#lost flame

Vardan could still hear those footfalls chasing his own, every ounce of poor judgment coaxing him to dare a glance back. Not a single one of them he recognized. Why were they after him? What did he do to deserve this? There was no time to think about that, the alleyway ahead of him demanded attention.

A misplaced crate proved to be an unwelcome obstacle, clipped and tumbled over in a painful display of gracelessly flailing limbs. Vardan scrambled to his feet, giving a brief reenactment of a baby dhamel trying to stand for the first time as his hands and feet slid about on the icy stone below him. 

Those strangers had closed in, cackling in his wake as the young engineer finally got stable on his feet and bolted with a panicked outcry. He had to get away. He had to escape what was coming for him. 

They just looked like people. They sounded like normal Ishgardian citizens. Yet everything in him screamed that these were demons. These were monsters out for his blood; horrid fiends masquerading as his countrymen. He could feel it crawling over his skin with a chill that put the ice of Coerthas to shame. 

“Come back, we only want to talk!” One of the trio called out, voice dancing with the line of humor. It was a lie. Vardan could feel it in his soul; in the heat swelling in his chest. It was a lie; it was poison in the form of words. It was death coming for him, and he was running out of places to run.

The alleyway that was supposed to lead him to freedom instead led him to a dead end, the distress thundering in his chest only increasing. He slapped his hands against the stone wall barring his way, as if hoping to convince it to move, to crumble and let him through. He had to get out of here. He had to get away. 

Scrambling for some crates to climb, Vardan quickly found himself grabbed up and tossed, landing with a startled wail in unkind arms. What a woeful song and dance, and he already knew so many of the steps. By some blessing from the Fury he managed to stay on his feet as he was shoved about, his arms wrapping up around his head to take what shelter he could from the impact of fists. 

What felt like hours spanned only a minute before the shouting of knights rang down the alleyway. That was all that was needed. That heartbeat of a pause, that pristine window of opportunity. 

Vardan bolted, with all the feral haste he could manage he fled, vaulting up onto the stack of crates he failed to reach before, provoking several of the boxes to tumble down in his wake. It was just enough, to give him space, to give him freedom, to give him the lash rush of adrenaline to make it to an aetheryte shard. 

The moment his hand slapped onto the stone he was gone, rippling out the frigid realm of Ishgard and into the warm embrace of the Mists. Sanctuary. Salvation. Home… This place was none of those things, but in his rush, it was where he ended up, tired legs dragging him onto the lawn with one sore step after the next.