Corrin rounded the corner, his momentum sending him sliding across the mud and into a nearby wall. He might have braced with his arm but he could not afford to drop what he held. For a moment he stopped to collect his breath and fight the fiery burn in his legs. The sound of heavy boots and metal armor approached from the main road. Hearing them, Corrin rose from the wall and continued his escape.
Canals, bridges, and small docks flew past as he charged between sodden alleys. The morning’s rain had left a thick fog and grimy must in the air and the sounds of nearby forges and masonry yards helped to disguise Corrin’s movement. He was unsure of whether they were tracking him or the object he carried, but nothing seemed to distance him from the pursuing guards. He had to be more creative.
Corrin threw himself across the street and down a set of stairs beside the stone bridge. Gasps and insults trailed behind him from those that narrowly avoided colliding with the rag-clad blur. He quickly ducked under the arched structure, hugging close to the wall and rifling through his jacket pocket. Some feet away at the water’s edge was an older man, staring suspiciously from a face of weathered wrinkles. His mouth opened to question as Corrin produced a small lump of gum arabic with a curl of black at its center. Some arcane whispers and a traced sigil later, Corrin vanished from sight.
A group of three larger men, all coated in clean plate and brandishing various weapons, clanked their way under the bridge. One continued straight for the beggar, barking commands with the point of his sword. His two companions stopped short, guarding the area only steps from where Corrin was watching.
Whether by plain inability or misguided honor, the man could not manage an explanation. His interrogator had escalated to shoving and direct threats, itching to vent his rage.
Corrin himself was frozen against the bricks, one hand clutching his prize and the other covering his own mouth. The two guards were within arm’s reach. If their third would stop screaming, they might hear him.
Clearly harboring the same frustrations, they began to move. One returned to the bridge, drawing a bow as he disappeared above. The other sighed, lowering his head and swearing from within his helmet. Then, he stopped. Corrin watched, unsure. His stomach sank. Beneath the guard, a line of muddied footprints traced from the stairs and to where Corrin now stood.
Filled with chilling fear, Corrin could only run. Terror raged in his mind, adrenaline forcing his muscles beyond exhaustion. Everything else was a haze as his vision tunneled on the palisade wall at the street’s end. Fleeing the city was his only option now, of that he was sure.
In an instant, his focus was shattered. An arrow whipped through the air from behind, planting itself in his lower back. The shock of pain coursed through his body. His knees collapsed, sending his face into the dirty ground and returning him to visibility.
This is it, he thought. Corrin had been so sure, but it was over now. He was within sight of freedom but the pain and exhaustion had caught him. The guards knew it too, pacing slowly forward. After everything, he had failed. He had come so far and yet… no. No. Damnit, no. Not after all this. No matter what dangers or warnings or threats, it was better than failing now.
Corrin placed the leather satchel he had stolen in front of him. From the main pouch, he drew a crystalline cube of interlocked sections, adorned with broken patterns of twisting metal. In a mad flurry, he turned and shifted the various sections. They slid with an internal mechanism, the patterns slowly aligning to form archaic depictions of elemental symbology.
As the last panel clicked into place, a subtle thrum pulsed from within the cube. Sparks ignited in the air and surrounding fog seemed to collect in levitating droplets. The vibration grew to a violent thunder until, in a single flash of energy, Corrin was gone.

– by Troy McConnell
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