Blaise burst through a window of the High Tower of Rains Shadow, out into the clear, cold night. Pieces of sharp glass fell around him, sparkling like stars, as he landed onto the cobblestone street and began to run again. He would not be safe until he was well out of the vicinity.

Arrows whizzed through the air, narrowly missing him, their sticky tips embedding themselves firmly into the ground. Blaise dodged the spikes and gracefully leapt over the counter of an empty vegetable stand which was situated next to the others on the town's main street. Thoroughfares like this one were more marketplaces than streets--the close proximity of the booths here made it nearly impassable to anyone not on foot. He turned eastward down a dark alleyway, where the soldiers would hopefully lose his trail. They didn't. Arrows continued to fall from the sky.

Footsteps sounded behind him as he wove in and out, trying to stay clear of the arrows and dodge wooden barrels and crates. Faster and faster he ran, but there were still people gaining. Blaise recognized two Rvyni Racers appear on either side of him, running effortlessly; each of them were operating discs that enhanced their physical speed. The pair held long, jagged knives and they were closing in on him fast, trying to cut him off so that they could slash his throat.

Blaise knew exactly how to deal with them. He stopped running abruptly, leaving the Racers running away in the direction he had been going. Then Blaise looked behind him, and someone crashed into him.

He was tossed several feet before both he and his attacker hit the ground. Another Racer. They were fast, but also deadly silent.

The Racer landed on top of Blaise, pinning him to the ground. Immediately he felt a fist connect with his jaw, and another with his gut. Pain blossomed in both places, but it was dull and throbbing. Blaise had felt pain like this before, and he was thankful this one hadn't been carrying a sharp weapon.

He jabbed his kneecap upwards into the Racer's stomach for a brief distraction, and took hold of the other man's arms. Then, he twisted. The Racer cried out in pain, as the bone in his right arm snapped. Blaise wiggled out of the injured Racer's grip, then shoved his body off of him. Everything had happened in an instant, and thankfully, the others had not caught up yet.

Blaise leapt away, down a perpendicular alley. But there, a squadron of archers was waiting with their backs turned, as if they were expecting him from another direction. The Racers most likely were sent to herd me into these back alleys. Where they could shoot me down cleanly.

The screams of the injured Racer suddenly caught their attention, and the archers all spun around in unison. Blaise dived behind a large wooden cart, just before a a round of arrows was loosed. Some of the bolts hit the cart in front of him so hard that they went all the way through, becoming embedded in the wood. He blinked as one in particular came centimeters away from his head, then he backed up. This was his chance to go--while they were reloading. He exited that alley from the direction he came.

This escape was talking far too long, if Blaise kept this up, he might actually be cut down by these people. It would be a sad end for someone like him--to have lived for so long and die from the arrow of a common soldier. It was not a worthy death. Although, no death was worthy of him.

It took little effort for Blaise to find the archive of the disc that he needed. He was experienced in disc-operation, probably as experienced as one could get in life, and this was no exception. This one Blaise had named Flyer--he like simple names. Though this disc hardly allowed him to fly, it seemed that way sometimes when he used it.

Blaise, running through another wide alley, mentally grabbed the disc, forcing its panel to light up, always hovering just a finger-span over his left hand, moving with the pumping of his arms. Vivid turquoise light from the panel lit up both walls of the alley and reflected off of the slightly damp cobblestone street...this would be like a beacon to the archers who were chasing him. That didn't matter. He would escape before then.

Blaise pushed off from the pavement just as a new barrage of arrows struck where he had been running just moments before. Thing! Thing! Thing! The night air swallowed him and he soared high up above the slate roof of the building tangent to the alley, and he landed nimbly, glancing down. The Rvyni soldiers still ran. Some of them stayed behind, returning a gaze, probably wondering why he--a human--was able to operate a disc with such skill. Blaise grinned and patted the lacquered box at his waist, his fingers feeling strength the seal.

"Up there!" One of the captains yelled, pointing to Blaise with his crossbow. He fired, but Blaise was already gone, leaping away from rooftop to rooftop.

Rains Shadow was filled with backstreets and alleyways. It was a cramped city compared to most, but that made it all the more ideal for escape. Blaise flew easily through the air, hopping over chimneys and decorative spikes. Even the steeply-sloped roofs were not a problem for him--as soon as he touched down, Blaise was off again, with no time to slip or loose his footing. That was the beauty of this particular disc. He felt so light and nimble that he could almost do anything.

The bats followed him, flying around in an immense cloud, as if shielding him the the eyes of his pursuers. It was a glorious moment, though, his formerly secretive escape plans had been, unfortunately, spoiled. Over the centuries he had become a legend in some places, mostly due to his antics with the bats. That, and the fact that he seemed to be an immortal. Thankfully that was the reason why most dismissed him as a myth, and not a single person alive knew who he truly was, or what his true motives were. Sometimes even Blaise struggled to remember.

Just as he neared the city's walls, Blaise felt something around his ankle in midair. With a jerk, he was spun, and pulled down to the ground, hard. His Flyer fizzled away as he lost concentration on the patterns he was supposed to be pressing to keep him airborne.

The next thing he remembered was landing in something soft, like sand. He rolled and fell again, a short distance, to the icy cold cobblestone ground. What luck. A crate of grain. Blaise got to his feet, ready to take off again. Then he noticed a tugging on his foot again.

A single archer held end of the rope that was wound around Blaise's ankle. In the other hand, he held a crossbow. Caught.

The lone archer watched him, his weapon pulled taught, ready to fire. But, upon further observation, it wasn't a man at all. The Rveni woman had piercing orange eyes, flaring with anger, and midnight black hair which was cut short in the back. Her lips were curled back, revealing clenched white teeth. It was a miracle he could see so well in the dark.

Blaise raised both arms in a gesture of surrender.

She loosed.

Blaise reached into his mind for another disc and shoved it forward into view. Instantly, violet light sprang up around him in a hurricane of power, ricocheting off the walls of the empty alley. His fingers moved in an instinctual pattern. Forces tying him to the ground warped in the air--the arrow would not be propelled any further. But something was wrong. The light grew brighter until it seemed to bulge--reaching a peak--and was all at once let loose in a magnificent explosion of heat and energy and light and sound.

Wind pummeled his chest, throwing him backwards about fifty paces into the stone wall of a townhouse. Blaise felt his back snap and his head beat hard against the stone. He smelt thick smoke, and the odor of burning hair, but his mind felt like it was in a daze. The world around him was thick and slow, as if everything had been submerged in water. He felt unusually clear-headed, almost like he had just bathed.

The entire alley in which Blaise had been standing in was now a ruin. The dirt ground was hollowed out into a slight crater, and wooden rubble was strewn everywhere from the exploded grain barrels. Purple mist dripped down the blackened stone walls on either side of the alleyway. The Rvyni woman and the rest of the archers were nowhere to be seen.

What happened? Blaise wondered. It was only a moment later when he remembered...and a feeling of physical sickness grew in his stomach. He wanted to vomit.

With an unsteady hand, Blaise reached to the hard metal box at his side, and he felt a cold bar of iron where there should have been smoothness. The shaft of the woman's arrow had pierced straight through the case. He could feel shards of glass under his finger tips...shattered discs.

There was no time to inspect the damage now. Blaise repressed a shiver and leapt to his feet, a maneuver which turned out more like a forceful stumble. He groaned from the pain in is back, and turned and ran as best as he could. That was when screams and shouts erupted from behind him. The archers would come after him.

Instinctively, Blasie reached for a disc, but his head felt barren like an empty cup. Running, he searched and scrambled and found two. Only two had been spared. But which two?

Speed. He would be able to surpass, or at least match, the Racers. What luck! Blaise thought, bringing up the disc.

Once again, he began to run. Toward the canal.

***

Blaise never liked swimming, but, he did like living. Archers and Racers couldn't follow him while he was underwater.

It was difficult now. His back hurt. His side hurt. His jaw hurt. Somehow he had mustered up enough energy to force himself to swim upstream along the canal. The canal would be a certain way out. At this time of night, the city gates were most likely closed.

Blaise emerged from the water and gasped for breath. He was dripping wet, and very uncomfortable. But for now, he was outside of the city--safe.

A deep cut along his arm--which Blaise hadn't noticed before--was dripping blood onto his trousers. Blaise ripped off a bit of his undershirt and bound the wound; it would probably leave a good sized scar. He had more scars than he could count on his body. When you have lived for over four thousand years, your body becomes covered in scars. This one would be small compared to some of the others.

Suddenly, he felt strange, as if he was growing taller. The feeling--the shimmering--lasted only a brief moment, then it was gone. The disc! He fumbled at the black lacquered box at his waist, the metal bolt still driven through it. Blaise cracked the seal--only he knew how--and carefully lifted the hinged lid.

It was true. There had been six discs in there, and now, four of them were completely shattered. He would never be able to operate them again. Thankfully, he arrow bolt had pierced the box at a slant, which had spared the two discs at the back. Blaise ignored the broken discs and gently removed the most important one--his own Eternity Disc. The one that extended his life.

Blaise took in a shaky breath, and his stomach felt like he just swallowed cold rocks. There, on the memorite of the disc, were three crooked fissures. The thing wasn't broken...yet...but it was heavily damaged, meaning it most likely would not work properly. That, could be dangerous. Had he already felt the effects of the damage just a moment ago?

Blaise wanted to scream. He wanted to just die right there. What could he do with a broken Eternity Disc? Certainly it would be too dangerous to keep it in his box, no matter how gentle he went about his business. Would he have to confine himself to a cave somewhere for the rest of time? The disc looked too fragile to take any kind of bump or hit. And what if the disc became unstable? What if it stopped keeping him young?

He cradled the cracked Eternity Disc in his hands like it was the most precious thing in the world, and slowly stood, leaving the glass pieces of the broken discs to fall from the open box. Blaise didn't even care that his undamaged speed-enhancing disc fell too, and shattered. Nothing mattered as much as his Eternity Disc. Nothing. He held his very life force in his hands.