Fires exploded across the land, leaving Darcie Whittle to flinch as she curled into the alley wall. The Shade warriors were out for blood, and Wynthril was crumbling despite their best effort not to. They were losing the war.

Though she never expected it to come to this––escaping the only land she called home for the last twenty-five years. Yet she was huddled in a darkened alley, arguing with the captain of the aircraft that leaves tomorrow night. 

Smoke burned her eyes as she fought for a single breath of clean air and coughed into her elbow.

“There’s no room left.” He said it like it was the truth, grey brows pinching slightly as he stared into her eyes. Pity. 

“And what about after that?”

“We haven’t heard from Rook in over two weeks. There’s no way of knowing if these routes are even secure––safe. We have to pause them.”

Darcie’s stomach dropped with something that felt like dread. This was the last flight out of Wynthril, for gods knew how long.

Rook was the leader of the Auren rebel operation. Apparently, he had been close to the king––rumors she couldn’t confirm nor cared to at the moment. Not when she was frantically trying to find a way to leave. 

But Rook had been the very reason the aircraft could smuggle Aurens out of Wynthril in the first place, allowing those to escape until the war was over. 

Instead of fighting, the people decided to flee. The same as her it seemed. Though Darcie wasn’t made for battle, and she wasn’t interested in finding out how she’d wield a weapon as the King and Queen of Aurens began drafting anyone who could walk. 

Yet she knew Healers were being hunted by the King of Shades and wanted out before she was found. Something that would happen sooner rather than later, she thought.

The Shades had breached Wynthril’s forces with ease over the last week, burning what they could with the fire in their veins. But it wasn’t just Healers they were looking for, as anyone with Auren magic was being sought out. 

For the last several years, the strife between Shades and Aurens had only gotten worse, Kings and Queens fighting for something they’d always had access to––power. She supposed the war between the two was always bound to happen.

With nothing left for her in Wynthril, she felt like she had no choice but to flee, not after watching her father's execution in the square just two weeks ago. He’d refused to give Darcie to them, knowing exactly where it would lead––her death. So her father did what he always did and sacrificed himself for her. 

If only to give her a chance to survive. 

Grief pressed in as she rubbed a finger over her fathers silver ring resting on her thumb––a Healer's relic passed from generation to generation. And now he was gone from her life as if he never existed. 

Darcie only scoffed, defeat sitting heavy on her chest as she shook her head, eyes fixed on the haze filled sky––not a star in sight. A raven landed on the metal post hanging off the bricked wall when she swiveled her gaze back to the captain and sighed.

“You leave tomorrow. Surely there will be another spot for me by then. I have nothing left––please.” She begged then shifted her feet on the soot filled brick, pulling her bag higher onto her shoulder.

Darcie hated that she had to resort to begging, but she was determined to be on that aircraft, whether she had to argue or not. Or perhaps she could sneak onto it while no one was looking, but only if they denied her passage.

The captain sighed a long, exasperated breath. “Come back tomorrow before dusk. I might be able to make a spot for you.” 

Darcie’s heart clenched, hope rising in her chest. She stumbled forward. “Really?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his bald head. “Yes. We’ll try to get you on it. Just don’t be late.”

She watched as the burly captain looked both ways before exiting the alley, vanishing around the corner in seconds, lost beyond the smoke.

Then Darcie’s eyes landed on the raven again––black as night and watching her. The sign swayed, the smoky breeze rustling the ravens feathers. 

It blinked, tucking its wings further into its side.

“Care to share your wings? I could use a flight to Iskgard.” She mumbled, chuckling to herself despite the destruction in the air. 

The raven let out a low, rasping sound––not quite like a caw, but something lighter perhaps. Something close to a chuckle right before it flew into the smoky haze, disappearing from sight.

…

Walker glided toward the open window, his raven eyes blinking as the smoke curled itself around his beak. The air was thicker here, much thicker than the mist on Draken cliff. He knew his father was responsible for the destruction he saw below, soaring through the fiery haze as buildings crumbled. 

Then he shifted, landing inside the captain's office in one swift motion, shedding whatever form he had occupied a second ago.

Conroe would arrive in a few minutes, if only to move around the refugees on the aircraft he supplied for him six months ago. The aircraft came from Moltren, land of the volcanic metal wielders. 

Although Walker had no control over what happened the last two weeks, guilt had crept in when he saw that refugee begging, knowing that because of him, those buildings burned. And he knew the captain wouldn’t have been able to say no to her.

Still, he wasn’t sure how his father had discovered the truth about his involvement with the Aurens. 

Regardless, he felt responsible.

Boots thudded against the wood when the door finally creaked open, Conroe pausing as soon as the lights flicked on. His spine straightened, blinking as if he had seen a ghost.

“Rook.” Conroe said, relaxing after a breath then shut the door. “Where have you been?” 

“Fleeing my execution.”

“He discovered it.” Conroe mumbled, unable to mask his shock. “Fuck––what now?”

Conroe knew the prince was involved with dismantling the Shades throne, one of two men to know who Rook truly was. They had worked together to formulate the refugee smuggling by aircraft—plans to slowly disrupt his fathers destruction across Wynthril. Still, that did little in comparison to what was happening outside. 

Walker strode forward, sitting in the chair across from Conroe’s desk and sighed. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question, something he’d been asking himself in the dungeon for the last two weeks. A hand came up to the scruff on his jaw, closing his eyes and then exhaled. 

It weighed heavily on him––the decisions and responsibility to keep his fathers destruction at bay. He wanted an equal world, where Kings and Queens ruled together instead of fighting for power. And because of that, he had to find a way into Iskgard.

“I need to be on the aircraft tomorrow.” Walker mumbled, breaking the silence.

“There’s no room.” 

“Make room. For me and that woman in the alley. She looked desperate.” Walker eyed him and leaned forward on his knees as Conroe sat behind his desk. His eyes looked haunted, as if the last two weeks were just as hard on him as it was for Walker. 

“What of the routes? Do we have to pause travel?” 

Walker leaned back. “I’m not sure. I heard whispers in the castle of him sending out warriors toward the border. If I’m being completely honest, we probably shouldn’t even go. Now that I’ve fled, he’ll be searching for me.” 

“Can’t you make the flight yourself?” Conroe asked, letting the question hang in the air. Walker knew he meant by his raven wings.

He only shook his head. “Not with the weather.” 

A heavy silence settled between them, lost in thought as if the silence would somehow reveal the path they should take. It seemed that no matter which direction they went, it was bound to falter. Walker had only hoped that they would be able to leave Wynthril and make it to Iskgard in one piece. 

Because if Iskgard stood with them, they could be the very thing that pulled Wynthril from this war. 

And Walker was bound to win them over.

**(If you read chapter one, I’d love feedback. My newest WIP)**