The basement was a stark contrast to the outside world. It was colder and filled with dampness that hung heavy in the air. During the night, it was pitch black, but as the sun rose, a faint glimmer of light managed to penetrate the shadows, revealing only vague outlines of the interior and scattered objects within.

Rubble littered the space, evidence of what had fallen from above through the same hole Bruno had used for entry. Broken furniture lay strewn about, drenched with moisture, and occasional mushrooms sprouted here and there, their distinct shapes and earthy scent recognizable to the young alchemist due to his deep studies.

The underground chamber was saturated with humidity, likely seeping from the ground itself. In the driest corners, Mamadou had strategically placed leather bags containing essential supplies: non-perishable food, long-lasting drinks, bandages, and ointments for treating minor wounds.

The skin on Bruno's shoulders bore scratches that had penetrated deeply, necessitating the use of some of the medicinal supplies. As for food, he had rationed his intake during the initial days, unsure of how long he would be confined in the underground sanctuary and wanting to conserve as much as possible.

The medicine provided some relief, albeit insufficient to alleviate the pain entirely. Still, it was better than nothing.

The days spent in the basement were monotonous and uneventful. There was absolutely nothing to do, and silence had to be maintained at all times. The lack of activity outside prevented him from eavesdropping on any commotion or feeling the rush of adrenaline caused by the sudden appearance of those who sought him. At least not until a sound reached his ears.

This changed the whole situation. Fortunatel yi was Mamadou's head, that suddenly appeared through the hole. He was panting heavily, his face covered in sweat and blood.

"We need to go!" he hissed urgently. "Grab the supplies and come out."

Bruno wanted to question the situation, to understand what was happening, but he sensed the urgency and danger that his teacher's appearance implied. There was no time for debate. In a flurry of movement, he gathered the nearest sacks and swiftly passed them through the hole. Someone on the other side received the supplies, and the boy emerged, his mind filled with worries and uncertainty about what awaited them on the surface.

Initially, the young alchemist could only hear the heavy panting of two people and the shuffling noise of supplies being relocated, as he threw them up through the hole. Then the midday sun greeted him with its blinding rays, forcing him to close his eyes. However, he knew that the luxury of not being able to see was one he couldn't afford. Despite the pain and discomfort, he forced his eyelids open, determined to take in his surroundings.

Javohir stood before him, drenched in blood and sporting hastily fashioned bandages made from torn pieces of his own clothing. Despite his trembling form, he managed to maintain a semblance of composure. Mamadou, too, was covered in blood, but he appeared unscathed, though visibly fatigued.

"We need to leave. This place is lost. We need another hideout," the former assassin informed the young alchemist.

Bruno's mind teemed with countless questions, but he restrained himself from voicing them. Instead, he focused his mental energy on addressing the immediate problem at hand.

"Do you have a location?" he inquired, his voice tinged with urgency.

In response, Mamadou shook his head, indicating the lack of a predetermined hideout.

"Fuck," the boy muttered under his breath, his gaze scanning the surroundings as if hoping to stumble upon a new location through sheer observation. It was an instinctive bodily reaction, as his mind labored to devise a solution, employing every ounce of its cognitive prowess.

After a few moments, Bruno pointed in the direction of the docks.

"There's a place near the harbor, sometimes used by slave traders to house their merchandise. I was once held there. It might be worth a try," he suggested.

Mamadou recognized the location Bruno mentioned, immediately recognizing the boy was speaking about Nirav's group.

"It could work. The group is small, and the spot is relatively secure. Even if they're present, we might be able to handle them, with the two of us," Mamadou assessed, briefly glancing at Javohir, who was clearly in no condition to engage in combat.

"How are we going to make our way to the harbor?" Javohir inquired through clenched teeth, struggling to mask the pain.

"Wait here," Mamadou swiftly responded, dropping the bag he held and hurrying out of the ruins.

Bruno wasted no time. He swiftly approached the fallen bag, gesturing for Javohir to come closer, all the while rummaging through its contents. After a brief search, he retrieved bandages and ointment, essential supplies for treating a wound.

With haste, Bruno skillfully tended to Javohir's haphazardly dressed injuries, replacing the old dressing with a more secure and new one. Though his sparring partner didn’t say a word, his anguished groans, and gasps conveyed the extent of his pain.

Soon after, Mamadou returned, pushing a cart covered by a cloth. The presence of insects buzzing around hinted at the food concealed beneath the fabric. Mamadou had also wrapped a loose piece of blue fabric around his head.

"Get on," Mamadou instructed.

Reacting swiftly, Bruno rushed to the cart with the bag in hand. He removed the cloth, revealing an assortment of fruits and baked goods. Creating space among the food, he tossed some of it aside, clearing enough room for two. He then aided Javohir in climbing onto the cart.

Meanwhile, Mamadou properly secured the fabric around his head, effectively disguising himself. In Mashek, such head coverings were commonplace due to the airborne dust and bothersome bugs that incessantly sought to intrude upon people's mouths, nostrils, and even eyes.

Once the two boys were settled in the cart, Mamadou covered them with the cloth, ensuring that enough of the surroundings were visible to avoid arousing suspicion about the cart's contents.

Javohir's body continued to tremble from the pain, despite the slight relief provided by the ointments. Occasional gasps and groans escaped his lips, despite his best efforts to remain as quiet as possible. Bruno understood the danger that any noise posed, considering the whole city was likely searching for them. Taking action, he covered Javohir's mouth.

"I know it hurts, but this is a critical moment. Stay quiet, and we will all gain our freedom," he whispered.

Javohir's head was shaking, but he managed to nod. Bruno gently pulled him closer, ensuring that his involuntary movements didn't cause the cloth above to tremble excessively.

And so, the journey commenced. To keep himself calm and pass the time, Bruno silently recited the familiar old rhyme in his mind. ‘The young miner Frank swung his pickaxe, clang, clang, clang...’ The rhythm of the wooden wheels rolling over the uneven ground harmonized with the cadence of the rhyme. It provided him with a sense of stability, especially since it was the only indicator of their current location. As they approached the harbor area, the distinct sound of cobblestones beneath the wheels would signify their arrival.

Time passed, and fragments of human noises gradually reached Bruno's ears. He strained to extract any discernible information, but they were mostly distant and fragmented, containing no more than a few disconnected words. However, this soon changed.

It became evident that they were nearing the merchant district, adjacent to the harbor, as the sound of vibrant voices trying to sell their goods filled the air. The bustling atmosphere grew with each passing moment, accompanied by an increasing number of individuals present.

Amidst the chaos, Bruno caught fragments of conversations discussing the fire that had consumed the archmage's mansion and the subsequent surge of guards flooding the streets. These fragmented details offered glimpses of the unfolding situation, yet the full picture remained elusive.

Meanwhile, Mamadou remained vigilant, scanning the surroundings for guards and bounty hunters who might recognize them as fugitives. These pursuers lacked subtlety, their motives thinly veiled as they openly surveyed the area. Rather than attempting to avoid them, Mamadou boldly strode towards them, feigning the intention to reach the market and trade the goods in his cart. Surprisingly, his direct approach caught the attention of the guards but didn't arouse their suspicion, for they underestimated him.

With more people around, Mamadou began vocalizing his wares, calling out, "Fruits! Bread!" His voice carried, yet he refrained from shouting. A passerby stopped, interested in making a trade, and Mamadou pulled back part of the cloth to reveal his limited inventory, explaining that what they could see was all he had to offer. It was a risky move, but the tension escalated with every passing moment. The transaction concluded, allowing him to forge ahead, finally entering the area where merchants traded goods brought in by ships.

Initially, this presented a challenge. The deeper he ventured into the district, the fewer chances there were for someone to engage with him. Stationary stalls boasting higher-quality merchandise dissuaded potential buyers from approaching his humble offerings. However, this also reduced the risk of standing out in the crowd. Mamadou adjusted his path, skirting the outskirts of the trading area with confidence, heading towards the harbor.

Suddenly, he spotted a group of city guards who had also noticed him. Their dark blue clothing, pointed helmets with face cloths, and sabers at their sides marked them unmistakably. Despite their converging path, Mamadou displayed no hesitation.

"Many sailors?" he inquired before any of the guards could address him.

"What?" one of the surprised men responded.

"Many sailors? I heard there are many ships at the harbor. I have good fresh bread and fruit. You wanna buy some?"

As soon as the words left Mamadou's mouth, the guards instinctively spread out, creating a path for him, eager to avoid any further conversation.

"Do you wanna buy?" he repeated, halting in his tracks. "It's fresh. It's good!"

The guards paid no attention, continuing on their way without even a glance back. This clear sign prompted Mamadou to resume the journey.

Maintaining his course, he reached the harbor area before abruptly turning into a dark alley, swiftly removing the cloth covering the cart to reveal the two boys within.

"Now we need to continue on foot," he whispered. "You two go first. I'll take care of the cart."

Pointing in the direction, he didn't wait for them to disembark from the vehicle but immediately resumed pushing. Bruno gracefully hopped off the cart, but Javohir struggled and tumbled down. Thankfully, the young alchemist was there to catch him, muffling any groans that escaped his friend’s lips with his hand.

Taking the lead, Bruno navigated through the unfamiliar territory, relying on his recollection of the spot where Nirav and his men had brought him before transporting him to The Hole. Combined with Mamadou's guidance and the distant sound of crashing waves, they forged a path forward.

Soon, the former assassin rejoined them, even surpassing them to lead the way until they emerged from between two buildings, affording them a clear view of the expansive body of water.

"Now, where to?" The teacher asked, turning to Bruno.

Stepping forward, the boy surveyed the surroundings, carefully choosing their next direction.

"This way," he declared.