Alaric's heart thundered in his chest as they approached the city's checkpoint. Dawn stretched thin fingers of pale light through a haze of morning fog, giving the scene an eerie stillness. He glanced down at Lia, noting the quiet resolve etched onto her young face. Their footsteps, careful yet decisive, echoed softly against the cracked pavement.
The checkpoint loomed before them—a tangled web of metal gates, security sensors, and watchful guards. Alaric's carefully bribed technician had promised precisely thirty seconds of disabled surveillance. He silently counted down in his head, every second a fleeting chance at freedom.
Twenty-nine… twenty-eight…
As they neared, Lia's hand tightened instinctively around his, sensing his tension. The first guard glanced briefly in their direction but quickly returned his attention to the datapad he held. Alaric's pulse quickened. Their window was shrinking.
Twenty… nineteen…
They stepped onto the biometric scanner's platform. Alaric placed his palm on the cold surface, holding his breath as the system processed his ID. After a tense pause, a green light flashed.
"Proceed," the automated voice chimed softly.
He moved quickly aside, motioning urgently for Lia to step forward. She placed her hand on the scanner just as a sudden noise—a low growl and scrape—emanated from behind them. Alaric turned swiftly, eyes narrowed into the mist-covered shadows. His muscles tensed, ready to spring into action.
False alarm, he thought as a stray dog trotted out from behind a dumpster, sniffing around disinterestedly. His focus snapped back just in time to see Lia's biometric scan blink unexpectedly red.
"Halt," said a guard sharply, eyes narrowing.
Adrenaline surged through Alaric's veins, fingers twitching toward the concealed dagger beneath his cloak. His mind raced through options, each more perilous than the last.
Then, inexplicably, the scanner chirped again, shifting suddenly to green.
"Subject recognized. Clearance approved," the automated voice announced calmly.
The guard hesitated, visibly confused. His partner shrugged nonchalantly. "System's been glitching all week," he muttered, losing interest.
Alaric wasted no time. He swiftly grasped Lia's hand and moved her past the checkpoint, into the shadowed safety beyond. Lia's eyes widened, questioning, but she said nothing. Alaric offered no explanations; he simply moved faster, guiding them deeper into the maze of shipping containers and cargo crates.
But their relief was short-lived.
The heavy rumble of an approaching engine filled the air, vibrating ominously underfoot. A sleek, dark vehicle pulled abruptly into view, sliding to a stop mere yards ahead. Its tinted windows and armored plating spoke volumes: danger.
Alaric's blood ran cold as the door opened, revealing Marcus. Even from a distance, Marcus's gaze felt oppressive, intense, and dangerously intelligent. Flanking him were several men dressed in tactical gear, each radiating lethal intent.
"Stay close," Alaric whispered urgently, pulling Lia behind a nearby cargo container. His mind raced, rapidly assessing their options. They needed a route, a plan, a way out—fast.
Footsteps echoed sharply against concrete, coming nearer. Alaric took a deep, steadying breath. He had practiced this scenario countless times in his mind, mapping out escape routes, studying patterns of movement. Now, all his careful planning faced a brutal test.
Peering cautiously around the container's edge, he gauged distances, angles, and potential distractions. Lia pressed tightly against his side, her breathing measured, her trust unwavering.
"Now," he hissed sharply.
They sprinted low and fast, darting between narrow gaps, ducking under machinery, weaving through a labyrinth of towering crates and scattered equipment. The air filled with shouted commands behind them, Marcus's voice distinct among them—calm yet deadly.
As they moved, Alaric felt the familiar sensation of his stealth skill enhancing his movements, quieting his steps and sharpening his awareness.
Stealth - Proficiency: 3.5%
Each step grew lighter, quieter, more precise. His senses heightened, absorbing details in crisp clarity—the scent of rust, the echo of voices, the distant hum of machinery.
Yet, Marcus's men closed in relentlessly, their training evident in coordinated maneuvers designed to trap prey. Twice Alaric barely avoided detection, pulling Lia into cramped alcoves, their breaths shallow, hearts racing.
Finally, they reached the far end of the train yard, where the rumbling engines of a departing freight train offered salvation. With only moments to spare, Alaric spotted an open maintenance hatch on the last car. He surged forward, lifting Lia onto the platform before hoisting himself up behind her.
The heavy metal door slammed shut, sealing them in darkness just as the train jerked into motion. Outside, shouts faded quickly as they accelerated away from danger.
In the confined darkness, Alaric sank to the floor, chest heaving. Lia's voice trembled slightly but remained composed.
"Are we safe now?"
"For now," Alaric replied quietly, not entirely believing it himself.
As the train gathered speed, they sat in tense silence, the shadows around them heavy with unanswered questions and uncertain futures.
Yet as the train sped forward, neither sibling could know that waiting for them in Zenith City was not safety, but another enigmatic figure—one whose motives and identity would soon challenge everything they believed about their past.