novelraw Chapter 196 – Run
Chapter 196 – Run
The snow crunched beneath Caelum’s boots as he sprinted through the frigid night, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His augments carried him faster than any ordinary man, but speed alone wouldn’t save them—not if he left an obvious trail. He resisted the overwhelming urge to head straight for his mother’s home, instead veering sharply toward the tree line.
The frozen forest swallowed him in an embrace of skeletal branches and drifting flakes. He pushed deeper into the trees, weaving through the undergrowth to confuse any potential trackers. His path twisted and doubled back, his footprints crossing over themselves, until even he could barely tell where he had come from. Only when he was certain he’d done all he could to obscure his movements did he circle back toward the village.
Emerging from a different angle, he forced himself to slow, to breathe evenly despite the fire burning in his legs. If he looked panicked, someone would take notice. He pulled his hood lower, forcing himself into a brisk but measured pace as he strode through the quiet streets.
He reached his parents' home and raised a gloved fist, pounding on the door with urgency. The cold bit at his skin as he waited, each second stretching impossibly long. His pulse thudded in his ears, and for a moment, fear clawed at his throat—what if they had taken her already?
Then, the sound of the latch scraping against wood reached him, and the door creaked open. His mother stood there, wrapped in a thick shawl, blinking blearily at him.
"Caelum?" Teyva, his mother said, her voice was heavy with sleep, confused. "Why are you here at this hour?"
He didn’t answer. Instead, he shoved his way inside, his boots thudding against the wooden floor.
“Caelum!” she gasped, taken aback. “What’s going on?” Panic edged her voice now, the grogginess giving way to concern.
“Pack,” he commanded, his tone sharp and urgent. “Now. We’re leaving the village.”
She stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “What? Why? We’ve lived here for generations—”
Ignoring her protests, he moved with purpose, digging through storage until his hands closed around his pa’s old backpack. He pulled it out, dust shaking loose from the worn leather, and then turned to the kitchen. He grabbed whatever supplies he could—dried meat, bread that wouldn’t spoil too quickly, a waterskin. He had to pack as much as he could, his mother was strong from her work.
His mother stood frozen in place, her hands clenched at her sides. "Caelum, you aren’t making any sense!" she cried. "What’s going on?"
He turned to face her, his breath still coming fast. The words felt like glass in his throat, but there was no time to soften the blow.
“I found Pa.”
The color drained from her face. "What?"
"I found him," Caelum repeated, his voice quieter this time. “Under the church.”
A silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
"Then where is he?" she finally asked, her voice trembling. "Why didn’t he come with you?"
Caelum clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He had tried not to think about it. He had tried not to remember the thing that wore his father’s face, the way it had snarled, the way its empty eyes had looked right through him.
"They turned him into an aetherbeast," he forced out, each word laced with barely contained fury. "A monster. He didn’t even recognize me."
His throat tightened. His eyes burned. He swallowed hard, willing himself to stay in control.
"They’ve done it to everyone who’s gone missing," he continued, his voice breaking with emotion. "And they’re planning to do it to the rest of the village. We have to escape—now."
His mother swayed where she stood, her lips parting as if to argue, but no words came. She shook her head slowly, eyes flickering between his, searching for something—denial, maybe, or some sign that this was all some cruel misunderstanding.
“They wouldn’t—” she began, but the words died on her tongue.
“They did,” Caelum cut in sharply. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
He forced himself to push past the lump in his throat, past the images seared into his mind. The twisted, writhing thing that had once been his father, its flesh barely holding together over the monstrous, inhuman frame beneath. The hollow groan it had let out, as if some distant part of it still remembered what it had lost.
His mother wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers digging into the fabric of her shawl. “But… the Clergy—”
“They knew,” Caelum spat. “They made it happen. The paladins too.”
He could see it now—the way the Elders spoke of the missing with such careful neutrality, the way the Church’s priests always gave the same rehearsed condolences. Lies, all of it.
His mother squeezed her eyes shut. “Then what are we supposed to do?”
“We leave,” he said, his voice firm. “Tonight.”
Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, but she nodded. Whatever emotions were tearing through her, she buried them quickly, pressing a hand to her mouth and inhaling shakily before pulling herself together.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
Caelum exhaled, relief flooding his chest. She wouldn’t fight him on this—not when she knew he was right.
“Pack only what you can carry,” he instructed. “Food, warm clothes, anything that won’t slow us down. We have to be gone before sunrise.”
She turned without another word, moving through the small home with a new sense of urgency. He did the same, grabbing a thick cloak and an old hunting knife from the table before securing the pack.
As he tightened the straps, a thought gnawed at him.
Would they even make it out in time?
How many others had already been taken?
His grip tightened around the leather strap. No matter what, he would protect his mother. He wouldn’t let her suffer the same fate as Pa.
They didn’t waste time. Teyva, to his relief, shed her nightclothes without hesitation, swapping them for thick winter gear with the practiced efficiency of someone who had spent her entire life in the cold. He had always admired that about his mother—how she never wasted words when action was needed. When it truly mattered, she moved.
She didn’t ask again if he was sure. She didn’t demand proof. She believed him.
That, more than anything, settled the storm in his chest.
As she fastened her cloak and stuffed dried meats and hard bread into a satchel, Caelum felt the tight coil of panic ease just a little. He had expected more resistance. Maybe denial, maybe an argument—something to slow them down. But there was none.
His mother might not have voiced her grief, might not have let herself break down at the news, but he saw it in the stiffness of her movements, in the way her hands trembled ever so slightly as she laced up her boots. She was holding herself together, pushing forward because she had no other choice.
Because they didn’t have time to mourn.
Not yet.
“Are you ready?” he murmured, glancing at his mother.
Teyva didn’t hesitate. She hoisted her pack onto her shoulders, adjusting the weight with practiced ease. “Let’s go.”
They slipped out of the house under the cover of darkness, moving with quiet, careful steps. The village was silent, but silence didn’t mean safety. Caelum kept his pace brisk, leading them away from the well-trodden paths and toward the deeper shadows between houses. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath slow and measured to keep from fogging too thickly in the cold air.
Every instinct screamed at him to run, to put as much distance between them and this place as possible, but running would leave tracks. Running would get them killed.
They moved around the village’s perimeter instead, keeping to the tree line where the snow lay uneven and broken by the passage of animals. It took longer, but it masked their tracks. When they reached the spot where he had stashed his backpack, Caelum knelt quickly, digging through the snow and hauling it free. The weight settled against his shoulders like an old companion.
He exhaled. No time to stop.
The moment the pack was secure, he gestured for them to move. East. Always east.
Teyva followed without question.
They traveled in silence, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the occasional rustle of wind through the branches. The cold bit deeper the farther they went, but neither of them slowed.
Caelum kept his senses sharp, eyes darting to the trees, ears straining for anything beyond the natural noises of the forest. He knew better than to assume they weren’t being followed. The church didn’t let things slip through its fingers so easily.
They pressed forward, step after step through the snow-covered forest, their breath coming in steady puffs of mist. The dark pressed in around them, broken only by the faint slivers of moonlight filtering through the skeletal branches overhead. Caelum’s ears strained for any sound beyond their own movement—any rustling that wasn’t the wind, any footstep out of sync with their own.
Teyva moved with quiet determination, her pace steady despite the cold. She had always been like this—practical, strong in ways that didn’t require words. He was grateful for that. There was no panic, no wasted questions or frantic hesitation. She trusted him, and that trust meant they still had a chance.
The village had long since disappeared behind them, swallowed by the thick expanse of trees. The wind whistled softly between the trunks, stirring the snow into thin, shifting veils that danced across their path. Caelum kept them moving at a steady clip, but the further they walked, the more his unease grew.
Something wasn’t right.
It was too quiet.
The forest had its own sounds—distant animal calls, the creaking of branches in the wind—but there was a stillness now that made his skin crawl.
He grabbed Teyva’s arm and slowed their pace. “We need to be careful,” he murmured.
She nodded, adjusting her pack, and they pressed on.
Another half hour passed, then an hour. His legs burned, but he pushed through it, knowing they couldn’t afford to stop just yet. They would find a place to rest once he was sure they weren’t being followed.
But then, ahead of them, something shifted.
The snow crunched—not beneath their feet, but someone else’s.
Caelum’s body went rigid. He lifted a hand to stop Teyva in her tracks.
Then he saw them.
Two figures stood in the path ahead, their silhouettes stark against the pale light of the moon. One draped in heavy robes, the other clad in plate.
Caelum’s stomach turned to ice.
Priestess Polana and Paladin Hart.
They had been waiting.
The priestess was a slender woman, her white and gold robes pristine even in the wilderness, her hands clasped before her as if she were merely observing a casual meeting. But her gaze—calculating, piercing—belied the softness of her demeanor.
Beside her, Paladin Hart stood like an immovable wall of steel. His armor gleamed in the moonlight, his posture rigid, disciplined. A greatsword was strapped to his back, a weapon far too large for a normal man to wield with ease, but he carried it as if it weighed nothing. His expression was unreadable beneath his helmet.
Teyva inhaled sharply beside Caelum.
He took a slow step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of her.
“Going somewhere?” Polana’s voice was warm, almost gentle, but it sent a chill down his spine.
Caelum’s fists clenched. He forced his expression to remain neutral. “Step aside.”
The priestess smiled. “You know we can’t do that.”
Hart remained silent, unmoving, a statue of iron and judgment.
Caelum’s heart pounded in his chest. He had to think. Had to find a way out of this. They couldn’t go back. They couldn’t surrender.
Teyva’s fingers curled into his sleeve, her grip tight.
“So it was you down there,” she mused, her tone light, almost amused. “I thought so. You’ve been too much trouble, little boy.”
Caelum’s grip on his sword tightened, his nails pressing into the leather-wrapped hilt.
“Last chance,” he said through clenched teeth, his body coiled tight as a drawn bowstring. “Step aside.”
Polana smiled. It wasn’t kind.
“Or what?” she asked, tilting her head as though he were a foolish child throwing a tantrum. “You are a paladin apprentice. Hart has been a paladin for more than two decades.”
Hart still hadn’t moved, but the weight of his presence was suffocating. He didn’t need to speak; his sheer existence was enough of a threat. His armor gleamed in the dim moonlight, a perfect, unyielding wall of steel.
Caelum took a slow breath, steadying himself. He shifted his stance slightly, putting more weight on the balls of his feet.
“You will not take us,” he growled, his voice thick with fury. He reached to his hip and unsheathed his sword in one fluid motion, the steel glinting in the pale light. “You will not turn us into those monsters like you did my father!”
Polana exhaled sharply through her nose, something close to amusement flickering in her cold eyes. “Ah. So you did find him.”
Teyva inhaled sharply beside him.
Caelum’s pulse pounded in his ears.
Polana’s fingers moved with practiced ease as she withdrew a wand from the folds of her robes. The polished wood gleamed faintly in the moonlight, the runes etched along its length pulsing with a dull, sickly glow. There was no grand flourish, no dramatic invocation—just quiet certainty, the weight of absolute control. She didn’t need to posture. She didn’t need to threaten. She had already decided how this would end.
Hart, clad in his unyielding steel, remained still. A silent sentinel. A looming executioner. He had no need for words, no need to display his strength. His presence alone was enough to smother the night air, thick and oppressive.
Polana's gaze settled on Caelum, calm and unshaken. “You will be coming with us now,” she said, as though discussing the weather. There was no anger in her tone, no cruelty, only the cold indifference of inevitability.
Her grip on the wand tightened ever so slightly.
“Though I will note,” she continued, tilting her head just so, as if examining something fragile, something already breaking, “we do not need you alive.”
Teyva inhaled sharply beside him, and Caelum could feel the tremor in her breath.
Polana smiled.
“You will be transformed, whether you like it or not.”
A rush of power flooded Caelum’s limbs as he layered augment after augment onto himself—speed, strength, reaction time. He could already feel the toll they would take later, his body screaming for rest, for stillness, but later didn’t matter. If he hesitated, there would be no later.
Polana’s lips moved in quiet incantation, the air around her thickening with aether, threads of energy coalescing at the tip of her wand. He lunged before she could finish, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His sword arced downward, a flash of steel slicing through the night.
Hart moved like a mountain shifting in the wind—unyielding, inevitable. His shield snapped up, catching the blow with practiced ease. The force of impact sent a dull clang echoing through the clearing. Before Caelum could recover, the paladin retaliated. His sword cut through the air, a swift, merciless slash aimed for Caelum’s ribs.
Caelum twisted at the last moment, his augmented reflexes barely saving him from the bite of steel. He felt the displaced air brush against his side as he pivoted, his own blade already rising for another strike.
He feinted left, drawing Hart’s shield in that direction—then drove his foot into the warrior’s midsection. The impact was solid, forcing Hart to stagger, his balance momentarily shaken. It wasn’t much, but it was an opening. Caelum pressed forward, his sword descending again. The blade scraped against metal, barely finding purchase against the reinforced plate. A glancing blow.
Damn it.
He needed more force. A blade alone wouldn’t do. If only he had a spear. A hammer. Something to piercethrough the chinks in the armour or damage it directly, rather than glance off it.
Hart recovered faster than Caelum would have liked. The paladin's stance shifted, weight settling, shield raised, blade poised to strike. There was no hesitation in his movements—only certainty, the kind that came with decades of experience. Caelum had been trained for this, had sparred with knights, had fought in drills that mimicked real combat. But this wasn’t a spar. This was a battle to the death, and Hart had fought more of those than Caelum could count.
Caelum adjusted his grip, breathing through his nose. He couldn't overpower him. He couldn't break through the armor outright. But he didn't need to. He just needed an opening.
Hart stepped in, fast for someone so heavily armored, and thrust his sword forward. Caelum sidestepped, but Hart followed, shield slamming toward him. Caelum barely managed to twist away, but the edge of the shield clipped his shoulder, sending him stumbling back. Pain shot down his arm. Not enough to cripple him, but enough to slow him.
And then Polana finished her spell.
Aether crackled in the air as a lance of golden light shot toward him. Caelum barely had time to react. He dove to the side, feeling the heat of it sear past his face, but it had been a feint—Hart was already on him, shield ramming forward. He had no time to dodge.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum, trying to get his feet under him before the killing blow came. Hart was relentless, already moving to finish him.
Caelum's mind raced. He needed space.
He threw his sword.
It wasn’t a clean throw. It wasn’t meant to be. But the sudden, desperate movement made Hart hesitate for half a breath, just long enough for Caelum to push off the ground and lunge for his fallen blade. His fingers closed around the hilt just as Polana's voice rang out again.
"Enough."
The word carried power. A command. A spell. Aether wrapped around his limbs like invisible chains. He tried to move, to lift his sword, but his body locked up.
Hart didn’t hesitate. His armored boot came down hard, slamming into Caelum’s wrist. A sharp crack. White-hot pain flared up his arm. His fingers spasmed, and the sword slipped from his grasp.
“No!” Teyva’s voice.
She had been waiting, watching, knowing that her interference would only make things worse. But now, seeing her son disarmed, she couldn't stand by any longer. She charged at Polana, a hunting knife glinting in her grip.
Polana sighed.
A flick of her wrist. Aether shimmered. Teyva's body seized mid-step.
For a heartbeat, she was still.
Then she jerked forward with unnatural force, like a puppet yanked by its strings—straight onto Hart’s waiting blade.
Caelum’s breath caught in his throat.
Hart barely moved, barely even reacted as his sword sank into her stomach. The strike had been effortless, instinctive. A trained warrior meeting an oncoming threat, nothing more.
Teyva’s lips parted. No scream. No words. Just a shuddering breath as she staggered, her fingers twitching weakly at the hilt lodged deep in her gut.
Caelum’s body finally obeyed him, but too late. He reached for her as she crumpled to the ground.
“Mom—” His voice broke.
Hart withdrew his sword with the same indifference as if he were cleaning it after a hunt. Blood slicked the steel, steaming in the cold.
Polana tilted her head, peering down at the fallen woman. “A shame. I wasn’t aiming to kill her. But, well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She turned her gaze to Caelum, still kneeling beside his mother’s body. “Are you going to make this harder, or will you come quietly now?”
Something in Caelum cracked.