The air went still as everyone held their breath. Even Ralph cringed, knowing he had gone too far—expecting death at any moment from Lancelot.
I could see it, the stiffness in his armor. The weight of those words.
I didn't know the whereabouts of the royals, but if what Ralph said was true—if the Queen was really dead—then what hope was left for the kingdom?
Lancelot's silence seemed to confirm it.
After a long beat, he turned away, sheathing his sword.
"This isn't over, Sir Ralph." His voice was calm, but something about it sent a chill through the air. "The next time we meet, I will personally cut you down."
Those were his last words before he walked toward us, the thunder of approaching hooves growing louder behind him.
"Okay, we need to leave. Now!" I snapped, pushing Lancelot to move faster.
Dust clouds were already rising in the distance, meaning we had only seconds before the rest of them arrived.
"Got another warp in you, Mage?" I asked, running alongside my sister.
"Last one." She raised her staff, tracing the air as the space glyph flared to life.
Meters ahead, the portal opened—a tear in space revealing our next destination. No time to hesitate.
The archers, the elf, the last two knights in the kingdom, the girl on the wolf, the lumberjack and his pig, my sister, and I all dove through the shimmering gateway.
The sound of hooves clobbering against stone dimmed behind us. We had widened the gap.
But Mage wiped at her nose, a thin trickle of blood staining her fingers. That was it. No more warps. And I wasn't in any condition to summon another lightning bolt. From here on, we were relying on our own two feet.
"You guys can use magic, right?" The lumberjack called out, easily keeping pace. "Can't you just throw a fireball or something and blow them off our trail?"
"This isn't Caelum Cloudveil," I shot back, my lungs burning. "That lightning bolt and those warps were the best we had. Besides, flashy magic would just make us even bigger targets. You ought to be more grateful."
Hogan let out a breathy chuckle. "Grateful, huh?"
Lancelot's voice was steady beside me. "What sort of strongholds have been created for the rebellion?"
I let out a dry laugh. "Strongholds and rebellions are big words." I veered left, knowing the others would follow. "Here's the closest thing we've got."
"Fee, push that cart aside!"
"Okay?" she said, moving the broken-down cart and crates we had used to disguise the entrance. Beneath it, a heavy iron lid gleamed.
"The secret passage is… the sewers?" Kevin muttered, his lip curling in disgust.
A lion's head was engraved into the metal cover—the national symbol of PrideFall. The Pride of Lions. It stood for the nation's strength, for its military power, for the pride of its people.
I looked at our group—the last knights of the kingdom, a rogue half-elf, a girl who had nearly died in flames, a rabbit woman who had already abandoned us once, and a lumberjack who talked to his pig like it was his child.
Not exactly the pride and strength I had hoped for.
"Well, yes, or do you know any other luxury refuges?" Mage shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm.
There was no time for bickering. Ralph's voice boomed from above, barking orders to search the area. We had to disappear before they found us.
Hogan heaved against the sewer lid, grunting as it barely budged. Kevin stepped in to help, and together, they managed to pry it open.
The smell hit us immediately.
Damp. Mold. Stale air. A faint stench of rot buried beneath years of mildew.
"Ladies first," I said, motioning to Fee.
She paused, then shrugged. "Eh. I've done worse." With that, she slid into the tunnel, landing perfectly in the darkness below.
Elven trait? Or just stupidity? I wondered as I watched her.
"There's a ladder for a reason!" Lessa called after her before climbing down the rungs herself, followed closely by Leil and the little girl. Silver, unable to use the ladder, simply jumped, his paws landing with a soft thud.
Next was Hogan, then Kevin, then Mage. Only Lancelot and I remained.
"You have to push the cart back to disguise the entrance." I reminded him, but he didn't move. He just stood there.
Lancelot hesitated.
I could see it in his eyes—the reluctance. The weight of failure pressing down on his shoulders. The realization that this was how far he had fallen.
"Lance." I lowered my voice.
"I've got it." He exhaled sharply and shoved the cart back into place, masking the hole as the voices of the rogue knights grew louder.
Shoot.
"No time, get in!"
I heard Ralph's voice thunder from the other street. "Find them! Tear this city apart if you have to!"
Lancelot finally climbed down, struggling with only one arm. I followed after him, yanking the lid shut and engaging the locking mechanism.
Darkness swallowed us.
Above, footsteps thundered across the cobblestones.
Then—
Thump. Thump. Clang. Clang.
Heavy boots stomped over the metal, swords scraping against its surface.
"So this is where they've been hiding!" an angered voice growled.
A weight slammed against the lid. A second, harder hit followed.
"Think it'll hold?" Lancelot asked, already gripping his sword.
The tunnels were half a century old. Sturdy, yes. But how much abuse could they take before crumbling?
I exhaled. "We can only hope."
The tunnels stretched ahead, winding through the underground of PrideFall. Lanterns flickered along the walls, casting long shadows against the damp stone.
"Have the traps and security measures been erected?" I asked Mage once we reached the first secure area.
"Yup." She tapped her staff against the ground. "Dormant space hole's maintained, electric wire's intact, and all the bear traps and falling weapons are set."
Good. Even if the rogue knights broke through, we'd have time to retaliate—and more importantly, time to move the civilians.
Lancelot let out a breath. "You've done a good job in our absence." His voice, though still heavy, carried a note of genuine appreciation. "Thank you for your service. And I apologize for the misunderstanding earlier."
Mage blinked, clearly not expecting that. She rolled her eyes
"It's okay."
We walked deeper into the tunnels, toward the heart of the refuge. Survivors huddled in clusters—men, women, and children, their faces lined with exhaustion. They were from all over, not just PrideFall but the annexed cities too, their differences blending together in the dim glow of lanterns.
The moment our newest addition stepped out of the shadows, the mood shifted.
"Y-you brought a KNIGHT?" a man's voice shot out from the crowd.
Tension spiked. There were about seventy of us here. The last thing we needed was panic.
"I am not a rogue," Lancelot said, voice calm, measured. "I know the knights you've encountered have no doubt terrorized you for weeks. For that, I apologize on their behalf."
Then, in true knightly fashion, he removed his helmet.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as his rust-colored hair fell loose. Everyone knew Lancelot Lionheart—PrideFall's strongest knight, the legend who had never lost a duel.
Some people leaned forward, their expressions unreadable. Others tensed, hands curling into fists.
"And what the hell were you doing when the kingdom was going to hell?" a woman's voice cut through the silence.
She was middle-aged, gaunt but sharp-eyed, with streaks of gray in her dark hair. The kind of person who had seen too much, lost too much, and wasn't in the mood for excuses.
Lancelot met her gaze. "I was on a mission," he said evenly. "To find a way to stop the slime."
I raised an eyebrow. Interesting. I'd need to ask him about that later.
"Half the city is dead, and you were on a mission?" someone else echoed bitterly—a teenage boy, voice rising. "You knights were supposed to protect us, not disappear while the kingdom burned!"
The dam broke.
"Our husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, children, neighbors—our friends are dead! What are you going to do about it?"
The shouts came from every direction now. Anger, grief, frustration—all of it hurled at the only knight left standing.
Lancelot took it. Every word. He stood there, silent, letting them scream, letting them vent. But nothing he said would bring back their dead. And they knew that.
Then, finally, an older man stepped forward, missing two fingers, wrapped in a fraying cloak. His voice was hoarse, but steady. "I remember you, although I am old and my memory is failing me."
He studied Lancelot closely. "PrideFall's strongest knight. The man who never lost a duel. The one who led every conquest to victory."
Lancelot held his gaze but said nothing.
The old man exhaled through his nose. "Tell me, Sir Lancelot. Can you still fight?"
Lancelot hesitated.
Just for a second. But I saw it.
Guilt.
Then his expression hardened. "Yes."
The old man turned to the others. "Then let him fight for us."
The tension in the room didn't disappear, but it shifted. Suspicion lingered in some eyes, but in others—those who had lost faith long ago—I saw something else.
Something small, but real.
Hope.
Nothing was fixed.
But maybe, for now, that hope would be enough to sustain us.