The sky was a black canvas scattered with cold stars. Wind whispered over dry grass and cracked dirt, carrying with it the scent of pine and dust. It was 2:56 A.M.
Zion and Muscle walked in silence, their steps heavy and strained. Dirt caked their legs. Zion's shirt was torn down the side. Muscle had a scratch across his cheek, still bleeding.
"Man…" Muscle muttered, dragging his feet, "how many more kilometers?"
Zion wiped sweat from his brow and exhaled. "Maybe twenty."
"Still?" Muscle groaned. "That's like... forever."
"Not compared to how far we've already come," Zion replied with a grin, hiding the exhaustion behind his eyes.
They trudged onward. Zion nibbled the last crust of bread. Muscle finished the last of the water in their dented canteen.
Every step forward carried more than weight it carried memory.
Zion's thoughts swirled.
The collar.
The king's throne.
The mocking laughter of nobles.
Being forced to kneel.
Never again, he thought.
And then a glimmer.
"There," Zion whispered, eyes locked ahead.
In the distance, beyond a ridge of grass-covered hills and sparse trees, stood the border of Savio: a tall stone gate, flanked by fire-lit watchtowers. Beyond it the unknown. Freedom.
Muscle's face lit up. "We made it!"
Zion didn't smile. Instead, his eyes narrowed. "This is where it gets dangerous."
They dropped behind a rock, cloaked in the shadows of dawn's edge. Birds stirred in trees. Zion peered from behind the boulder.
"How many guards?" he whispered.
Muscle counted. "...Twenty-six. Maybe more."
Zion let out a long breath. "Too many for a fight."
"Then what?"
Zion looked down at their stolen guard uniforms, still stained with blood and dirt. "We walk through. No fear. Act like we belong."
Muscle hesitated. "You sure?"
"No," Zion admitted, "but we've come too far to crawl now."
Minutes later, the two emerged from the brush, stiff-backed and silent in uniform. As they approached the gate, a guard stepped forward.
"Halt! Who are you two?"
Zion saluted. "Ordered by the king. Reinforcements. Heard there was a scuffle earlier. Five guards downed. Stuffed in a trash can."
Muscle added, "Ugly guy. Real strong."
The guard blinked. "Yeah... we got a report about that. King's on edge tonight. Said to double patrols."
Zion tried to hide the twitch in his jaw. They know. But they don't know it was us.
The guard stepped closer, squinting. "But... you two look like kids."
Muscle clenched his fists.
Zion answered quickly, voice solemn. "We're the palace slaves. Disposable muscle. The king didn't care who he sent just needed someone expendable."
The guard hesitated, then nodded. "Right. You must be the king's favorite. Zion, right?"
Zion looked down in mock shame.
"Alright," the guard said, moving to the gate controls. "Go on. I'll open it."
The iron gate creaked as it began to rise. Beyond it lay the path out of Savio, out of slavery the path to tomorrow.
Zion felt something rise in his chest. Not hope, not yet but the possibility of it.
And then
"Wait!"
The voice cracked like a whip through the night air.
Zion froze. Every muscle in his body turned to stone.
Hooves thundered.
A black-gold chariot rolled forward through the gate, led by armored horses. Atop it sat a tall figure cloaked in royal blue.
King Henry.
The same man Zion had once bowed to. The same man who had laughed as he commanded Zion to lick the palace floor.
The king stepped down slowly, boots pressing into the soil.
Zion's throat tightened. His knees trembled not out of fear, but from instinct, a slave's conditioned response.
"Why so quiet, my dear slave?" King Henry said with a twisted smile. "Thought you could run from me?"
Muscle moved in front of Zion instinctively, fists balled.
But Zion stepped forward.
No rage. No fear. Just a low voice, steady like steel.
"I'm not your slave anymore."
The king's grin widened. "Oh, but you always were. And you still are."