He should be on his way back by now. Marcus thought to himself, hanging up his cloak on the door to their room. The guardhouse had treated the two Sentinels with the utmost hospitality, giving them a guest room usually reserved for higher-ranking military officers.

Marcus was apprehensive. His split-second encounter with Villam was unnerving, and the fact that Kael was out in the city on foot could spell trouble.

The aging Sentinel put his belt—equipped with all of his weapons—under the table, then exited the room. He moved to the washroom, not too far down the hallway. Few guards were still in the house, either sleeping or on night duty. The hallways were too himself.

Marcus closed the door to the washroom behind him, making his way towards the water basin. In front of him, a mirror. The Sentinel noticed he had more gray hairs than when he had arrived in the southern city.

The Sentinel fiddled with the spigot placed above the basin. Tairos was one of the few cities with public spigots providing water throughout its streets; though, the Sentinel wasn’t often sent south.

Water flowed out of the spigot, gathering in the basin below. Marcus cupped his hands and scooped up some of the liquid, then splashed it over his face. As he closed his eyes, his mind wandered to the blood mages, Baron, then Villam. Then he remembered the fires, the city set ablaze. The mother, clutching her children in the corner of a room, was illuminated in the crimson carnage of the city outside. The rage.

Marcus turned the spigot off. He left the washroom and wandered downstairs. On the ground floor, he entered the kitchen. Usually filled with a staff, the kitchen lay empty. Marcus shuffled through the cupboards, eventually finding the mugs. He picked one out and moved over to the water barrel, then filled his mug.

The Sentinel took a sip. A thud sounded in the distance. Marcus startled. He placed the mug down, then moved out into the hallway, listening for more sounds.

It was ever-so-quiet, yet just loud enough for Marcus to hear. Footsteps. Not the heavy footsteps produced by guards wearing loads of gear, light footsteps, footsteps meant not to be heard.

The Sentinel instinctively reached for his belt; his arms grazed over his tunic. He was unarmed. His eyes darted towards the hallway leading to the stairs.

The footsteps were trailing towards his direction. The Sentinel figured to make his way back towards the room. In the chance that this person came with malicious intent, he had to be armed.

Marcus stepped out of the kitchen, scanning the hallway. No one. He crept towards the stairway. The footsteps stopped in the room beside him. He stopped. A bead of sweat trailed down from his temple. The Sentinel cursed his heart for beating so loudly, eying the opening in the hallway where the sound could come out of.

He couldn’t stand there forever; he had to move. Marcus slowly took another step towards the stairs. Another thud sounded, this one more threatening than the last.

Instinct gripped Marcus by the ribcage. He jumped forward towards the stairs. The wall that was beside him only moments previously blew open. The Sentinel turned around. Dust was everywhere, clouding the crash.

He did not need to stay to find out what was happening. Marcus scrambled to his feet and rushed upstairs.

“Help!” Marcus shouted at the top of his lungs. “Someone’s broken inside!” His room was just ahead.

Footsteps sounded from below the staircase, rushing upwards at a frightening pace. He wouldn’t make it in time; Marcus braced for impact, covering his head. The footsteps were right behind him.

A powerful force crashed into his side. His feet left the ground. The sound of glass shattering was followed by rain splashing on his skin. The Sentinel was outside.

Marcus opened his eyes, trying to make sense of the scene around him. He was above the street, up in the air. He looked for something to grab. He spotted the rain cover by the building he had just been in. The Sentinel reached out. The cloth was slippery, and the rain was no help.

He dug his fingers into the rain cover, gripping for dear life. His body swung into the wooden building, crashing into it. He let go. The Sentinel scraped on the walls desperately as he fell to the ground.

The impact wasn’t too awful. His hip took the brunt of the impact; however, pain succeeded survival. Marcus didn’t waste a breath; he ran off.

As he sprinted through the rainy streets, his pursuer landed behind him. Following him with superhuman speed. He needed a way to mitigate the speed difference. He’d landed on an alleyway on the other side of the guardhouse, opposite to the entrance where more people would have been roaming the streets. To his left, a small shop had been closed up.

Marcus stopped and smashed his foot through the window of the store beside him. Slight tingles of pain shot through his leg. Blood doubled the rate at which his pants were getting wet. He jumped into the shattered window. The rain had stopped; he was inside.

He brought himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg from glass shards most likely still wedged in his flesh. The room was dark; however, Marcus’s eyes had plenty of time to adjust to the night.

He spotted a counter and nimbly jumped behind it. Another crash. A piece of wood pelted against the wall in front of him. He quickly scanned the counter and the wall he was hiding in. Several vials of liquids and powders lay on the wall in front of him. An apothecary. “Show your face,” a young male voice called out, “you can’t hide forever.”

Marcus grabbed a vial that lay under the counter. Vesuvis. A sedative.

“Are you behind the counter?” the man asked. Marcus made a mental note of where he stood.

The Sentinel took a short breath, then shot up. His eyes instantly registered the target. A cloaked figure stood behind him, a hole where the wall used to exist.

The man instantly charged. Marcus hurled the vial in his direction. The assailant put an arm out to block the projectile. The vial hit him and shattered, covering him in liquid. He grunted and stopped, covering his eyes.

Marcus assiduously reached for vials laid on the wall behind the counter, pelting each one at the stalled pursuer.

“Coward,” the man cursed, moving forward while keeping an arm across his eyes.

Marcus hopped over the counter and sprinted towards the blinded man. The Sentinel swung his arm into the man’s head, making contact at the elbow. The figure toppled over, hitting the ground violently.

Marcus quickly observed the fallen foe. A burst of adrenaline flooded him. He kicked the man in the face. Pain rang through his foot; it felt as if he had connected with a stone. Blood magic. The man grabbed his ankle. Marcus struggled to get free, cursing his impulsive action.

Suddenly, he was on his back. The blood mage pulled his ankle, closing the distance between the two. Marcus felt an arm grip his throat. Monstrously strong. His vision was already clouding. The Sentinel desperately felt around with his hand, feeling the blood mage’s cloak. His fingers ran across a hilt. Without hesitation, he grabbed the hilt and brought his hand towards his throat.

The grip loosened. His vision returned. Liquid splashed on his face.

“Fuck!” the man cursed.

Marcus took the opportunity and rolled away. Getting back to his feet. The man rose as well, clutching a bleeding arm. The Sentinel realized he was still gripping the dagger. He held it in front of him.

The man’s face was more visible, he had cleared the liquid off his face, eyes bloodshot and raged.

Marcus readied himself for another clash. The man took a step forward, then stopped. The blood mage gripped his face, letting out a pained bellow. His head jerked away from Marcus and into the street. 

The blood mage turned back to Marcus. “Take my word: I will kill you.”

Marcus was too tuned to respond. He kept his grip on the blade tight. The blood mage turned back towards the street, then sprinted out of the hole he had made while entering.

The Sentinel slowed his aggressive breathing, realizing the fight was over. His grip on the dagger loosened until it fell to his side. A door behind him opened. He darted around. A middle-aged man, perhaps in his fifties, stood shocked in the doorway. His eyes moved from the Sentinel and the hole in his wall.

“W-what do you want?” the shop-owner asked, clearly rattled.

Marcus blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. He realized he was in someone’s establishment. He took a deep breath, calming himself down. “There…there was an incident. I’m sorry. I’ll be back, I promise.” The Sentinel didn’t waste another word and ran out of the hole in the wall.

If they found him, could they have found Kael?