Akin to prey within a predator's sight, they ran. Sprinting down the streets. The titled grounds splashed as feet tramped upon them. Solitude of the prior moment vanished as the shadows showed their fangs when those silhouettes sprang forth. Across the canal a pair moved. While another came from a side street along with the few behind.

  Caught by the flow of exhilaration Cymir could not help but follow. Such sudden actions left a puzzled mind, yet only for a moment as adrenaline outpaced hesitation. Down the streets and over bridges. A singular sprint to without a turn. Such a pace kept their pursuers out of grasp. So simple it was, yet a necessity for a city built upon a grid.

  "Why-" Cymir asked while gasping for air, "-are we running?"

  "Investigator's curse!" Casper replied, "It's always the Ivies that rather have stuff unsaid!"

  What did that mean? The youth desired to ask, but his words fell silent as a chill shook his body. Despite being unseen he felt venomous gazes. A pungent scent marked the peril and grew stronger. Putting more might into his legs he marched on. Eyes shut and fist clenched. Storefront lights illuminated the way; passing by as if they were flickering lights. Even under the early night they continued at a pace that drained the breath. Suddenly a cold vengeance suddenly struck the reporter's head.

  The snowball brought a single misstep. Causing the man to stumble. His arms flailing through the air as he frantically danced; he spun from foot to foot before catching himself. Such brought unjustified rage and feral insult towards the perpetrator.

  To such Cymir peered over his shoulder. Finding that briefest of moments lessened the gap between both parties. With effectiveness shown lead to the repetition of tactics. As if those snowballs were retorts given form; they came in a flurry. Avoiding the onslaught, akin to a blizzard, meant to lose their lead. Yet those precision pitches demanded such.

  With disdain Casper turned right. Then left. Then right once more. Although escaping the pelting cold, the presence behind never ceased. Instead grew ever closer. Just to follow the youth brought forth his all, yet for every step he needed twice more. Inefficiencies of his pace grew more as his turns became wide.

  Not desiring to find the consequences of being caught, the youngster's mind rattled. What to do? What to do? Out of everything that could be done, his thoughts fell to only a single solution. Magic. Through dozens and hundreds of scenes he reflected, half focused. However Menor's warnings remained a chain that denied. He let out a exhausted mutter of frustration.

  Desperately darting his eyes around he searched for anything. Concrete, snow, steel, slush- WATER! Suddenly, akin to a rushing river his mind roared to life. Jumping from page to page lead by the singular focus towards an answer. Then his mind calmed as his gaze fell downwards...

  Where the ground, sky and horizon were veiled in ivory. Towards the central land of defiance to find blades. Then, as if the world yielded for at most a moment, they found themselves the rare gentleness of the Shattered Plains. A blank world was revealed as the blinding snowstorm ceased, yet below their steps shrieked ever running water beneath the ice...

  "Step with care as if it warned," Cymir muttered, "And so they moved with ice brought from their heels."

  With those words the splashes in his steps vanished as magical energy ran down his legs. Replaced by the march of rubber upon solids. The trickling water that streamed through the road tiles froze. Each stride left ice. Bit by bit the path overflowed and froze. Till a trail was left behind with a cold scent.

  Yelps and yells came. As those behind slipped upon the sudden change. Caught by surprise some of them slid into the bushes and others danced a failing attempted. The slow loss of distance vanished as the fleeing pair made way and far.

  Hearing the commotion Casper looked behind, "Huh? How did? Did you just- By wicked bundles! You oiled the burners!"

  The reporter's eyes shook as he watched the scene. His mouth slightly agape. There was only one cause he deduced from that sudden change. Magic. For a path they ran upon to suddenly turn to ice. It did not matter what magical art it originated from nor how such came to be. That was the one thing that should not have happened. Especially against THEM.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Feeling the prior headache return he could barely muster a sad laugh. Luck had not graced him this day. To be discovered by an oddly-quick transcriber at the Cadastral Association's records room. Then forced to flee the entire day while attending interviews. Now the use of magical arts in a dangerous manner. If such was not a sign to rethink life, he did not know what. Misery did come in threes as they say.

  Not letting their pace fall slow the two continued to run. The prior actions would never stall long enough. Through their rush the once empty streets began to be populated. Barely avoiding collisions with the unsuspecting bystanders, but alas the youngster would stumble into a few. Only to muster hoarse apologies to be thrown backwards into the wind.

  With lungs pleading for mercy while his legs burned, Cymir's face glowed red. Stung by the cold air. Such a waning form had not escaped Casper's eyes. The man already adjusted their pace since he mutter to run, yet unfortunately, it seemed the youth lacked the typical athletic prowess. Surprisingly, but the youth held an equally unexpected endurance.

  As they approached the main roads the crowds grew. Soon a familiar scent touched the youth's nose. One of festivities. The dinning street. Reaching out the reporter grabbed Cymir's shoulders and trekked on. Untouched and unnoticed while moving past social circles. Akin to a breeze through brambles. Although their pace slowed to not their form hid within the crowd, yet unseen feet should never stay idle.

  Within the moment the Casper apologized. A lighthearted smile shown as he admitted he dragged the student into his affairs as a precaution. However all of it was simply a coincidence brought by happenstance. In contrast the youngster could only muster a scribble-like smile upon his glowing face. The drum of blood in his ear made him death to the confession.

  Witnessing the personification of regret in front of him the reporter shook his head. What was done was done and nothing could be changed. Tossing a coin to the closest concession stand the reporter bought a warm cup and handed to the youngster. Who replied with a soft thank you.

  "You oughta exercise more. Even the laziest researcher runs for their tea." Casper said.

  "Never... was... able..." Cymir replied, chugging down the drink.

  "Well, better change that or-" Casper spotted purple embroidery, "- you'll be caught. That's a lot more than usual."

  The all too familiar pattern stood out withing the sea of earthly colors. Counting several groups moving through the street the reporter could not help but hesitate. From both ends of the street they moved. There seemed to be no escape. Despite their causal manner instincts saw through such facade. Alas he feared not the punishment but the delay.

  "I'm probably in trouble."

  "Weren't you... already."

  "It's called pride. Get ready."

  "Wait wait wait, what if we hid?"

  Smiling Casper gave Cymir a small push. Both of them were of great minds to deduce best solution and so they moved through the closest set of doors they went. Crammed at the entrance an overwhelming scent greeted them. Akin to a thousand flavors of spice fighting for superiority. Enough to parse the food severed at this restaurant aimed to burn the tongue.

  There the pair stood waiting. Acting as if they desired a meal by staring at the menu pasted against the near wall, yet tension held true as their eyes glanced back outside. Watching. When to leave remained unclear, but such a choice never came. A waiter greeted them with a cough and a smile

  Ah. With dubious words the reporter made conversation. Slowly asking for the recommendations and opinions of random dishes. However the meals listed counted no more than the fingers on a single hand. Curses to the end of season menus. As such he backed off, claiming to they would come back later, yet the waiter held his arm in an iron grip. A smile never looked more threatening. Especially once Cymir muttered he lost his wallet.

  Out the door with a paper bag of food, the man handed it to the youngster. Two meals to go with unwanted coins spent was the order.

  Enjoying the fragrance, Cymir spoke, "Never had... pasta. Do you think... its as spicy as its smells?"

  "Let's get you back to your dorm," Casper replied, shaking his head, "You really need to work on your stamina."

  "Haha... Dorm? How did..."

  "There's only a few reasons people head to Eastline College at this time of day."

  "Does that include fleeing from transgressions such as trespassing?"

  "Of course not. Why would... anyone..."

  Leaning against near wall a tall woman wearing a black trench coat with purple embroidery gently waved. With a hop in her steps she walked over. In contrast Casper had bolted. Already gone before his brief companion noticed and waved from down the street. Whilst yelling "later". Only to run back up the road with others robed in black chasing close behind. Soon he leapt from a bench, onto a food stand, and finally atop the glass overhangs. Disappearing from view with swears following.

  "I don't know him," Cymir spoke.

  "Of course," replied the lady, "Not the first time Mr. Wyatt dragged a bystander into his antics."

  "Um uh, you were waiting?"

  "You know its best to support your favorite restaurant. Also that pasta's a good choice."

  The woman rustled the youngster's hair before walking off. Leaving him with a warning not to cause anymore trouble. Oddly enough not towards the direction Casper fled.

  After a bit of time, upon weak legs, the youth finally arrived at his dorm. Collapsing at the front door he sighed while gazing skywards. Snow still danced downwards, unconcerned by everything else.