Escape

Farthington groaned, coughing as he pulled himself out of the dumpster, wiping at his mouth in disgust. "Pffft… kegh, ugh! I think I got peasant food in my mouth," he muttered, wincing as he felt his bruises start to throb. He staggered forward, brushing off bits of garbage clinging to his coat, only to grimace again at the smell that now clung to him.

He glanced up at the rooftop above, where the explosion had originated, squinting to catch any sign of Tokei or Nanik through the settling dust. Straightening as best as his bruised state would allow, he shook his head, muttering, "Just my luck.”

Farthington dusted himself off as best he could, straightening his collar with a resigned sigh. Glancing up at the rooftop, he muttered dryly, “Well, I guess I’m not getting back up there. How unfortunate.”

Without a second look, he turned and strode out of the alley, his steps steady but unhurried. He took a moment to orient himself by glancing toward the distant line of trees he’d glimpsed from the roof before he’d been unceremoniously flung off.

“Well,” he mumbled to himself, “might as well make myself scarce.”

With that, he set his sights on the direction of the border between Ardem and Cielmouth, walking at a leisurely pace, completely unfazed by the chaos he’d just left behind.

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Otome grimaced as she wrenched the shotgun from the exoskeleton’s arm, the metal creaking as it gave way. She checked the chamber, then reached into her pouch to take stock of her remaining shells, counting only nine left. Her jaw tightened as she clipped the shotgun to a holster on her back.

“We don’t have long before reinforcements arrive,” she murmured, eyes scanning the rooftops.

I nodded, wrapping my arm more securely around her waist to support her injured leg. Nanik took a step forward, peering down over the edge of the art store’s roof, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the drop. The alleys below were dark and winding, twisting through the backstreets of Bakhlav like veins, empty save for scattered gas lamps casting faint, flickering light. The rooftops in the distance formed a patchwork of shadows and illuminated chimneys, guiding us toward the forested horizon and our escape route.

“Follow me,” Nanik said, his voice as calm as ever, though a fire seemed to glint in his eyes.

He leapt to the next roof with ease, landing softly and waving us over. I guided Otome along, our steps a little slower but steady, making our way across the narrow beam connecting the buildings. We continued like this, moving roof to roof, keeping low to avoid drawing attention. The sound of clinking bottles and the hum of Bakhlav’s nightlife echoed from the streets below, providing a cacophony of distractions.

As we neared the edge of town, the gaps between the buildings grew wider, and Otome’s breathing grew more labored. Nanik paused, glancing back as we reached a final roof overlooking the forest. “We’ll have to descend here and head through the streets,” he said.

I scanned the distance from the roof to the ground. It was about fifteen feet—not impossible, but not ideal for someone in Otome’s condition.

“Hold on to me,” I said, shifting her arm over my shoulder as we carefully lowered ourselves onto a creaky fire escape. Nanik climbed down ahead of us, and I helped Otome manage the last few steps. Her feet hit the cobblestone with a soft thud, and she winced, gripping her injured leg.

“Let’s move quickly,” Otome said, straightening up and loading a shell into her shotgun with a click. She gave a single nod, the faintest glint of determination in her eye, and we moved forward through the maze-like streets of Bakhlav.

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At the city’s edge, gas lamps gave way to overgrown paths as we approached the forest that lay between Cielmouth and Ardem. The cool, earthy scent of the trees greeted us, and with a shared glance, we slipped into the shadows of the forest, leaving the distant glow of Bakhlav behind.

The forest around us was dense, shadows weaving through the towering pines like specters. Every crackle of underbrush set my heart pounding, nerves stretched thin as I scanned the dark, overgrown paths behind us. We had ventured a fair distance from Bakhlav, but the silence of the woods was somehow more unsettling than the chaotic hum of the city. Beside me, Otome’s face was pallid, her expression distant and troubled, as if she were standing on the edge of some dark precipice. She closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath.

“Everyone,” she murmured, her voice a fragile whisper. “Please… come back to me alive.”

Before I could respond, her legs buckled. I barely caught her, guiding her down gently onto a patch of mossy earth. Nanik knelt beside us, quickly taking stock of her condition. He glanced up, slight worry flickering in his usually steady gaze.

“She’s pushed herself too far,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll need to set up camp and let her rest. It would be best if we could get her to a doctor or support sorcera with some medical knowledge as soon as possible.”

We worked in silence, setting up a makeshift camp with what little supplies we had. I propped Otome’s head on my bag, keeping her shotgun within arm's reach, while Nanik gathered dry branches for a small fire. The faint, crackling warmth offered a sliver of comfort as I kept watch, eyes scanning the trees. The forest was quiet, save for the distant hoot of an owl.

The shadows seemed to grow thicker with every passing minute, pressing in around us. I found myself clutching Otome’s shotgun a little tighter, straining to hear beyond the gentle crackle of the fire and Nanik’s quiet movements as he adjusted the flames.

Eventually, Nanik settled down beside me, his face calm but focused as his gaze swept over the trees. “We’re close to the border now,” he said softly. “Once she’s rested, we’ll make it out of here.”

I nodded, glancing back at Otome, whose brow was creased even in her sleep, as if she were still fighting some unseen battle.

About what I think was an hour had passed, and it was my turn to keep watch again. The monotony of the task was starting to settle in. The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind or the distant hoot of an owl.

Then, out of the blue, I heard the crunching of leaves—sharp, deliberate, and moving in our direction. My heart leaped into my throat as I unholstered my pistol, disengaged the safety, and prepared for combat. My aim locked onto where the figure would emerge from.

From the underbrush stepped none other than our very own blonde-haired, suit-loving narcissist, Farthington. Right behind him were Victoria and the cerulean-eyed archer, whose name still escaped me.

Victoria immediately rushed forward, her expression fraught with worry. She knelt beside Otome, her hands hovering uselessly over the unconscious woman. “Otome, no! This… this isn’t good Huranti,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe I haven’t learned anything to help with a wound like this. If it gets infected out here, we’re…” She trailed off, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as tears welled in her eyes.

Huranti placed a comforting hand on Victoria’s shoulder, his own gaze solemn. “Victoria,” he said softly, “you’ll learn in time. But for now, we need to rely on what we have.”

Hearing the name sparked recognition in my mind. “Huranti,” I muttered, the name clicking into place. So that’s what he was called.

Victoria barely acknowledged the exchange, her focus entirely on Otome. She was carefully examining the makeshift bandages we’d wrapped around Otome’s leg. “It’s not enough,” she murmured, shaking her head. “We don’t even have clean water. This whole forest… it feels like a breeding ground for infection.”

Huranti looked subdued, folding his arms as he stood behind Victoria. “We’ll find a way,” he said, “Otome’s not the type to go down so easily.”

“We don’t have the luxury of time,” Victoria snapped, her voice breaking. “If we don’t get her somewhere safe soon…”

Huairen stepped forward, glancing between all of us. “We’ll take turns carrying her if we need to. We need to press on and find proper shelter—or at least a clean water source.”

I nodded, holstering my pistol as the tension eased. “Let’s pack up. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Together, we began breaking down the makeshift camp, though Victoria’s quiet lamentations stayed with me. Her guilt was palpable, and for the first time, I realized just how much Otome meant to her mercenaries, they were more like a family than coworkers.