Patch of Druid-Chapter 14 – The Escape

Alex woke up to the sensation of someone tugging hard at his arm. In the darkness, he heard Lyra's quiet but firm whisper.

"Get up. Now. We only have one chance."

Blinking in confusion, he tried to focus on her face. In the faint moonlight seeping through the barred window, he could only make out the outline of her silhouette—slender, tense, ready to move. In her hand, something glinted—a ring of keys.

Alex's heart sped up, a shiver of excitement and fear running down his spine.

"Where did you get those?" he whispered, sitting up.

"I stole them from a guard during that scuffle in the yard," she replied, crisp and direct. Alex remembered how she had grabbed the guard's belt as she fell.

"Come on. We don't have time."

He stood without a word, legs trembling slightly with tension. Lyra moved to the cell door, testing one of the keys in the lock. The metal groaned softly, but the mechanism gave way without resistance. She shut the door again behind her and motioned for Alex to step closer.

"We need to call the guard," she whispered, locking eyes with him. "As soon as he comes in, shut the door behind him. I'll take care of the rest."

Alex swallowed hard, nodding. They moved into position. Lyra called for the guard, loud and urgent. Footsteps echoed down the corridor—heavy and confident. The guard stepped inside, and Alex slammed the door shut behind him, nearly colliding with the man in the dark.

Before the guard could shout, Lyra sprang from the shadows and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, and in an instant she was on his back, one arm snaking around his neck, the other locking it in place.

Alex watched in frozen shock as she began to choke the man. Her face was cold, merciless, her movements precise and fluid like a predator. The guard thrashed violently, trying to break free, but Lyra didn't let up. His face turned purple. After a minute, his body went limp.

She rolled him over and searched him quickly. Then, without hesitation, she drew his dagger and slit his throat.

Alex froze, stunned by the cold efficiency with which she ended the man's life. She glanced at him only briefly—her eyes showing nothing but steel-hard resolve.

"Search him," she ordered calmly, still catching her breath.

Alex obeyed without a word. The guard had a few coins, his uniform, and not much else. He suggested taking the clothes, but Lyra shook her head.

"They'll only slow us down."

His heart pounded wildly as they ran into the dark, damp corridor beyond the cell.

They crept along the estate walls, nearly invisible in the shadows. Soon they spotted two guards near a side exit. Lyra raised a hand, signaling Alex to stop. Her body coiled, ready to spring. Then she moved forward—silent as a ghost.

She struck the first guard from behind. Her hands locked around his head and yanked it sharply to the side. There was a faint, sickening crack. He collapsed wordlessly to the ground.

The second turned just in time to see her rushing him. She smashed his head against the stone wall. As he staggered, she drew the dagger from his belt and plunged it into his throat.

Once. Then again. And again.

Each thrust was swift and lethal. She left the dagger buried in his neck.

The man staggered back, choking, his hands clawing at the hilt. Blood and foam spilled from his mouth. His eyes filled with raw, unfiltered fear—not pain—just terror.

He sank to his knees, fighting for air, but his struggle ended seconds later as he slumped lifelessly onto the ground.

Lyra stepped back, her breathing ragged. Blood soaked her hands up to the wrists. Her face was stone—cold and unreadable.

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Alex stood still, heart hammering in his chest, barely able to process what he had seen. She rifled through their belongings, taking what weapons and supplies she could.

"Move," she said sharply, seeing his hesitation.

Before escaping further, they raided the kitchen—dark and thick with the scent of spices and bread. They snatched dried meat, a few loaves, and extra water skins. Adrenaline burned away Alex's exhaustion.

Finally, they reached the gate to the sewers—heavy, iron, rusted. Lyra picked the lock quickly. They slipped into the damp darkness below and sealed the gate behind them.

Alex looked at her with awe and fear. For the first time, he understood: Lyra wasn't just a fellow prisoner. She wasn't a victim or a broken soul.

She was lethal. Calculated. Dangerous.

And if anyone—including him—ended up on the wrong end of her blade, they wouldn't stand a chance.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something—ask, confess, maybe just release the fear clawing at his chest—but Lyra stepped closer and pressed a finger gently to his lips.

Her touch was cool, firm—and uncomfortably intimate. The closeness, the damp clothes, the moonlit shadows—all of it froze him in place. Her eyes held no warning, only perfect focus.

Don't speak.

That's when they heard voices.

Through the cracks in the tunnel ceiling, muffled shouting echoed down.

"There are tracks by the gate!" someone yelled.

"They ran toward the city! Sound the alarm!" barked another, deeper voice.

Heavy boots clanged above. They paused near the grate where moonlight filtered in. Alex held his breath. Lyra crouched beside him, her finger still on his lips.

"Nothing here. Just rats and piss. No one would go into the sewers—it's suicide." One of the guards spat through the grate. The splatter landed with a soft plop near their hiding spot.

"Check the outskirts. They've probably made it to the slums."

The voices faded. The boots moved on. Silence returned to the sewer.

Only the drip of water and their quiet breathing proved they were still alive.

Finally, Lyra pulled her hand away. Her gaze lingered on Alex a moment longer, as if to make sure he understood.

They hadn't been followed.

No one imagined that anyone would steal the keys and willingly vanish into the reeking, dark belly of the underworld.