"Vivian!"

Paris's voice faded along with the barrage of metallic footsteps flooding around her. They're surrounding them, giving them no chance to escape. She eyed the door. It was still thrown wide open. She just needed to get Vivian out. There's still hope.

Hope. What a feeble feeling. It pulsed underneath Pris's skin as her legs propelled her forward, knocking soldiers as she went with the skills she didn't know she had. Metal crunched. Her blade shrieked with each swing. She ducked, rolled, blocked.

Vivian. She's the only one who mattered.

The woman writhed on the floor a few paces away. A soldier began securing her hands behind her. Paris gritted her teeth. "Get away from her!" she screamed just in time for her to throw her blade in the air. A foolish move, leaving herself defenseless, but the sword sailed in the air and found purchase on the soldier's stomach with a sickening squelch.

Paris's breath knocked against her chest. As she ran, she had enough wit to grab another random blade from the wall. This one was heavier and bulkier but it's fine.

"Just go!" Vivian hissed as she crawled away from the unmoving lump of metal which Paris felled. Blood coated her back and ran down her legs. Her bonnet had fallen sometime, somewhere, exposing straight locks strewn around her head in a noisy nest. "Leave me here! Save yourself."

Paris slid down, stretching her foot to knock a passing soldier. She reached Vivian and closed her grip around the woman's arm. "Not a chance, Viv," she seethed.

Something flashed in Vivian's eyes. Paris scrambled back, barely dodging a blade whishing for her head. A shadow fell over them as Paris used her free wrist to haul her and Vivian's weight across the expanse of beige tiles. The other soldiers seemed to have deduced that they had already cornered Paris. A distraction. She needed a distraction.

Her eyes scanned the room. Pillars the size of a mature tree held the ceiling up. They shot up from the ground in regular intervals, weaving through the expansive room, stepping around racks upon racks of weapons. Gilded spears, gleaming axes, as well as swords, chains, and other weapons Paris didn't know existed until now peppered her view. Such elaborate and creative ways to hurt someone. Whoever thought of those designs needed help.

Dented armor advanced towards them, leaping over fallen comrades like one would do to a felled log. Paris snapped to attention and pushed herself to her feet. She swung Vivian's arm over her shoulder despite the woman's protests. She's not getting out of here alone. Together, they ambled past the nearest rack containing spears with varying heads. Should she grab one and skewer someone?

She shook her head. That would take too much time.

Paris glanced at the domed ceiling made of stone. It closed over them like a set of cruel hands. Nothing could help them out of this mess. Unless knives rained from the ceiling by some magic, she and Vivian were doomed. They'd meet their end in this closed room surrounded by the very people they hated. Servants of Maldegrad. Warriors of the Council.

Wait.

Magic.

Paris hauled Vivian behind the width of a pillar. With a brief exchange of nods, Paris let Vivian sag against the pillar while she dashed towards the nearest rack. The soldiers closed in a semicircle, keeping track of how the wall was to Paris's back. It seemed like she drove themselves into a corner.

Not for long. Let Paris hope.

Her fingers closed around the handle of the first spear she could grab. With a yank, she leveled its head at the soldiers' chests. They backed away, probably from the manic look in Paris's face. Her mind whirled with wild plans and plans with no assurance of working. Come on. Come on. Think.

Magic.

That word flashed in her mind again. Hadn't she come here to retrieve such an item? A magical item. Magic. Her gaze fell to her chest. It never occurred to her that she had just been fighting while having her heart exposed. It's a miracle she still hasn't died.

Paris thrust the spear forward when she sensed one daring soldier lunge forward. The man wisely jumped back. Then, she shoved her fingers into her bodice and drew the pendant out. In the dim light bathing the armory's ambience, it didn't look like much—just a slab of purple stone with the slit in the middle. Something glinted inside the slit but it's not like she had time to worry about that now.

The stone was cold, the metal chains hanging from the bail even colder. No magical energy hummed from somewhere inside. Doubt crippled Paris. Then, a small cough from behind the pillar reached Paris's ears. She gritted her tongue. Vivian needed her help. And she couldn't help Vivian if one of them was dead.

If Paris had to believe in magic and ancient ones, the time was now. Demons were real, their twisted features and haunting shrieks still fresh in Paris's memory. What made the Ancient Ones' existence a hoax? Nothing.

Her grip around the pendant tightened, her palms feeling each and every decorative spike dig against her skin. If you're real, show me your power, she thought to the pendant. She must have gone insane, talking to a lifeless stone but what choice did she have? If you're real, show me what you can do.

Nothing happened. Disappointment mired in Paris's gut. That's it, then. They're going to die here.

Heat flooded her system. Blazing, scalding, and blistering heat. It gripped her senses, streaking a trail through her vision. Her mouth dried up. Her legs shook. What...

Something pulsed at her hands. She looked down to find the pendant glowing with a strange purple aura. How did that—

Never mind that. Paris focused on the heat building up in her system. Force. She needed a strong force. With flailing senses, she gathered the heat to her chest. Then, she screamed.

A blast of wind tore from her, driving her backward almost the same time an invisible shield swept from her arms and slammed into the line of soldiers. Her eyes widened as she righted herself. From behind the pillar, Vivian seemed to have forgotten she was wounded, gaping at the destruction Paris wreaked.

And a destruction, it was.

Dozens of soldiers clashed backwards against each other. By the time the wind stopped howling and the heat stopped building up in Paris's system, the racks had flown off their perches, the weapons had scattered in noisy clutters, and most of all, the way towards the door was unblocked.

Paris shoved the pendant back into her bodice, the carved festoons scratching against her breasts. Before the sturdiest of the soldiers could pop back up, Paris dragged Vviian out of the armory.

Then, she was running. Vivian hissed and grunted with each of Paris's steps, her head lolling to the side. Paris tightened her grip on Vivian's waist. Just a little more. They burst into the atrium, the bright, afternoon sunlight pricking Paris's eyeballs. She ignored that and plunged forward. Behind her, the sounds of metallic footsteps came alive once more. Damn. How hard was it for these people to stay down?

She reached the connecting hallway out of the west wing but paused. If they take the same route they used to enter, that'd take them to the front gate. And the front gate crawled with soldiers. A different way. She needed a different way.

Her eyes fell into the glass doors and the glass windows. That'd have to do.

"Paris, what are you thinking?" Vivian's voice sounded weak but still full of worry. Well, Paris should be the least of her worries. She should focus on keeping her blood inside her system.

So, Paris didn't answer. Instead, she whipped towards the windows lining the atrium. She dug out the pendant again. Repeating the same chant like a faulty mantra, she waited for another wave of heat to burst into her veins. When it did, she let out another scream.

All around them, glass cracked and shattered. The booming sound rang throughout the whole atrium, amplified by the closed and empty space. Shards rained down from the ceiling, lightly brushing Paris's arms. Someone screamed from inside the west wing. Bells started tolling.

Paris lowered herself to a stance, keeping her grip on Vivian firm. Then, she put all her remaining energy into her limbs and surged forward.

The shards crunched and clinked as Paris's soles slapped against a whole carpet of them. It would surely take a while to get the glass out of her curls. She's bound to find some in the next months to come.

They burst through the open lawn on the west side of the Palace. It was nearer to the place where the ritual was held. It brought about unpleasant memories but if she and Vivian were caught here, more unpleasant memories would be sure to replace those.

Run. Paris has to run.

Her breaths sounded ragged in her ears as she dragged Vivian across the lush, grassy landscape. There must be an entrance to the Woods from the palace. Or near Maldegrad. Somewhere. Safe. They'd be safe in the Woods.

Then again, for how long?

One step at a time. One worry at a time. Paris had to get Vivian into the Woods. To regroup. To heal. Paris craned her neck, cursing the tall walls blocking most of the sloping city beyond. How would she get to the Woods at this rate? Vivian needed help. Fast.

Paris ground her teeth and vaulted towards the stocks. The stables should be near it. When they arrived, Paris swept the nearest reins she could find. It was attached to a tall stallion with a brick-red coat. Its mane was scant and matted—a sign of neglect. Paris grunted, pushing Vivian up its flank. Surprisingly, the horse remained still even as Paris placed her foot on the stirrup and hauled herself up.

After making sure Vivian wouldn't slide off the horse's flank, Paris flicked the reins and kicked the beast's side. It reared back with a loud neigh before breaking into a full gallop. They zipped out of the stables, startling a number of servants from their mundane routine. Paris gripped the leather reins. The horse barreled through the courtyard. She only had to steer it towards the lone gate out of the palace.

"Stop them!" a masculine voice boomed from the stocks. Paris didn't need to look back to know it was probably one of the soldiers. If they failed to catch Paris, perhaps the Council would have their heads. That's probably why they were this enthusiastic. But hey, this was real life. It's every woman for herself.

Paris flicked the reins, urging the stallion to go faster. She was only able to stay up this long due to fleeting lessons with horses back in Lance's farm. There were a lot of things that could go wrong with riding one, much more if she operated it as she was doing now.

How much luck would Paris exhaust this single day?

The horse's nostrils flared, no doubt smelling the freedom Paris had afforded it. The walls blasted past Paris in a blurry haze. Then, the vast landscape of Maldegrad bore before them. Paris could easily lose the soldiers in the city's winding roads and alleys, but there was an easier route than that.

With a grunt, Paris steered the horse towards the place she had run away a number of times from and where she would always find herself going back to.

This time around, Paris Lerring chose to go back to the Woods.