They were out.
The sprawling, untamed wilderness of the Outer Rim stretched before them, a vast expanse of dense forests and rolling hills that the Empire had never managed to fully conquer. Ranger bounded into the tree line, immediately swallowed by the thick canopy of ancient, towering oaks. The hum of the pursuing airships grew faint, unable to track them through the dense foliage.
Eventually, miles away from the city walls, Ranger slowed to a heavy, exhausted trot. He found a secluded clearing near a babbling, crystal-clear stream and finally came to a halt. Elian slid down from the beast's back, his legs shaking so badly he immediately collapsed into the soft, mossy earth.
Ranger laid down beside him, the heavy iron plates clanking against the rocks. The beast let out a long, shuddering sigh, resting his massive head in Elian's lap. The boy stroked the thick, blood-matted fur, his fingers tracing the jagged scar over Ranger's left eye.
The arena was far behind them. The Empire would hunt them, of course. They would send their best trackers, their most ruthless Reapers. But as Elian looked down at the giant, peaceful beast resting in his lap, feeling the steady, calm rhythm of Ranger's heartbeat through their empathic bond, he knew that they would never be captured again.
They had survived the silence of the arena. Now, the world belonged to them.