Chapter 14 - Escape (3)

"Keep moving," Sihx calls over his shoulder. "We need to pass through the filtration chambers quickly."

"What is this place?" I ask, my voice echoing in the cavernous space.

"The Academy's purification system," he explains without slowing. "This is where they nullify the deadly magic in the water before it reaches the city's supply."

The chamber stretches at least fifty meters across, dominated by an enormous mechanical contraption at its centre. A massive metal arm rotates slowly around a central axis, dipping into the collected magical waste. The arm itself glows with strange blue runes that pulse rhythmically as it moves through the contaminated liquid.

"Anti-magic properties," Sihx continues, gesturing toward the spinning mechanism. "The filtration arm neutralizes the high essence buildup in the water."

I stare in disbelief at the engineering marvel before me. The rotating arm creates a slow whirlpool in the magical waste, drawing it toward the centre where it passes through a series of increasingly fine grates. With each passage, the liquid's glow diminishes until it emerges as clear water on the far side.

"How does it work?" I ask, unable to hide my fascination despite our precarious situation.

"Sacrifice," Sihx replies grimly. "See those crystals embedded in the arm?"

I squint at the rotating mechanism, noticing for the first time the translucent stones set at regular intervals along its length. Each crystal pulses with warm amber light that flickers like a heartbeat.

"Life energy crystals," Sihx explains. "They're consumed to power the anti-magic field. Each one represents life essence—usually animals, sometimes more."

The implications sink in slowly. "The Academy harvests life force to clean their magical waste?"

"Efficient, isn't it?" Sihx's tone is bitter. "They create the problem and solve it with more destruction. Now move—we don't have time for a full tour."

I tear my eyes away from the hypnotic rotation of the arm and follow Sihx along a narrow maintenance walkway that circles the chamber. The path is treacherous, slick with condensation and barely wide enough for one person. Below us, the contaminated liquid bubbles and hisses as it meets the anti-magic field.

Sihx reaches the far side of the chamber well ahead of me, where a large metal grate covers an opening in the wall. Clean water pours through it in a steady stream, cascading down to join a clear channel that presumably leads out to the city's water system.

While I'm still making my way carefully across the walkway, Sihx examines the grate with practised efficiency. His fingers trace the edges, testing its strength and searching for weaknesses. By the time I reach him, he's already working on the bolts securing it to the wall.

"This is our exit," he says without looking up. "Once we're through, we'll be outside Academy jurisdiction."

I should be helping him, but I can't tear my eyes away from the chamber. The entire system is a testament to both ingenuity and callousness—a perfect representation of how the Academy approaches magic. They harness its power without concern for consequences, then devise equally destructive solutions to manage the fallout.

"Mark," Sihx hisses, finally drawing my attention. "Focus. I need your help with this."

Before I can move to assist him, a sound from above freezes me in place—the unmistakable creak of a door opening. I look up toward the source of the noise and feel my blood run cold.

At the top of a metal staircase overlooking the filtration chamber stands a group of figures dressed in black attire. Even from this distance, their uniforms mark them as special enforcers—the Academy's elite security force. They move with military precision, spreading out along the observation platform.

In the centre of the group, a familiar darkness seems to bend the light around it. The shadow mage from the docks stands perfectly still, their face obscured but their presence unmistakable. Unlike the enforcers, who scan the chamber with practised efficiency, the mage looks directly at me, as if they've known exactly where I'd be all along.

I see Sihx working the grate with increasing urgency, his eyes darting between the metal barrier and the approaching enforcers.

"Mark," he barks, voice sharper than before. "Listen to me. Now."

Snapping out of my daze, I move toward him. "What do you need me to do?"

"These bolts—there's twenty of them. We'll never unscrew them all in time." He gestures for me to step back. "Move away. I'll cut through it."

I retreat several paces as Sihx grips his blade with both hands. The sword begins to shimmer with the same ethereal blue light I witnessed at the docks. He draws back, muscles tensing beneath his dirty, weathered robes, then strikes the grate with tremendous force.

Bang!

The sound of metal meeting metal reverberates through the chamber—but instead of slicing through as expected, Sihx's blade bounces off with a jarring clang. The impact sends vibrations up his arms, causing him to stagger backwards.

"Impossible," he mutters, examining the grate. Not even a scratch marks its surface.

For the first time since meeting him, I see genuine concern flash across Sihx's face. His typically stoic expression cracks, revealing something I never expected to see—nervousness. His eyes narrow as he runs his fingers along the grate's surface.

"Anti-magic alloy," he says under his breath. "They've reinforced it."

I glance back toward the observation platform where the enforcers are now descending the staircase in orderly formation. The shadow mage remains at the railing, watching our struggle with evident amusement. Even from this distance, I can see the smirk playing across their partially visible face.

"Too many rats have been scurrying through Egozia's sewers lately," the mage calls out, voice echoing unnaturally through the chamber. "We've had to make some... improvements to our infrastructure."

Sihx's jaw tightens. He looks at me, then back at the grate, calculating our diminishing options.

"They knew we'd come this way," I say, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

"Not necessarily." Sihx tests the grate again with his blade, this time without the magic enhancement. "But they've been closing escape routes systematically. This was one of the last reliable exits."

The enforcers reach the bottom of the stairs now, spreading out in a semicircle formation that will soon cut off our only retreat. The filtration arm continues its slow, hypnotic rotation behind us, the amber crystals pulsing with stolen life force.

"We're trapped between them and the filtration pool," I observe, scanning for any other possible exits.

Sihx's expression hardens, his momentary uncertainty replaced by cold determination. "No," he says quietly. "We're not trapped yet."

He sheathes his sword and reaches into his robes, producing a small leather pouch. His fingers work quickly, untying the drawstring and extracting what appears to be a handful of fine black powder.

"What is that?" I ask.

"Something they don't expect." Sihx's eyes meet mine. "When I throw this, hold your breath and close your eyes. No matter what happens, stay close to me."

The shadow mage calls out again, voice dripping with false concern. "Surrender now, and we'll ensure your processing is... relatively painless. Resist, and well—" The darkness around them seems to deepen. "—I've been authorised to use whatever means necessary to secure the Academy's property."

Sihx's grip on the powder tightens. "They're not taking you back," he says to me, voice barely audible. "Not while I still draw breath."

I stare at Sihx, struck by his words. "Not while I still draw breath." The fierce determination in his voice catches me off guard. This man barely knows me, yet he's willing to risk everything to keep me from returning to the Academy. After years of having only Maya care about my welfare, this unexpected loyalty feels... strange. Almost comforting.

The shadow mage's head tilts, their attention suddenly fixed on Sihx's hand. Their posture shifts from casual arrogance to alert tension.

"Stop him!" the mage shouts, voice echoing through the chamber.

Before the words fully register, darkness pools at the mage's feet, then shoots across the floor like liquid night. The shadow tendrils glide over the surface with unnatural speed, stretching toward Sihx like hungry serpents.

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The enforcers react instantly to their commander's order. Some raise their hands, frost crystallizing around their fingers as ice spears form from nothing. Others stomp their boots against the metal walkway, causing chunks of concrete to tear free from the walls, shaping into deadly javelins that hover in the air, ready to launch.

Sihx moves with practised efficiency. He pulls a small glass vial from within his robes, uncorks it with his teeth, and dumps the black powder inside. The mixture bubbles violently as he reseals it, shaking it once before hurling it toward the bottom edge of the grate.

"Now, Mark!" he shouts.

I clamp my eyes shut and cover my ears just as Sihx flicks his fingers, producing a tiny flame that leaps toward the vial. Even through my closed eyelids, I sense a blinding flash, followed by a concussive boom that reverberates through my chest. The walkway beneath my feet shudders from the impact.

Something grabs my collar from behind—Sihx's iron grip. Before I can react, he spins me around and shoves me forward with surprising strength. I stumble blindly, eyes still closed, and suddenly there's nothing beneath my feet.

I'm falling.

My eyes snap open as I tumble through open air. Behind me, through the jagged hole torn in the grate, I glimpse Sihx diving forward. A shadow tendril wraps around his ankle, but he twists mid-air, slashing at it with his blade. The darkness dissipates as he slips through the opening, ice spears and earth javelins shattering against the metal where he stood just moments before.

The rush of water grows louder below me. I twist my body, trying to orient myself for the impact, but there's no time. The clean outflow from the filtration system rushes up to meet me.

I hit the water hard, the shock of cold stealing my breath. The current immediately grabs me, pulling me into a tunnel of rushing water. I tumble helplessly, unable to tell which way is up as the torrent carries me deeper into darkness.

Panic claws at my chest as I'm dragged through the underwater tunnel. I've faced countless enemies and survived battles that should have killed me, but this—this is different. Water fills my nose, my ears, pressing against me from all sides. I've never felt so utterly powerless.

I flail my arms, trying to find purchase against the tunnel walls, but the current is too strong. My lungs burn, demanding air I can't give them. In all my years with the mercenaries, I never learned to swim. We fought on land, in mountains, across small deserts—never in water. The deepest water I've been in is a tub. Maya never taught me this.

The realization strikes me with cold terror: I don't know how to survive this.

My body tumbles end over end, disorienting me further. I can't tell which direction leads to the air. I kick my legs frantically, trying to use my size and the strength of my lats to fight against the rushing water, but it's like battling a living thing—wild and untameable. The current toys with me, smashing my shoulder against something hard, then spinning me away before I can grab it.

My chest tightens, a vice squeezing harder with each passing second. The primal fear of drowning overwhelms my training, my discipline. I've always been in control, always found a way to overcome, but water doesn't care about my strength or my resolve. It simply flows, carrying me with it, indifferent to whether I live or die.

Frustration burns alongside the fear. I've survived everything—the massacre of my tribe, years as a mercenary, the Academy's attempts to break me—only to die helplessly in a drainage tunnel? The injustice of it feeds my rage, but even anger can't give me the air I desperately need.

Black spots dance across my vision. My lungs scream for oxygen. The instinct to breathe becomes overwhelming, my body fighting against my mind's desperate command to hold on. I know if I inhale, I'll only draw water into my lungs, but the need is becoming impossible to resist.

Just as my control slips, just as my mouth opens against my will, the tunnel brightens. The current accelerates, hurling me forward with even greater force. Suddenly, I'm airborne, expelled from the tunnel like a cork from a bottle.

For one glorious moment, I gulp down sweet air before crashing back into water—different water. Wider. Brighter. A river. The current here is strong, but nothing like the concentrated force of the tunnel. I thrash wildly, trying to keep my head above the surface, but my waterlogged clothes and exhausted muscles drag me down.

Each time I break the surface, I catch glimpses of trees, open sky—we've made it outside the city. But the victory feels hollow as I sink again, swallowing water, my movements growing weaker. The river carries me downstream, my attempts to reach the shore failing with each desperate stroke.

My vision narrows to a pinpoint. This is it. After everything, this is how I die.

Something grabs my collar from behind, yanking hard. At first, I think it's another current, dragging me deeper, but then I feel myself being pulled sideways, against the flow of the river. I'm too exhausted to resist, as whatever has me drags me steadily toward the shore.

My back scrapes against river stones as I'm hauled onto the muddy bank. I roll onto my side, coughing violently, expelling water from my lungs in painful spasms. Each breath burns, but it's the sweetest pain I've ever felt.

A hand pounds between my shoulder blades, helping force out more water. When I can finally focus through streaming eyes, I see Sihx kneeling beside me, soaking wet but looking far less affected by our underwater journey.

"Breathe," he commands, his voice steady despite our ordeal. "Deep breaths."

I lie there for what feels like minutes, each breath a victory, each cough bringing up more river water. My throat burns, my lungs ache, and every muscle in my body feels like it's been wrung out and hung to dry. But I'm alive. Somehow, I'm alive.

Sihx sits back on his heels, watching me with a critical eye. There's no sympathy in his gaze, just assessment.

"Perhaps swimming should be added to your training regimen," he remarks dryly. "I find it curious that a man of your capabilities never learned such a basic survival skill."

I don't answer him. What could I say? That Maya focused on teaching me how to kill, not how to save myself? That swimming wasn't necessary for the work we did? That I never expected to be flushed through a city's drainage system like human waste? The humiliation of nearly drowning burns worse than my raw throat.

Sihx doesn't wait for a response. He stands, wringing water from his robes with efficient movements. Despite having just rescued me from the river, he looks remarkably composed—like getting swept through underground tunnels and fighting currents is something he does every week.

"We need to move," he says, scanning the treeline beyond the riverbank. "That mage and the enforcers won't give up so easily. They'll follow the river, expecting to find our bodies—or at least our trail."

I push myself to my knees, then my feet, swaying slightly as the world tilts around me. My clothes cling to my skin, heavy and uncomfortable. The snake tattoo on my arm pulses faintly, as if it too is recovering from the ordeal.

"We'll head toward Jeolara," Sihx continues, pointing northeast. "But not directly. Taking the main roads would be too degrading."

"Degrading?" I manage to croak, my voice raw.

"Begging for rides, hiding in cargo wagons, bribing drivers." He shakes his head in disgust. "Methods for common fugitives. We are not common."

Despite my disorientation, I notice how he says "we" with such certainty, as if our fates have been linked far longer than the few hours since we met. I should question this, should demand more answers about who he is and why he's helping me. But right now, all I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other as I follow him away from the riverbank.

Sihx moves with purpose, setting a brisk pace that my waterlogged body struggles to match. The sun is high overhead now, beating down on us and slowly drying our clothes. The warmth should be comforting, but it only makes me more aware of how exposed we are.

"We'll need to avoid roads for a while," Sihx says over his shoulder. "There are several smaller cities in the Grand Duchy between here and Jeolara. Nothing like Egozia, but each will have enforcers who communicate with the Academy."

I stumble over a root but catch myself before falling. My body is recovering quickly—one benefit of whatever the snake tattoo does to enhance my physical abilities—but my mind still feels foggy, like I'm wading through mud.

"How far?" I ask, the words scraping against my throat.

"To Jeolara? Several days on foot, through the terrain we'll be taking." Sihx glances back at me. "Can you manage that?"

There's a challenge in his question, as if he's testing me already. I straighten my spine, forcing strength into my steps.

"I can manage."

Sihx nods once, seemingly satisfied, then turns his attention back to the path ahead. We push deeper into the forest, leaving the sound of the river behind us.

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The forest thickens around us as we move further from the river. My clothes have mostly dried, clinging uncomfortably to my skin in patches. Every step feels mechanical, my body operating on instinct while my mind tries to make sense of everything that's happened.

I've been carried along like driftwood in a flood—pushed, pulled, and tossed without any real control. From the moment I decided to leave the Academy, nothing has gone according to plan. I chose to escape, yes, but everything after that decision has been chaos, with me merely reacting to circumstances rather than shaping them.

I tried to board an airship to Flak, only to be intercepted. I followed Sihx into the sewers, only to be cornered and flushed out like vermin. I couldn't even save myself from drowning—Sihx had to drag me from the river like a half-drowned rat.

The realisation sits heavy in my stomach. When did I become so passive? When did I surrender control of my own fate?

With the mercenaries, under Maya's command, I always had a purpose. Even as I followed orders, I chose how to execute them. I decided which techniques to use and which risks to take. But since entering the Academy, since my tattoo started malfunctioning, I've been drifting, letting circumstances dictate my actions rather than the other way around.

The only real choice I've made recently was leaving Anja, Cain, and Wentworth behind. That decision was mine alone—not forced by circumstances, not guided by Sihx or anyone else. I left them without explanation, without a goodbye. The thought of them wondering where I've gone, perhaps even searching for me, twists something inside my chest.

But what alternative did I have? Stay at the Academy, where my powers were suppressed? Where professors wanted to study me like a specimen? Where I'd waste years learning about magic I despise?

I glance at Sihx's back as he walks ahead of me. His confidence is infuriating—he moves like a man who has never doubted his path. Meanwhile, I'm questioning every step.

Part of me feels disgust at my own weakness. I nearly drowned in that river. If Sihx hadn't pulled me out, I'd be dead—my body eventually washing up on some muddy shore, my quest for vengeance against Camilla unfulfilled. After years of training, years of preparing to face the woman who destroyed my tribe, I almost died because I never learned to swim.

Another part feels a strange, reluctant excitement. Sihx knows things—about the Scaled Ones, about fighting mages, about surviving in this world of magic that I've always despised but never fully understood. Following him might bring me closer to Camilla faster than years at the Academy ever could.

But there's also doubt. I've known this man for less than a day. He appeared exactly when I needed help, knew exactly where to go, how to fight the shadow mage. It's too convenient. Too perfect. I've survived this long by questioning everything, by trusting no one but Maya and my abilities.

And now I'm following a stranger through a forest, headed toward Jeolara, with nothing but the clothes on my back and a tattoo that sometimes works, sometimes doesn't.

"We'll stop here briefly," Sihx announces, interrupting my thoughts. He gestures to a small clearing. "Rest. Eat if you have food. We move again in ten minutes."

I sink down onto a fallen log, watching him as he checks our surroundings with practised efficiency. He hasn't asked about my plans, or my reasons for leaving the Academy. He simply assumed I would follow him—and I have.

That realisation bothers me more than nearly drowning. When did I become someone who follows without question? When did I surrender my agency so completely?

I need to take back control. Of my journey. Of my destiny. Of myself.

But first, I need to understand what Sihx wants from me. Why he's helping me. What he knows about the Scaled Ones.

And most importantly, whether he can truly help me find Camilla.