The way a turtle shoves itself back into a dark, protective shell, Renit pulls the cloak tighter over his features and keeps his head down. To make himself appear weak and ineffective, he hunches his shoulders, drawing them in closer to his body to get rid of the mass the guards are used to looking for. Now he's an ordinary slum walker, those that venture through the night in search of the unsuspecting.

Bits of conversation from the guards echoes off the stone walls of the buildings close in on them from either side of the street. Not enough space for five guards and Renit, trying to keep himself as far away as possible.

He counts the knives strapped to him, over and over in his head. Two in each boot, two strapped to his back. That's all he has, no one in the slums is willing to sell a sword for a cheap price and he's hardly been able to make any money. Showing his face in the pits, winning that money would not bode well as everyone goes there—even the king's closest supporters. Renit had planned to watch from a dark corner, shielding his face from the viewers.

A pounding erupts in his chest, a warning that if he doesn't get out of there soon, he'll panic and do something he's not supposed to. The guards are so sunken into their own conversation that Renit hopes they won't notice him or ask to see any bit of identification. He doesn't have that, either. Grinding his teeth together to steel his nerves, Renit moves to the shadowed corner of the street and shoves his hands in his pockets.

One guard in the group snickers, stumbling over his own two feet, and the other shoves him forward. They're drunk. At least one of them is. Renit's chest loosens its tightness, and he grants himself enough freedom to glance out of the corner of his eye around the thick fabric of his cloak, to examine the guards. Another mistake. One of them is already looking right at him, squinting into the dark.

Renit snaps his stare forward once more and stares at the stone floor of the streets. His boot splashes into a puddle of urine.

"Hey!" The guard shouts. His words are clear, Renit realizes. But he keeps walking in hopes the guard will ignore he was ever there in the first place. "Hey, you! I'm talking to you!"

Renit stops, boots scraping against the loose stone. This is it. This is where it'll end.

The other guards are already taking formation, moving to block his path. They're not as dumb as Renit thought, in fact, they appear to be much more effective than those in the castle. They're prepared for anything, especially a fight from someone that carries too much resemblance of a warrior to be an innocent slum walker.

"I'm just passing through," Renit mumbles from underneath the hood of his cloak.

"No shit, freak," the guard snaps. He's the leader of the squad, carries the most age amongst the rest. A gold pommeled sword given directly from his father hangs from the guard's belt. Renit would recognize those symbols anywhere. "Show me some identification."

Renit's hand clench inside his pockets. He doesn't have identification. This will have to end here, then. Underneath a cloak of shadow, Renit raises his gaze to meet the three guards standing in front of him, keeping their distance. The other two, including their leader, keep to his back.

Moonlight casts across his features and the one that stumbled, drunk off his ass, squints to get a better look. The corner of his mouth tugs up in confusion. "The prince," he whispers.

Before anyone can move, breathe, or blink, Renit's knife cuts through the air and slams into the guard's forehead. He drops like a rock, back slamming against the stone street, cut and ruined after the people of the slums had their way with it.

Guards rush at the banished prince, realigning too quick for his own good. He ducks out of the way of slashing swords, their blades ricocheting off the walls as Renit uses them as his fault. He rips the other knife free from his back, the first now leaking blood from that guard's head.

With a quick, sharpened throw, another guard goes down as the knife lodges itself in his chest. He won't be rising.

Renit attempts to reach for another knife but not in time. A sword comes for his head and he ducks out of the way, leaning back on his heels and bending his back in such a matter it stings. Moving like a viper, Renit slides back and forth to dodge the attacks of the three remaining guards. They're aiming to kill, not bring him back to the castle alive. After the mercy the king gave him in Roux's honor.

Sliding into that killing calm, Renit runs towards one of the fallen guards and yanks an unused sword from its sheath. They won't be using the weapon anytime soon.

The pommel is cold against Renit's skin, strange for a warm night like this, and he breathes in the tang of blood leaking into the air from the two bodies lying in the street. Flashes of what his father made him do over the years come back, each one more terrible than the last. No longer. Renit Marron will not bow down to someone as cruel as him.

His attacks are a flurry of rage and lightning. He wills the power into the blade, a fair fight for these guards who won't stand a chance against such a strong power. Weapons first, powers later. Last resort.

With an upwards slash from hip to shoulder, Renit takes down another guard, all the while fending off another with a strong kick to the gut. The guard flies, slamming against the stone street, but is back up in a second, rushing at Renit with sword raised high in the air. He meets the blade of their leader, shoving him back with a strong elbow seconds later.

Panting, Renit twists the sword in his hand and stares down his nose, assessing his targets. Enemies. They both have to die. The king can't know he's here.

Renit's worst fear is realized when the leader turns to his fellow guard and orders, "Alert the king. Pass the news."

"No!" Renit shouts. A blast of lightning erupts from his palm and he aims, but not steady enough. His power is weak from lack of use over the past month and instead of behaving how Renit wishes, dashes out of control. The blast strikes a nearby stone building and debris shoot into the street, narrowly missing the fleeing guard. Before Renit can stop him, he's gone and all that's left is their leader.

"You're banished, prince. If I were you, I would have left a long time ago." The guard twists his sword, the blaze whizzing back and forth in a snake-like pattern.

Renit's mouth tightens before his lips curl into a snarl. "See you in hell." A blast of lightning erupts from his fingers, white and scorching with heat. This time, Renit doesn't miss.

The blast wraps around the guard, binding him there, and his body convulses. Renit, forcing the memory of Silas moving the same way out of his mind, presses all his strength into his power until smoke sizzles from the guard's body.

Renit forces a cap on his power once the guard's eyes roll back into his head. A new lightness flutters in his chest. There had been nowhere to exert that power until now, except for the brief flecks he was allowed in the attic and creating one storm-wisped day that wouldn't make his father suspicious.

Shouting erupts from around the street corner. Renit realizes he can't stay here any longer. Not in the attic, the cottage, or the capital. He needs to leave. The guards are aware of him and their presence will become a nuisance the longer he remains.

He doesn't have time to gather his belongings but everything he needs is hanging from a chain around his neck. Before the guards discover his location, Renit rips his weapons from the bodies of those guards and steals what he can from their still-cooling bodies. Another three on the long list of lives he's taken.

Their faces are already blurred in his mind, as are all the rest.

As he runs towards the outskirts of the capital, Renit doesn't have to think twice about where he plans to go. The only place that won't turn up its nose at him and try to kill whatever life he might have left.

Arego. He'll go to Arego.

That's what she would have wanted.