“Freedom is never free.” — Maya Angelou A loud bang shook the slave quarters.
Riven jolted awake, his eyes snapping open.
For a moment, he thought the guards were attacking someone, but then another explosion echoed through the camp.
He rushed to the small window and looked outside.
Bright balls of fire soared into the night sky, exploding into brilliant flashes of red, orange, and gold.
Mages stood in the distance, launching fireballs into the air as part of the Founding Day celebrations.
The noise was deafening.
Slaves shouted to one another, while guards laughed and drank.
Some were already stumbling around, their weapons hanging loosely at their sides.
Riven stared at the display for a moment.
Then he remembered his plan.
‘Tonight.’ He quickly climbed down from his sleeping spot and reached beneath the loose brick.
His fingers closed around the small spear tip he had hidden there weeks ago.
He wrapped it in a piece of cloth and tucked it beneath his clothes.
He had spent the last two weeks watching the guards, memorizing their routines, and waiting for this night.
He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he couldn’t afford to waste this opportunity.
As he turned toward the door, a voice stopped him.
“Going somewhere?” Riven froze.
The old man stood in the doorway, his arms crossed.
His expression was difficult to read.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Riven slowly reached for the spear tip beneath his clothes.
“You’re planning to escape, aren’t you?” the old man asked.
Riven didn’t answer.
The old man sighed and glanced toward the window.
Another fireball exploded overhead, briefly lighting up the room.
“I thought so.” Riven watched him carefully, unsure what to say.
He had expected the old man to warn him against doing something stupid.
Instead, the man simply stepped aside.
“You’re not going to stop me?” Riven asked.
“No.” “Why?” The old man looked at him for a moment before speaking.
“Because I tried the same thing when I first got here.” Riven’s eyes widened slightly.
“When I first arrived, I thought I could escape,” the old man continued.
“I was younger then.
Stronger, too.
I thought I could get past the guards and make it out of here.” He paused, looking down at his hands.
“They caught me.” Riven remained silent.
“They didn’t just beat me.
They destroyed my arms.
Made sure I wouldn’t try it again.” The old man flexed his fingers.
They were stiff and crooked, with several scars running along the backs of his hands.
Riven stared at them.
“That’s why the guards hate you?” he asked.
The old man gave a dry chuckle.
“I suppose they never liked me much to begin with.” Another explosion shook the camp.
The slaves outside cheered, and the guards responded with drunken laughter.
Riven glanced toward the door.
“We don’t have much time,” he said.
“No, we don’t.” “I’ll help you.” “Why?” he asked.
The old man shrugged.
“Because I know what it’s like to spend years waiting for a chance that never comes.” He turned toward the door.
“Come on.
Before someone notices we’re gone.” Riven followed him.
They slipped out of the quarters and into the courtyard.
The celebration had grown louder.
Several guards were gathered around a fire, drinking from large wooden mugs.
Others were watching the mages launch more fireballs into the sky.
The courtyard was in chaos.
Guards were shouting and moving around.
Some were laughing, while others sat quietly, keeping their heads down.
A few guards tried to maintain order, but even they seemed more interested in the festivities than their duties.
Riven kept his head low as he followed the old man along the edge of the courtyard.
They reached the storage hall without being noticed.
The building was made of rough stone, with a small window near the back.
Riven had spent several days watching it, trying to figure out whether he could fit through.
He was fairly certain he could.
The old man stopped beneath the window and looked around.
“Go on,” he whispered.
Riven climbed onto a nearby crate and reached for the window’s edge.
He pulled himself up, squeezing his shoulders through the narrow opening.
His small frame made it possible, though the rough stone scraped against his skin.
He dropped quietly onto the other side.
The storage hall was dark and smelled of dust, oil, and old wood.
Crates and barrels were stacked along the walls.
Riven could barely see anything, but he knew what he was looking for.
He moved carefully through the room, keeping his footsteps light.
There.
Several barrels of lamp oil sat near the back wall.
Riven hurried over and pulled one of the smaller containers toward him.
He had planned this part carefully.
The oil would spread quickly across the floor, and if he could set it alight, the guards would have something much more important to worry about than a missing slave.
He opened the container and began pouring.
The thick liquid splashed across the stone floor, spreading between the crates and beneath the shelves.
He used as much as he could without making too much noise.
Once he was finished, he left the container where it was picking up a lighter from the shelf on the way and hurried back toward the window.
Outside, the old man waited beneath the window, keeping watch.
He glanced toward the courtyard as voices grew louder.
A group of guards had begun moving through the area, shouting at the slaves to stay where they were.
Then one of them noticed him.
“Hey!
You!” The old man turned.
“What are you doing out here?” “Taking a walk,” he replied.
The guard frowned.
“At this hour?” “It’s Founding Day.
Thought I’d enjoy the fresh air.” The second guard stepped closer.
“Don’t get smart with me.” The first guard grabbed the old man by the arm.
“Come with us.” The old man didn’t resist.
He knew better than to give them a reason to hurt him.
They dragged him toward the courtyard, where several other guards had gathered.
One of them recognized him immediately.
“Well, look who it is.
The old escape artist.” The old man said nothing.
“Still thinking about running away?” A few guards laughed.
The old man kept his eyes lowered.
He knew what was coming.
He had seen it happen to others before, and he knew the guards had never forgiven him for his first escape attempt.
They shoved him to his knees in the middle of the courtyard.
Meanwhile, Riven climbed back through the window and dropped onto the ground outside.
He landed quietly, then looked around for the old man.
He couldn’t see him.
He took a few steps toward the courtyard, keeping close to the storage hall.
Then he heard shouting.
“Trying to escape again, are you?” Riven froze.
He peered around the corner and saw the old man kneeling on the ground, surrounded by guards.
One held him by the shoulder while another stood in front of him with a sword.
Riven’s stomach tightened.
He wanted to move, to do something, but his legs refused to obey.
The guard raised his sword.
Riven watched helplessly as the old man lifted his head.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
The old man smiled.
It wasn’t a bitter smile or one filled with regret.
He looked almost relieved.
The sword came down.
Riven stood frozen as the old man’s head fell to the ground.
The guards shouted and laughed at one another, but their voices seemed distant.
All Riven could hear was the pounding of his own heart.
The old man was still smiling.
Riven stared at him for another moment, unable to look away.
Then he turned, tossing the lit lighter into the window.
He didn’t run.
Not at first.
He simply walked away, his fists clenched and his eyes fixed on the ground.
He had wanted to escape.
Now he had to live with what it had cost.
Behind him, the celebration continued.
Fireballs exploded in the sky, and the guards returned to their drinking, The old man nothing but entertainment for them.
Riven disappeared into the darkness.