Panted breaths escaped Walker Haines as he ran through the forest, lungs burning. He had opted to leave everything—anything that slowed him down, including the thick fur-lined cloak he’d most likely need in the icy terrain of Iskgard. 

After a year of aiding the rebels, Walker hadn’t expected to be on the run from his own execution. 

Yet he was fleeing. 

Away from his father, the King of Shades, and into Wynthril.

Being heir to the Shade throne wasn’t something he wanted but prepared for anyway, up until he was cornered by his father, accused of being a traitor. The truth.

With his knees kicked in, he was forced to kneel—disgraced and shackled in front of the court, including his own mother. He’d never forget the horror on her face. The disappointment.

His sister Lyla had set him free with tears lining her reddened cheeks, unbinding the shackles that smothered his magic. He kissed her forehead before darting down the darkened stone corridor, knowing she’d be punished for it later. Only it wouldn’t be an execution for her–that being the only reason he fled.

And he did, despite feeling everything like a coward in the moment, leaving everything and everyone he loved behind without a second thought. 

But he knew then that aiding the Auren rebels was the right choice, and being heir only gave him insight to what went on behind closed doors. His father was an evil man, that was certain.

Walker had been raised to hate the Aurens of Wynthril––their magic––despite everything good about them. Out of the four continents, he had taken a liking to Wynthril, the ones who shared their bordered lands, closest to Kaidos. 

He found himself creating and becoming the leader of the Rookhold early last year, something he never imagined himself doing. It started off as sabotaging weapon convoys, then escape routes were created, smuggling magical refugees into Iskgard.

His father was hunting them––Healers. If only to search for the one of ancient blood, and so far, every Healer that had been caught had been executed. No sign of the one he was looking for, if it even existed.

With his adrenaline high, he ran for his life, chased by his fathers Shade hounds. He had appreciated the hounds once, up until they were put on his scent tonight, leaving a dread of fear to crawl down his spine. 

Their howls pierced the air.

Trees blurred past, the forest cloaked in heavy mist as he ran down the muddied path, boots catching on fallen branches. 

Though he wasn’t clumsy, but strong and built, having trained with only the best of the Shade warriors. He’d spent most of his life training, preparing for the role he never wanted. 

Only now, he couldn’t see. The dim light of the moon was hidden by the thick trees above him, streaks of pale light filtering through the branches. 

But he was almost there.

Boots hit solid ground as he pushed forward, the rocky cliff of Draken coming into view. If he wasn’t running for his life, he might have grinned. 

Eyeing the edge of the cliff ahead, Walker sprinted. 

Seconds felt like hours when the hounds roared again––closer than they had been––forcing himself to push harder, faster. Without slowing, his boots hit the edge of the cliff. 

And then he soared.

Shifting into a raven took only a second, something he hadn’t told his father he could do. It had been known that Shade royals could shift into ravens, but that hadn’t happened in hundreds of years. 

Magic was unpredictable that way. 

Regardless, he’d kept it from his father as a precaution to himself, now thankful he did as he flapped in the sky. He soared higher, watching as the hounds reached the cliff, one skidding and falling over the edge a moment later. 

And then he was gone. Without another glance back, he soared for Wynthril––to the aircraft set for Iskgard. 

His only means of escape, and the only way he’d survive death by his father.