The moon hung low over the outskirts of the Trade Realm, casting silver light across fields that stretched into the darkness. The group paused, catching their breath, muscles stiff, bruises aching, chains long forgotten.
The man settled onto the grass, wincing as he moved. "We need to take stock," he rasped. "Who's hurt worse, and who can keep moving?"
Kairo moved among the children, crimson eyes scanning each one. He subtly adjusted bones where needed—wrists, ankles, knees—ensuring no one stumbled from strain or fatigue. The faintest smile touched his lips as the children realized the pain easing without injury.
Igron lounged a little apart, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Not bad, healer boy," he said quietly. "Though I suppose you'll need more than bone magic to outrun the mistress once she finds out."
The children exchanged nervous glances, the weight of their escape settling on them.
Meanwhile, far across the Trade Realm, the surviving nobles gathered in anger. Their pride shattered, their plans undone, they bickered over who was to blame. Finally, one raised a hand, shaking with fury.
"We will find them," he declared. "And we will pay whatever it takes. Whoever captures those children—and that boy—will be handsomely rewarded."
A new tension filled the air, heavier than the night breeze. Word of a bounty spread quickly, whispers of gold and influence reaching ears beyond the estate. Hunters, mercenaries, and opportunists would soon fan out, seeking the escapees.
Back in the moonlit fields, Kairo's crimson eyes reflected both determination and calculation. Chains were broken, bones had bent—but now the real trial began. The world would come for them, and he would have to be ready.
Igron's smirk widened. "Looks like the fun is just getting started."