1. Run


I am running.

My feet pitter-patter on the cracked, crooked cobblestones of Velder, the sound amplified by my fear. I wheeze, my breath coming out in loud huffs that are for me to hide.

If only, if only, if only…

My chest is on fire. I contemplate whether I should attempt to teleport or not but decide not to. In my current state of exhaustion, I'd most likely lose a limb doing that, as simple as teleportation is.

I turn into the next dark corner, praying to any god out there that it isn't a dead end.

It's not.

So I keep running, footsteps and breath echoing through the narrow alley, ignoring the burn of lactic acid in my legs.

"Come out, young Elemental Master." The humanoid voice resounds loudly in the tight space, worsening my building headache.

I curse to myself.

If only, if only, if only…

I turn the next corner.

Lady Luck must have been on my side these past few minutes. Navigating the convoluted streets of Velder in the dark is probably not the smartest idea I've had. I have lost all sense of direction ever since I began running.

I can sense the Nasod only a few paces behind me. Her Nasodian night vision doesn't slow down her ability to move in the limited light. The moonlight reflects off her long, silver hair, illuminating her head like a halo.

Only, she isn't an angel, though her title may suggest the opposite.

She seems to be accelerating, silently, calmly gliding over the uneven street, not a bead of sweat to be seen or a strand of hair out of place. The sour taste of bile rose in my throat as panic completely took over my brain.

I push as hard as I can, unable to tell whether I am going faster or slower. Left, right, straight, dart right into another unlit street…

If only, if only, if only…

There's no hope for me after this, not after all the stealing and fires I set. There's a bounty on my head worth more than a billion ED.

Wanted dead or alive.

I can die right here, and no one will care. I am a fugitive with a death sentence over my head.

Because I tried to do something good.

If only, if only, if only…

I squeeze my eyes shut, blindly running. I turn the next corner and duck into an even narrower path.

And this is where my luck ends.

A wall I could have easily teleported over if I were at my full strength looms overhead, like a giant threatening to crush peasants underfoot.

My knees buckle, and I can feel vomit rising to my mouth.

This is it.

This is the end.

If only, if only, if only…

Perhaps I made too many turns too quickly for the patient Nasod. In my exhaustion, I wouldn't be able to escape far. The last time I dared to look at her, she had been gliding along the road at a leisurely pace, her face completely expressionless as I stared into her eyes.

I hug the bundle I was carrying closer to myself, feeling the sharp corners bite into my flesh. Tears spring to my eyes.

Is it worth it? Is it worth throwing away my life for this?

I am drowning in despair. I reach out, hoping to swim safely to the island of relief.

And I grab something.

A figure wearing a dark cloak forcibly drags me out from my stupor, out of the murky waters of despair.

My mind is so fried that I instinctively follow the stranger.

After all, if this stranger were after the bounty on my head, wouldn't I be dead by now?

I see no sign of the Nasod girl as we weave through narrow corridors of filth, steps squelching softly but muffled. The sharp, rancid stench of garbage hits my nose, causing my eyes to water even more. We are in the slums, and, by this point, I am so exhausted that the cloaked figure is half-dragging me toward our destination.

We are silent, one a fugitive, the other a mystery. Both cloaked in shadow and hidden by darkness.

Or so I hope.

We finally arrive at a dilapidated building, roof missing and bricks falling apart. The wooden front door is rotten to the point where there is nearly nothing left on the hinges, a result of a termite feast. But we aren't entering through the front door, or what is left of it. The figure feels around the ground for a bit before opening a hidden entrance.

I peer inside, seeing nothing but a ladder descending toward more darkness. I shiver, unable to see how far it drops.

"Go!" the figure says in a harsh whisper. Whoever it is nearly shoves me down in haste.

The voice is a young male's, probably teenager or so. I quickly comply. At least I would have a few extra minutes to live if he were to kill me.

Lower and lower I go. I can't see what's below or what's above. No light streams down and I step further and further down each rung. I can hear him doing the same thing, but I can't tell how far away he is.

The air is musty and stale here with a touch of humidity from what seems to be the sewers, untouched by everything but the ever-suffocating darkness. My mouth is dry, and I am still panting from exhaustion.

After what seems like hours, we finally reach the bottom. We're probably under the sewage system now; it is still cool and dry despite the long climb.

The cloaked figure takes off his dark hood, revealing a shock of spikey, blond hair. He turns back and stares at my disheveled state, purple hair springing in all directions and panic-filled violet eyes, his blue eyes emotionless. My clothes are filthy. He takes a long stare at the bundle in my hands, and I tighten my grip even more, my knuckles pale and protruding.

"Come."

I follow him through the tunnel, and the silence continues. We come to a door, barely noticeable in the dim lighting. Unless you know what you were looking for, it would be impossible to find.

He pushes a brick and the door slides open silently, despite its heaviness. He holds the door open for me, and I scramble inside.

The door closes menacingly, and I am alone with this stranger.

"If you're going to kill me now, do it." My voice sounds like sandpaper running against rusty metal, dissonant and weak. I swallow, but my throat is still parched. I am trembling all over, so I tighten my hold on my bundle even more to quell the shaking.

He gives me another long, silent stare.

I look around, my eyes shifting nervously. The room is spacious and neat. In one corner, there is a cot, made up as best as it could be under circumstances. A worktable is on the corner of the room, the tools meticulously organized and the current project covered in a dust-repelling cloth. A mass of weapons and armor take up another corner of the room. And in the last corner…

Books.

A whole shelf of books. Some dog-eared, some brand new, some foreign.

I fall to my knees in relief, dropping the bundle on the ground. I hang my head down, shoulders trembling as I cry.

The stranger carefully walks over, a cup of water in his hands. He places it next to me before looking through the contents of the bundle I carried.

My hands shake violently as I grab the cup. I gulp down the water so fast I nearly choke.

"They're all spellbooks," I whisper to him.

He nods, flipping through the pages of the old tomes I stole. The pages are filled with drawings of runes and equations, each one representing a different enchantment that only skilled mages could read. I watch as his eyes scan across the pages, but there is no flicker of comprehension.

Disappointment flashes through my mind for a few seconds. I quickly squash it down.

Here is a stranger in the same boat as I am.

Here is a stranger whom I may find aid in.

Here is a stranger willing to help a fugitive.

Here is a stranger who is also a fugitive.

In my mind, something clicks, and my pensive looks turn into one of awe. Inwardly, I bash my head against a wall.

"You're from Hamel! You're Prince S—"

He cuts me off. "No," he says curtly, "I am Chung. Just Chung."

"Oh." And immediately, I understand.

When Hamel fell and Elrios was taken over, books were banned. Any new knowledge has to be approved by the new ruler before it reaches us. Anyone who tries to save a book is labeled a rebel and killed instantly.

At least, anyone who hasn't been brainwashed yet.

He, the Tactical Trooper, and I, the Elemental Master, both lost part of ourselves when books became censored. A big chunk of our lives was stolen, just like the books I carry with me.

"Thank you, Chung."

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

And I know I have the same expression on my face.


A/N: Decided to try something new. Different tense, different POV. Yeah, I know I'm late with updates on my other story, but it's half-done. I just couldn't get this idea out of my head, and it haunted me for a while.

Perhaps this will become a Chung x Aisha fic. -Instantly gets shot-

Oh, well. Read, review, and stay awesome.

Edited 06/03/2014