were within walking distance of each other? He let out a small sigh. That was a very big maybe. And not one he was willing to risk.

Al started towards the front gates as the other entered the mansion, and Braedon counted ten seconds after the former BP exited the front gates before he followed.

Walking through the dirt-path streets, he noted townhouses and markets littered both to his left and right. Braedon marvelled at the district – but mostly, the Terrans themselves. At the home they had built for themselves, several feet below the barren, sad waste above. Through the help of magic and their own set skills, they had effectively managed to recreate a simpler, less luxurious yet still impressive version of the village that had once been situated within the castle gates.

No doubt, this was the structure they had sought to recreate. Many of those who lived within the protection of the Kingdom's guards in the village, were those with high positions in the court, most being Terrans, of course.

Braedon surveyed the dimly lit city with furrowed eyebrows, casting his gaze to the dirt ceiling high, high above, artificial lights just bare specs scattered at even intervals from each other.

He didn't have anything against the Terrans – both before the Kingdom fell, nor after. He knew of the rumours that were spread, knew that Terrans were hated by many of the other, less fortunate elements. But from his perspective, the perspective of a young boy who would watch his Grandpa charge into the first sign of danger for his queen without ever batting an eye, he believed the Terrans worked hard for their hierarchal position.

Still, seeing all this – the small trees and shrubbery that sprouted from nearby grass as luscious as it might in pure sunlight, the tasteful fruits and vegetables that had grown from this very ground his feet stood on... the Terrans were well off. More than well off, if he were to admit it. And he wondered if it would kill them to just share some of this fortune with those who didn't have as much, with the others who wanted no part in this war, who only sought refuge for themselves and their families. How much better life would be if the four districts worked in true unison, rather than lie, and cheat, and kill.

But, if their reputation did not precede Terrans, then he doubted that would happen any time soon. He never remembered Terrans to be generous in the least, to anyone other than their own people. Even Braedon, who never showed any elemental signs of being a Terran, at times felt outcasted from that society. He suspected that the only reason he wasn't entirely scapegoated, was because of the title his Grandpa held.

Braedon shook his head, reigning his thoughts back in and focusing on the present, on the man that had just turned a right from the main dirt path, down a more narrow intersection that appeared to lead further from the city centre, the town hall, and mansion.

Braedon didn't follow immediately, aware that the streets were completely empty due to the ball. As there were no night animals that cricketed and chirped like in the Tenebris Forest, the district seemed too quiet, and his footsteps too loud.

Eventually, he turned right, spying the man as he entered a small, wooden townhouse, much like all the others he'd seen along the way. The man disappeared inside, and Braedon hesitated, wondering if the man had simply forgotten something at home and had gone to pick it up first. When he didn't come back out several minutes later, Braedon hesitantly walked up to the door, trying the knob.

It was unlocked. Carefully, Braedon stepped through the entrance, closing the door quietly behind him. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, for Braedon to notice the oddly empty living room and the single, brown and rugged matt that covered a rectangular area of the floor.

No photos were hung up, no other furniture or decoration to be seen. And no Border Patrol member in sight, either.

The house appeared to be in a half-finished state, as if one of the builders had constructed the outside walls but hadn't bothered to finish the interior. Even the windows were blocked off, the kitchen in the adjoining room barely qualifying as one, the sink being the only signs of it somewhat resembling what the smaller room was meant to be.

Braedon once again found himself wondering how Lymphans managed to acquire the means for both artificial lighting and sufficient water supplies this far underground.

The thought was then forgotten as his eyes wandered to the matt, and his legs carried him towards it before he quite understood what his subconscious had already figured out. He lifted the heavy thing, finding with no huge surprise, a trap door beneath, same colour as the creaking floorboards he stood on.

Braedon's fingers curled around the small gap in the floorboards and he pulled upwards, grunting at the weight of it. He swung it completely open, his nose crinkling at the dust that rose from beneath. And here he thought he couldn't travel further below ground than he already had.

Braedon tightened his bag straps, taking in a breath before seating himself on the edge, legs dangling in the dark below. Then he slid off, bracing himself for the impact.

His feet soon met hard ground not three two metres after. And not a second after that, Braedon felt a blow to the side of his head, knocking him sideways.

It took Braedon a moment to differentiate the stars in his vision from the little fairy lights that had been strung up to illuminate the dark passageway. The tanned man in his uniform held up a revolver in a defensive position, ready to attack Braedon with the hilt once more.

"What do you think you're doing, boy, following me? You think I wouldn't notice someone stalking me while the district is a complete ghost town?" the man barked, slight hesitation evident in his eyes. It was clear he had no intention of killing Braedon, for whatever reason. Probably Jasper's orders.

"I need to get to the Lymphan District," Braedon grimaced, holding the side of his head with one hand where he had been struck, the other by his side, ready.

"What are you on about?" the man growled, his eyes wary.

For a split second, Braedon wondered how many others might have tried to escape to different districts, too. He was sure there had been previous cases. So many families and friends had been torn apart when the Elemental War begun. Braedon wouldn't have been surprised if it had driven some mad, initiating various escape plans that were undoubtedly shut down immediately.

"Why don't you go enjoy the ball with the two princesses?" Al's lips formed a thin line. "I'm sure they miss you."

Braedon pounced before the man even finished his sentence, grabbing for his gun and turning it towards his face.

"Give me the belt," Braedon ordered, not wanting to take any chances. "Now."

The man looked ready to protest, and Braedon clicked off the safety switch. "I will shoot you. Don't test me. The belt."

Slowly, ever so slowly, the man unclipped his utility belt, his hands seeming to linger over it a moment too long. Braedon roughly wrenched it off him, pressing the barrel to his back. Instinctively, the man raised his hands in surrender.

"You have the belt," he said quietly, his tone alike to an adult speaking to an infant. "Lower the gun."

"I need to know how to get to the Lymphan District."

"Unauthorised personnel cannot..." he began to recite.

Something in Braedon snapped, and he fired a warning shot to the ground. The man jumped in reply, his breathing suddenly ragged.

"Please," he said, now dropping the infant-like tone. "I have a brother. I have a family."

"So do I," Braedon hissed into his ear. "I won't say it again. I need to get to the Lymphan District. Now."

The man was quiet, and Braedon pressed the barrel of the gun firmly against the man's back, throwing the utility belt over one shoulder and grabbing the man's right underarm.

"To get to the Lymphan District we have to go back through the city..."

Braedon cut him off with a swift blow to the head using the hilt of the gun. The man winced.

"Do you think I'm joking?" Braedon snapped coldly. "Do you think I'd let you lead me back to the city just so you can call for backup?" Braedon pressed the barrel against the back of the man's head, and the cold metal against his scalp sent a visible shiver down the man's spine.

"I will pull this trigger so gods-damned quick," Braedon breathed into his ear, "That you won't have the chance to let out the start of a scream, let alone muster up even a wisp of your element. Do you understand?"

A curt nod. Then, "F-further down this pathway, we can take a right. The pathways divulge and wind in several directions. We can take the path leading to the Lymphan District. It's a longer route than the other passage though..."

Braedon pressed the gun against the man's back once again, pushing him forward. "I don't care. We're here now, so walk. And if you even think of trying anything..."

Some of the man's authority and pride seemed to return as he snarled, "Don't worry. Having one less crazy person like you here is a blessing. You won't survive one minute in the world out there anyway. But you'll learn to appreciate this district." He smirked, "Once you're dead."

"Walk," was Braedon's only brusque response.