For a moment, I stood still, listening, letting the thick silence settle around me. My hands, now free, ached from the tight bindings that had left red grooves along my wrists. My muscles were sore, my ribs protesting each breath, but none of that mattered. The dawn was coming, and with it, a new set of guards. I had to be gone by then.

I scanned the corridor, the flickering torches casting eerie, dancing shadows on the baobab and iroko beams. The air was damp, smelling of rot and despair, but there was something else – a draft, faint but cool, stirring the air from somewhere deeper in the dungeon. I had no map, no plan, but if there was air moving, there was a way out.

I crept along the walls, my bare feet silent on the cold, uneven earth. The intricate carvings in the wood – symbols of protection, warnings to ward off evil – seemed to pulse in the torchlight, like the ancient spirits themselves were watching me, waiting to see if I'd make it. I ignored them, focused on the task at hand. Every step took me closer to freedom, or closer to death.

The corridor split ahead, the left path plunging deeper into the dark, while the right led toward the faintest glimmer of light. A soft shuffle echoed from the left, the kind that belonged to heavy, deliberate footsteps.

Guards.

I shrank back into the shadows, pressing myself against the cold wood as two figures emerged, their silhouettes tall and imposing.

They were carrying torches, their flames small but bright, illuminating their faces – two men, both with the hard, blank stares of those long used to dark places. The bigger one, a hulking figure with a scar running down the side of his face, muttered something under his breath. The other one, younger, nodded and pointed toward the right passage. "Check there. I'll patrol the cells."

I held my breath, muscles tense as the larger guard lumbered past me, so close I could see the sweat glistening on his brow. The moment he was gone, I darted behind him, slipping silently into the shadows of the opposite direction. My pulse thrummed in my ears, but I forced myself to focus. The corridor was empty again, and I was one step closer to escaping.

The path ahead began to slope downward, the air growing cooler, and the faint draft stronger. I rounded a corner and found myself facing a thick wooden door, almost hidden in the darkness. I pressed my ear against it, straining to hear any movement.

Nothing.

Gently, I pushed the door open, slipping inside.

The room was small and cramped, filled with old tools and rusted chains hanging from the walls. The air was stale, but there was a faint breeze whispering from a crack in the far wall. It was narrow, barely wide enough for a child, but I could see moonlight creeping through the gap.

An exit.

I crossed the room quickly, fingers probing the crack. The wood around it was rotted, soft to the touch. I could break through it, but it would take time, and it wouldn't be quiet. I turned, searching the room, my eyes landing on an old iron bar leaning against the wall.

Perfect.

I grabbed it, wedging it into the crack, and began to pry. The wood groaned, splintering under the pressure. I winced at the noise, but kept going, every creak and snap bringing me closer to freedom. Just as the crack widened enough to slip through, I heard it – the faintest whisper of footsteps approaching.

I froze, my heart hammering, listening. The steps were slow, deliberate, like someone was trying not to be heard. They were coming from the corridor, getting closer. I looked at the crack, then at the door. I could make a run for it, but if I was caught... No. I had to fight.

I positioned myself behind the door, the iron bar gripped tightly in my hands. The footsteps paused just outside, and I could almost feel the guard's breath on the other side. The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, his torch casting a pool of light at his feet. I waited, silent, until he was fully in the room.

Then, I struck.

The iron bar swung down, catching him across the back of the neck. He crumpled, his torch falling and sputtering on the floor. I didn't give him a chance to recover, dropping the bar and grabbing his head, twisting it sharply until I heard the sickening crack of bone. He went limp, his body slumping to the ground — unconscious and not dead.

I had no time to waste. I shoved his body aside, grabbed the torch, and wedged myself through the crack. The cool night air hit my face like a splash of water, and I inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of freedom. I crawled out into a narrow pathway, the early signs of dawn just beginning to paint the sky a soft, pale blue.

But I wasn't free yet. Not really. I could hear shouts echoing from the dungeon, the guards realizing one of their own was missing, and it wouldn't be long before they found the body. I had to move, fast.

I sprinted down the path, sticking to the shadows, my mind racing. If I could reach the river, I could disappear into the forests on the other side. But first, I had to lose any followers.

The path opened up into a compound, wide and open, with nowhere to hide. Two guards stood at the far end, their backs to me, oblivious. I ducked behind a stack of wooden crates, weighing my options. I could sneak past them, or I could take them out.

I reached for the knife tucked into my belt, the same one I had thrown at Nkili. It was my last weapon, and I couldn't afford to lose it. I crept forward, keeping low, my steps silent. When I was close enough, I threw the knife, aiming for the back of the first guard's neck. It struck true, but not deep enough to kill, only for the sleep-venom to sip into his body, and he went down without a sound.

The second guard turned, his eyes widening in surprise. Before he could react, I was on him, slamming my elbow into his throat. He staggered back, gasping, but I didn't let up, driving my knee into his gut and wrenching the knife free from his comrade's neck. One swift and shallow slash across the throat, and he was down.

I stood there, panting, the knife slick with blood. The compound was quiet again, but I could hear the faint echo of more footsteps in the distance, getting closer. I had to keep moving.

I slipped through the compound, ducking into another path.

How big was this man's compound?

This one led to a narrow path that sloped downward, toward the river. I could hear the water rushing below, the sound growing louder with each step. I was close, so close.

As I rounded the final bend, I saw them – three more guards, standing at the water's edge, their spears glinting in the early light. They hadn't seen me yet, but there was no way I could sneak past all three.

I picked up a small stone from the ground, tossing it into the bushes off to the side. The noise caught their attention, and they turned, squinting into the shadows. That was all I needed. I darted forward, knife in hand, catching the first guard by surprise. The blade slid shallowly between his ribs and I pulled it free as he fell.

The other two turned, raising their spears, but I was already moving, dodging the thrusts. I dropped to the ground, sweeping one's legs out from under him, and drove my knife into the side of his throat before he could get up. The last guard hesitated, his eyes wide with fear, and I took advantage of his momentary paralysis, rushing forward and knocking him out cold with the hilt of my knife.

I stood there, chest heaving, the morning light breaking over the horizon. I could see the river now, the water glistening like silver in the dawn. I wiped the blood from my knife, slipping it back into my belt, and turned toward the water.

With one last look at the compound behind me, I plunged into the river, the cold water enveloping me, carrying me away. The current was strong, pulling me downstream, but I didn't fight it. I let it take me, away from the dungeon, away from the guards, and into the safety of the forest on the other side.

The dawn was breaking, the sky painted with streaks of pink and gold, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I allowed myself to breathe, to feel the exhilaration of freedom.

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