Chapter 10: The Price of Change

The morning sun cast long shadows across the broken city as Karima slipped through the narrow alleyways, her hood drawn low over her face. The first step of survival, Haytham had told her before they parted ways, was to change her appearance. The High Council's forces were looking for a girl with sharp green eyes, dark hair, and the unmistakable resemblance of her father.

So, she did just that.

A small barbershop on the outskirts of the city was her first stop. The old woman running it barely asked questions, accepting a few stolen credits in exchange for her services. Karima sat still as the scissors sliced through her long hair, dark strands falling to the ground like remnants of her past self. When it was over, her reflection in the cracked mirror was nearly unrecognizable—her hair cropped short, dyed a shade of ashen brown, her features sharpened by exhaustion and resolve.

She wasn't the ambassador's daughter anymore. She was a fugitive, and she needed to look the part.

Slipping into the crowded streets, she kept her head down, moving with purpose but not haste. The city was different now—more patrols, more tension hanging thick in the air. The High Council wasn't just looking for her father anymore. They were watching, searching for any trace of resistance. Signs of unrest had already begun to creep into the everyday rhythm of the city: hushed conversations in back alleys, glances exchanged between merchants who recognized that things were shifting. But there was also fear—an undercurrent that stifled the usual market chatter, that made people avoid eye contact with the soldiers who had doubled in number overnight.

She passed a small group gathered near a wall, where a notice had been plastered. REWARD FOR INFORMATION ON TRAITORS TO THE COUNCIL. Below, a list of names. Karl Crown's was at the top, but there were others she recognized—diplomats, scholars, and people who had once worked alongside her father. Some of them were already dead. The words CAPTURED and EXECUTED were stamped in red ink over their names. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to keep walking.

A few steps later, a voice rose from behind her. "Hey, you there—stop!" She tensed, her pulse spiking, but didn't turn immediately. It could be anyone. A guard? A trader? A bystander who had recognized her? She had no way of knowing.

She moved faster, weaving through the press of bodies in the street. The voice called out again, more insistent this time, and she knew she had been made. Adrenaline surged through her, quickening her steps. She darted into a side alley, heart pounding, trying not to look like she was fleeing. Running would only draw attention. She had to blend in.

A vendor was arranging baskets of fruit in a nearby stall. Without hesitation, Karima swiped an apple and took a deliberate bite, pausing beside a cart as if she were just another shopper. She pulled the hood lower over her face, forcing herself to appear casual.

Two enforcers stormed past, their heavy boots striking against the stone street. "Did you see a girl in a gray cloak?" one of them barked at the vendor.

Karima's breath caught, but she kept chewing, her expression indifferent.

The vendor shook his head. "Haven't seen anyone like that. Just the usual market folk."

The enforcers muttered something and moved on. Karima forced herself to finish the apple before slipping away, deeper into the city. She needed to leave before they closed in.

But something else was wrong.

She felt it in her bones, a slow, persistent drain that made each step heavier than the last. At first, she had assumed it was exhaustion from weeks of running and training. But as she moved through the city, it became undeniable.

It was the ring.

Her fingers curled around the silver band resting on her hand. It had seemed so ordinary at first, a meaningless trinket found in the Vault. But now, she could feel its presence, its pull. It wasn't just a piece of metal—it was taking something from her.

Aura.

The power she had only just begun to understand. The same power her father had told her was in her blood.

A sharp pain shot up her arm, like something was feeding off her energy, leeching it away. Her breath hitched, and she stumbled slightly, catching herself against the wall of a stone building. A passing guard glanced in her direction, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

She straightened immediately, forcing herself to keep walking. Now wasn't the time to figure this out. The ring was a problem, yes—but the increasing number of guards on the streets was a more immediate threat.

Her pace quickened as she weaved through the market district, past merchants and workers, past people who had no idea that war was creeping into their city. Every turn brought more patrols. The Council was locking the city down.

The northern gates were already crawling with enforcers, their rifles slung across their backs as they questioned travelers. Too risky. The southern district had fewer patrols, but it was a dead end—leading only to the water docks, where leaving unnoticed would be impossible.

She needed another way.

A narrow bridge connected the inner and outer districts, spanning over a dry canal. The city's old drainage tunnels ran beneath it, long abandoned but still intact. If she could reach them, she might be able to slip through unnoticed.

Karima took a deep breath and made her way toward the bridge, her muscles coiled with tension. The closer she got, the thicker the presence of soldiers became. She kept her head down, moving as naturally as possible, until she spotted a group of workers hauling crates toward the canal.

An opportunity.

She fell in step behind them, mimicking their exhausted gait. The guards barely spared them a glance. Just a few more steps, just a little farther—

A shout rang out from the watchtower above. "Hold there!"

Karima's heart slammed against her ribs. The workers froze. One of the guards was pointing directly at them.

"Random security check! Step forward, one at a time."

Karima swallowed a curse. She couldn't afford to be caught. Not here, not now.

The line moved slowly. The guards checked each worker, searching their crates and scanning their identification cards. Karima's mind raced. She had seconds to act.

As one of the guards turned to question the next worker, she slipped away, ducking behind a cart stacked with barrels. From there, she spotted an old maintenance hatch near the base of the bridge.

This was her chance.

Moving quickly but carefully, she pried the hatch open and slipped inside, the damp air of the tunnel swallowing her whole. She pulled the cover shut just as a pair of boots stomped past overhead.

She waited, breath shallow, listening.

Silence.

Then, with a quiet exhale, she turned and disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels, leaving the city behind.

The hunt was getting closer.

And she had never felt more alone.