# Chapter 805: The Escape and the Oath
The rope bit into the raw, burned skin around Nyra's waist, a searing counterpoint to the agony that already flared across her back and legs. Each jolt as she was hauled upward sent fresh waves of fire through her nerves. The world was a blur of grey stone, swirling ash, and the incandescent fury of the Cinder-Storm consuming the monastery behind her. The roar was a physical thing, a pressure that vibrated in her bones and threatened to shatter her teeth. She twisted in the harness, a desperate, useless motion, her eyes straining to see through the maelstrom. The battlements where she had left them were gone, devoured by a vortex of black and violet energy that pulsed with the malevolent heartbeat of the Withering King. Kaelen. Cassian. Their names were a silent scream in her mind, lost to the storm.
Her ascent ended abruptly as strong hands seized her arms, pulling her over the parapet and onto solid ground. She collapsed, the impact driving a choked cry from her lips. The air here was clearer, though still thick with the scent of ozone and burning stone, but the immediate threat of the pyre was gone. A familiar, sharp voice cut through the ringing in her ears.
"Stabilize her. Now."
Nyra forced her eyes open. Talia Ashfor knelt beside her, her face a mask of cold efficiency, her Sable League leathers immaculate despite the chaos. Two other operatives, their faces grim and set, worked quickly. One uncapped a tube of cooling gel, the sudden chill a shocking relief against the burns on her arms. The other pressed a water flask to her cracked lips.
"Drink," Talia commanded, her tone leaving no room for refusal. "You're dehydrated and going into shock. Save the heroics for someone who can afford them."
Nyra tried to push herself up, her muscles screaming in protest. "We have to go back," she gasped, the words scraping her throat. "The others… Cassian is still down there. Kaelen…"
Talia's hand on her shoulder was firm, unyielding. "There is no 'back,' Nyra. The extraction point is compromised. The mission parameters have changed. Our objective is now survival. Yours." She gestured toward the rope, which was already being cut from its anchor. "Anyone left on that side of the wall is already lost."
"No!" The denial was raw, torn from a place of pure desperation. She clawed at the stone, trying to get a better view, to see some sign, some miracle. "You don't understand. Cassian is the Prince! He's the key!"
"He made his choice," Talia said, her voice flat, devoid of sympathy. "As did Kaelen Vor. Their function was to create this window. We will not waste it." She nodded to her team. "Move her. We have two minutes before the Inquisitors' flank guard circles the wall."
They hauled Nyra to her feet, her legs buckling beneath her. The world swam in a haze of pain and ash. She was a dead weight, a liability, and every fiber of her being rebelled against it. She had started this, she had walked into the lion's den, and now she was being carried away like spoils while her friends paid the price. It was a bitter, acid taste in her mouth, worse than the smoke.
They were halfway to the pre-planned descent point on the outer wall when a figure burst from the stairwell, moving with a speed and desperation that belied his exhaustion. It was Cassian. His fine clothes were torn and spattered with blood, his face a mask of soot and grim determination. A deep gash on his forehead wept crimson down one temple. He carried no shield, only his sword, its blade nicked and darkened with use.
"Talia! Hold!" he yelled, his voice hoarse.
The Sable League operatives froze, their hands flying to their weapons. Talia's eyes narrowed. "Your Highness. You are compromising the extraction."
"Screw the extraction," Cassian snarled, closing the distance between them in three long strides. He ignored the operatives, his gaze locking onto Nyra. "They're breaking through. Kaelen is holding the main stair, but he can't last. The storm… it's not just fire. It's eating the stone. The whole wall is coming down."
He reached her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, the prince was gone, replaced by the young man she had met in the Ladder, the one who hated his gilded cage. "I can't hold them for long," he said, his voice dropping to a raw, urgent whisper. "Go. Finish what you started. For all of us."
Before she could respond, he fumbled at his gauntlet, tearing at the leather straps. With a sharp tug, he pulled a heavy signet ring from his finger. It was gold, intricately carved with the crest of the Crownlands—a lion rampant, clutching a river. He pressed it into her palm, the metal still warm from his skin. It felt impossibly heavy, a weight of kingdoms and promises.
"This is more than a ring," he said, his eyes burning with an intensity that rivaled the storm behind him. "It's a warrant. It's a key. It's a declaration. Show this to any Warden, any loyalist in the Crownlands. It tells them their Prince has named you his voice in his absence. It tells them the Concord is broken."
Nyra's fingers closed around the ring, the sharp edges of the crest digging into her skin. "Cassian, no. Come with us."
A faint, sad smile touched his lips. "My path ends here, Nyra. My father will never forgive this, and Valerius will never stop. My only chance to do some good is to make sure you get away. To make sure this wasn't all for nothing." He looked past her, at Talia. "Get her out. Take her to the rendezvous. And tell Soren…" He hesitated, the name catching in his throat. "Tell him he was right about everything."
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned and ran back the way he came, a lone figure sprinting into the heart of the inferno. The Sable League team didn't hesitate. They dragged Nyra the remaining distance to the outer wall, where another rope was already coiled and ready. The wind howled, and the very stone beneath their feet trembled.
"Go!" Talia ordered, practically shoving Nyra toward the edge.
Nyra looked back one last time. She saw the stairwell Cassian had disappeared into. A moment later, a tide of Inquisitors in their black-and-silver armor poured out, their faces contorted with fanatical rage. And then, he was there. Cassian stood alone in the archway, his sword a blur of silver as he met the first of them. He moved with a grace and ferocity she had never seen, a whirlwind of steel and defiance. He parried, thrust, and spun, a one-man army against a sea of enemies. An Inquisitor lunged, and Cassian sidestepped, his blade finding a gap in the man's armor. Another fell, then a third. He was a king making his last stand, not for a throne, but for his friends.
They buckled the harness around her, and she felt the sickening lurch as they began to lower her down the outer face of the monastery. The wind whipped her hair across her face, stinging her eyes. She couldn't tear her gaze away. He was still fighting, a solitary point of light against the encroaching darkness. She saw him take a step back, then another, forced to yield ground. He was a beacon, a sacrifice, and the sight of it burned itself into her memory, a brand of fire and blood.
The ground rushed up to meet her. She landed hard, her legs giving out completely. Talia and her team slid down ropes behind her, landing with practiced ease. The moment they touched down, they were moving, half-carrying, half-dragging Nyra across the open ground toward the shadowed ruins of a nearby district.
"Keep moving!" Talia barked, her voice sharp with urgency. "The storm is expanding. We need to be under cover before the main wave hits."
Nyra risked one final glance over her shoulder. The monastery was no longer a structure but a pillar of screaming energy, a vortex of black lightning and disintegrating stone. And at its base, where the stairwell had been, there was nothing. The tide of Inquisitors had vanished, consumed. The last stand of Prince Cassian was over.
The cold weight of the signet ring in her hand was the only proof it had ever happened. It was a promise. An oath. She would not let his sacrifice be in vain. She would not let any of their sacrifices be in vain. The pain in her body was nothing compared to the fire that now burned in her soul. They had escaped, but the war had just begun.