The world tilted and spun in Radahn's vision as he staggered through the shadowed halls of Raya Lucaria. His foot caught the base of a bust, and his weight sent it crashing to the floor. The marble figure of his aunt Rellana shattered into countless pieces, sharp fragments scattering across the tiles, some embedding themselves in his leg.
Radahn dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached for the larger shards. His fingers closed around the statue's eye—intact, staring back at him with the familiar piercing gaze of his mother. He froze, his breath catching in his throat before the shard slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground. He flung himself backward, the sharp scent of blood mingling with the dust of the broken stone as his body collapsed onto the crumpled carpet beneath him.
He couldn't stay. The thought consumed him. Radahn pushed himself to his feet, his balance swaying like a ship on a stormy sea. The pain in his leg from the embedded glass barely registered. All that mattered was escape—away from the suffocating walls, the memories of his mother's rage, and the remnants of her expectations.
His steps were heavy, erratic. Each time he stumbled, his hands gripped the walls to steady himself, leaving bloody smears on the cold stone. Blood dripped from the wound on his forehead, clouding his vision and staining the vibrant blue and red carpet beneath him. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, the smear of crimson streaking across his face, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
The halls stretched endlessly before him, but Radahn kept running, his breath ragged and his chest heaving. He didn't care where he went—only that it was far, far away from his mother's domain.
Radahn finally reached the underground lift, the heavy iron mechanism groaning as it waited for him. He didn't hesitate, leaping onto the stone platform and nearly losing his footing as it swayed beneath his weight. The pulleys churned noisily, the chains rattling as the lift descended, carrying him deeper into the caves beneath the academy.
The dim, bluish glow of glintstone veins spread across the walls, casting eerie light as they surrounded him. Radahn's jaw tightened, and he bit his tongue, the bitter taste of blood filling his mouth. These stones—these wretched symbols of his failure—mocked him, their cold luminescence a cruel reminder of the magic he couldn't master.
As the lift jolted to a stop, Radahn stumbled off, his boots hitting the earth with a thud. The cool air of the underground wrapped around him, heavy with the scent of damp stone and faintly burning glintstone. He knew where he needed to go—the underchapel. At this hour, it would be unguarded, a perfect passage to slip through unnoticed. From there, he could head to Gate Town, where a horse—any horse—would suffice. One no one would miss. One that could carry him far from here.
He hauled himself forward, crossing the swaying rope bridge that spanned a yawning chasm. The wood creaked beneath his boots, the ropes groaning as he gripped the handrail tightly. Each step was unsteady, his bloodied hands smearing the ropes as he clenched them for balance. The bridge swayed with every movement, but Radahn pressed on, his gaze fixed on the faint glow of the chapel ahead.
"Prince Radahn! Where are you going?" Ogha's voice bellowed from the top of the lift, booming through the cavern like a war horn. The knight's tone was sharp, laced with urgency, and it made Radahn's stomach twist. Of course, Ogha would follow—his Carian guardian, barely into his late twenties, was as loyal as the stars were eternal. Radahn had no doubt that his mother had sent Ogha after him, a watchdog to drag him back into her suffocating grasp.
But Radahn wanted none of it. He needed out.
He didn't answer Ogha, didn't even glance back. His legs carried him forward as he shoved open the heavy marble doors to the Underchapel. The air inside was colder, heavier, and the faint glow of blue candles cast eerie shadows that danced across the stone walls. Radahn rounded a corner, gripping the pews for balance as he staggered through the vast, silent space. His bloodied hands left smears on the polished wood as he moved past the rows of seats where countless prayers to the moon had been offered. But Radahn wasn't here to pray.
Paintings of his family adorned the walls, their eyes watching him as if they knew of his failure. He clenched his fists, ignoring their gazes as his footing slipped. His body lurched forward, and he collided face-first with the heavy exit door, forcing it open as he fell to the cold, unyielding stone outside.
"My prince, wait!" Ogha's voice carried again, closer now, reverberating through the cavernous halls behind him. Radahn pushed himself to his knees, his breathing ragged. He wiped his nose and winced—it was uneven, broken from the fall. Blood dripped freely, trailing down his chin as he snorted out the blockage in a messy burst, spraying crimson onto the ground.
He didn't hesitate. Radahn surged to his feet, the ache in his body drowned out by a single instinct, to run. His boots pounded against the stone as he burst into a panicked sprint, his vision narrowing, his heart racing. Ogha's footsteps echoed behind him, but Radahn didn't dare look back. He wouldn't be dragged back to the academy.
Radahn reached the last lift, his chest heaving with exertion. He slammed his boot onto the pressure plate with all the force he could muster, and the lift jolted downward. The pulleys creaked as the platform descended rapidly, a metallic groan echoing around him. For the first time since his flight began, he felt a flicker of relief. This lift would buy him precious moments, time to widen the gap between himself and Ogha.
As the lift slowed, he braced himself and jumped off the platform before it fully stopped, the impact jarring his knees but doing nothing to slow him down. He straightened quickly and faced the final hurdle: the three magical gates of Raya Lucaria. They stood in a triangular configuration, ancient stone archways crackling with arcane energy. Each led to a different destination, the Belum Highway to the north, leading to the Altus Plateau; eastern Liurnia to the east; and finally, the Gate Town to the south. Unlike the first two, the Gate Town portal wasn't bound by teleportation magic. It was a simple barrier, and as Carian royalty, Radahn could pass through without a glintstone key.
He didn't pause to think. He sprinted to his right, heading for the Gate Town barrier. The blue light shimmered ominously, its arcane glow bathing his bloodied face as he approached. As he passed through, the barrier rippled harmlessly around him, its light dissipating like mist. He staggered forward, his boots hitting the wet earth of Liurnia, and finally drew in a breath of the fresh, humid air.
The murky scent of the marshlands filled his nostrils, and his bloodied vision sharpened as he saw his goal: the stables of Gate Town, only a hundred meters away. The wooden structure loomed ahead, dimly lit by lanterns.
His heart raced as he pushed himself harder. He had to reach it. He had to find a saddled steed. Freedom was so close now, almost tangible. All he had to do was make it those final few steps.
Radahn pushed the stable door open with a loud creak, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night. His breath caught as his eyes fell on the lone occupant inside. A single horse lay in the hay, its small frame barely rising and falling with its shallow breaths. The stallion—if it could even be called that—raised its scrawny head, blinking at the bloodied boy with large, questioning eyes.
Radahn stepped closer, his boots crunching softly against the hay-strewn floor. The horse rose with a feeble neigh, revealing a body so thin and frail it seemed miraculous the creature was still alive. Its ribs jutted out sharply, its legs knobbly and weak, trembling beneath the weight of the oversized saddle strapped to its back. The horse moved toward Radahn hesitantly, its gait unsteady but determined.
Radahn recognized the pitiful creature. Ogha had told him of this horse months ago during a conversation about the state of the stables. Born from a mare with a strong lineage, this horse had been neglected by the stable master, left malnourished and weak. It couldn't even hold a rider without faltering, yet the poor thing always tried whenever anyone approached, as though yearning to prove its worth.
"Hey, friend," Radahn said softly, his voice hoarse and trembling as he stumbled forward. The horse, as if understanding his plight, stepped toward him in kind. "Looks like we're two of a kind, huh?" His hand reached out to touch the horse's bony neck, and the creature nuzzled him weakly in return.
Radahn let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I need you to be strong for me… just this once," he whispered, his hand trembling as it stroked the horse's ragged mane. "I promise you this: one day, you'll be a valiant warhorse. The finest there's ever been. But for now, just carry me. I'll try my best to help you, please."
The horse looked at him, it's dark eyes full of an almost human understanding. It let out a soft, quiet neigh and lowered its head, then sank to its knees, inviting him to mount. Radahn felt a pang of gratitude swell in his chest. He climbed onto the frail creature's back, careful not to crush it under his weight.
The horse wailed as it rose, a sound filled with both pain and unyielding determination. Its legs trembled, the strain evident in every step as it staggered toward the stable door. Radahn leaned forward, his hands gripping the reins tightly, desperation etched into his every movement. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against something solid—a glintstone crystal he had hidden away, a piece of the academy's magic that now held the key to his escape.
Radahn grasped the crystal, his palm sweating against its cool surface. He had managed to lift a bookcase earlier with gravity magic, but a living, breathing creature was something entirely different. Yet, he couldn't let this horse bear his weight alone. This steed had been waiting its whole life for a chance to prove its worth, and Radahn was going to give it its dream.
He closed his eyes, gripping the crystal as hard as his bloodied hand would allow. His teachers had always told him to listen to the magic within, to let the moon guide him. No more. Gravity was his magic. It wasn't something to be borrowed or obeyed. It was his to command, and tonight, it would obey him. His eyes snapped open, and as his will surged into the glintstone, its pale blue essence erupted in a brilliant flash of purple, responding to his defiance. The power coursed through him, unbridled and raw, as he forced the magic to imbue both himself and the frail horse beneath him with the weightlessness of a feather.
The transformation was immediate. The once-feeble steed let out a triumphant snort as strength surged through its fragile frame. With a burst of energy, the horse charged forward, its hooves pounding against the stable floor. The two of them crashed through the wooden door, the force shattering it into splinters that flew around them like shards of light. They emerged into the night, Radahn clinging tightly to the reins as they galloped down the stone path toward freedom.
"You're more than I ever imagined," Radahn whispered, "Let's go."
The cold night air whipped against Radahn's face, the blood from his earlier wounds drying as it streaked his cheeks. The horse moved with a speed and determination that defied his frail body, his hooves striking the stone road like a thousand stallions as they carved their path in the night. Radahn felt his own spirit lift with every stride, the rush of air and the gallop of the horse beneath him filling him with a newfound resolve.
In the moonlight above, Radahn caught a glint of silver, and before he could react, an object pierced the ground mere inches in front of him and his horse, the force vaulting them both backward. Radahn landed hard on his back, a dull pain radiating through his body as he groaned. The horse let out a pained whine, its fragile frame collapsing into the dirt beside him, legs trembling as it struggled to rise.
Radahn blinked through the haze of pain and dust, his vision settling on the towering figure now stepping into view. It was Ogha, his Carian Knight guardian, a massive warbow still gripped tightly in his hands. The knight's armor was scuffed and tarnished, scratched by branches and dirt, evidence of the lengths he had gone to catch up on foot. Ogha's chest heaved as he straightened his broad frame, cracking his shoulders and planting his feet firmly.
"Prince Radahn," Ogha said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness of the night, "I know not why you've fled the academy, but I urge you to return immediately. This is no place for the likes of you."
Radahn clenched his jaw, wiping the dirt from his face as he rose shakily to his feet. The horse beside him staggered as well, and Radahn placed a reassuring hand on its neck. His head throbbed from his earlier injuries, his mind clouded with frustration and fatigue. "Stand aside, Ogha," he said, his voice hoarse but firm. "I don't need an escort, nor do I need your permission to leave."
Ogha's expression was unreadable beneath his helmet, but his grip on the warbow tightened. "Your Highness, my duty is to protect you, even if that means protecting you from yourself. Whatever you believe lies beyond these gates, it is not worth the danger."
Radahn's frustration bubbled to the surface, his voice rising as he stepped closer to the knight. "Danger? I am a Carian prince! The son of… Rennala herself." He said shakily, steadying himself, "I don't need anyone to protect me or tell me where I can and cannot go. I will decide my own path."
Ogha stood his ground, silent for a moment as if weighing the prince's words. "You are indeed a Carian prince," he said finally, his tone measured, "and that is why I cannot let you do this alone. Your lineage demands more than running off in the night with no plan and no protection."
Radahn's hands balled into fists, but he hesitated. He didn't want to forsake his heritage—not yet—but he also couldn't bring himself to turn back. His voice softened, though it still carried a hint of defiance. "Then as a prince, I command you to step aside. Let me leave in peace, Ogha."
The knight's posture remained rigid, his warbow held firmly, but then, to Radahn's surprise, Ogha lowered the weapon. He took a deliberate step to the side, clearing the path. "If that is your wish, Your Highness," he said. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "But if you truly intend to leave, I will follow. Not to stop you, but to ensure you make it wherever you're going."
Radahn blinked, taken aback by the knight's words. "You'd follow me? Even against my mother's orders?"
"My loyalty is to you," Ogha replied simply. "Wherever you go, I go."
Radahn studied the knight for a moment, unsure of what to say. A part of him wanted to argue, to insist he didn't need anyone, but another part of him—the tired, injured part—was relieved. "Fine," he said finally, his voice quieter. "But I'm not going back."
"Understood," Ogha said with a nod, slinging his warbow across his back. "Then lead the way, my prince."
Radahn glanced down at the horse, which had managed to stand again, albeit shakily. He patted its neck, murmuring softly to it before climbing onto its back once more using gravity magic once again. The horse neighed, its legs trembling as Radahn steadied himself. With a glance back at Ogha, he spurred the horse forward, the knight following close behind as they disappeared into the murky night, leaving the academy and everything it represented behind.