Attila and Ebren, having left the palace garden, were now in the stone streets of the capital. Ebren's consciousness was still absent; Belisarius's blows had nearly paralyzed his body. Attila, despite the spear wound in his back, sat upright on his horse. Blood seeping from under his left shoulder had already stained the edge of his cloak a dark red. He clenched his teeth and whispered to the soldiers behind him to be "fast but silent."
The narrow stone streets climbing uphill had turned into a murmuring labyrinth in the dimness of the night. The capital's large square was now behind them. The lights had dimmed, and the street lamps flickered weakly. Attila's breathing became uneven. For a moment, his head drooped forward but he quickly recovered. Terna brought the reins of his horse closer to Attila.
"Commander… are you alright?"
Attila did not answer. His eyes looked hazy, and blood pooled at the corner of his lips. With a final effort, he raised his head and said, "Keep going…" but his voice was barely a whisper. When they reached under a bridge, Attila suddenly slumped forward. His balance faltered, and the reins slipped from his hands. The horse kept moving, but the burden on its back sagged like a shadow. Bora immediately rode his horse next to him and, with one arm, supported Attila's falling body. His voice was filled with concern.
"He's fainted! The blood loss shouldn't have progressed this much…"
Terna dismounted his horse and immediately took Attila's reins.
"We will turn left at the stone arch at the end of the road. That will lead us to the north gate."
Two soldiers led the horses carrying Ebren and the unconscious Attila through the narrow streets. They passed the night market still scented with spices, the sleeping houses, and the inn walls lit dimly by lanterns. There was silence, but every corner was filled with danger. Before leaving the city, they stopped in a last side street. Bora looked at Attila.
"He won't last much longer like this."
Terna nodded.
"We need to get out of the city and reach the forest road. There we can set up camp and stop the bleeding. After that… only God knows."
Attila's head still fell onto his chest. His cloak seemed to be growing heavier by itself. Ebren remained silent and motionless but alive, and they were running. From Sezar's palace, from Alphamos's army…
The group that exited through the northern gate of the capital had reached Meral Forest after a long and tense escape. Pines and oaks intertwined tightly. The sky was overcast, the moon hidden behind clouds. A cold wind that cut through the trees accompanied them to the clearing where they would camp. Terna walked ahead, clearing the path, while Bora carefully held the nearly sliding unconscious Attila in the saddle behind. Ebren's body swung motionless like a burden on the horse. The horse growled nervously with every step, uneasy as if sensing its rider's condition. They stopped by a stream. The place was small but sheltered, away from the road with abundant water. Wood was quickly gathered for the fire, guards were assigned, and cloths and saddles were spread on the ground. Attila was carefully laid down. His cloak was completely soaked in blood. Bora's face was furrowed with worry. He reached out to check Attila's pulse.
"He's alive… but very weak."
Terna knelt and took out an ointment container from his bag. His hands worked quickly but shakily.
"The wound is very deep… If it gets infected by morning…"
He glanced at Ebren. His sentence hung in the air. Ebren's eyelids were half-open but his gaze was empty, and his body completely unresponsive. Not even a strand of hair on his face moved. Turning his head to the fire as it crackled, Terna said,
"I don't have the courage to return to the capital without these two. One is my commander, the other… someone who will hold a whole army at bay with his madness."
Bora's voice was hoarse, tired.
"I don't know what will happen when they wake… But what if they never wake?"
Terna looked at Attila. There was a stubborn hope burning in his eyes.
"They will wake, because he's not the type to abandon his friends halfway."
As the fire warmed the ground, the sky gradually cleared. Stars began to emerge one by one from the dark veil of night, watching over the camp. The wind gently shook the leaves of the trees; everything turned into a silent waiting.
Terna folded the map in his hand and put it back in his bag, his eyes fixed on the darkness of the camp.
"We can't stay here any longer."
Bora squatted by the fire, scratching the ground with a short splinter of wood. He looked up.
"Attila barely moves. Ebren still hasn't regained consciousness. Leaving now would be death."
Terna spoke without harshness but her determination was clear on his face.
"If we stay here, we'll die anyway."
Bora rubbed his forehead, his voice almost a sigh.
"Then where do you suggest we go?"
Terna stood up, answering without turning around.
"Miroma."
Bora froze for a moment, then straightened with surprise.
"Miroma? That's at least a week away from here! In the middle of a small sea opening to the northern sea! How will we get there in this condition?"
Terna turned to Bora, a mixture of weariness and seriousness on his face.
"I know it's far. But we have no other choice. We can't go west or east. The south is already held by Sezar. Miroma will buy us time. Like a refuge… remote, isolated, and between Alphamos and Tengritugen. If we reach there, we can move on to Tengritugen."
Bora frowned, looking at Attila and then at Ebren's still unconscious body.
"So… how do we carry them on a week-long journey like this?"
Terna shrugged lightly, his voice now quieter.
"If we don't want to be found… we have to carry them."
Terna walked a few steps and knelt beside Ebren. He took out a piece of cloth and a small bottle of tincture from his jacket's inner pocket. Silently, he began to clean around the wound. The darkness made the forest even quieter; only the rustling of the distant wind and the faint crackle of the fire could be heard. He didn't speak for a while. Then, his voice came calmly but clearly.
"We must maintain the first aid as much as possible. Their pulses are still present but weak."
Bora lowered his head without saying anything, staring at Ebren's face. Terna tied the bandage and stood up, continuing without taking his eyes off Bora.
"We must not stop at all until Miroma. Neither in forest villages nor mountain passes. Sezar won't even let us catch our breath."
Bora shook his head from side to side, then took a deep breath.
"The roads are dark, bodies tired, but I understand…"
"We have no other option."
Silence returned for a moment. The campfire flickered, casting long shadows on the ground. When an owl hooted in the distance, Bora pressed the cloth to Ebren's forehead and whispered softly without voicing his thoughts.
"Then let's get moving."
The thick darkness of the night covered the forest like a heavy blanket. The flickering light of the fire was about to fade. Moonlight streaming through the branches fell on the motionless bodies lying on the ground. Attila still leaned half-faint on his horse; his head drooped onto his chest and his hands hung limply. Ebren was carefully carried between two soldiers; his face was pale and dull.
Terna made the final checks of the camp with sunken eyes. The fire had long been extinguished, traces covered, and every step was drowned in silence. He wrapped a few pieces of cloth, checked Attila's bandages, and shook his head. Bora reined his horse and glanced at the other three soldiers. One was carrying Ebren, the other two guarded the rear line.
Terna checked the bow on his shoulder once again, looked at the dark path ahead. No one spoke because there was nothing left to say. Terna quietly bowed his head. He gave a brief signal to the soldier reins on Attila's horse and then proceeded ahead himself. With the sound of horseshoes breaking over broken branches, seven silhouettes glided into the heart of the night. As the moonlight faded behind them, only a ruined camp and the scent of blood soaked into the stones remained. A journey began towards Miroma in the silent embrace of death.