Jena gripped Matthew tightly in her arms, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, faster and louder than the screams surrounding her. The air was thick with the stench of burning wood and blood, and the ground beneath her boots seemed to tremble with every footstep. She could feel the weight of her son's fear, his small body trembling in her grasp.
"Mom, what about Dad?" Matthew's voice, small but panicked, broke through the chaos. He turned his wide eyes up to her, his voice desperate, not fully understanding the horrors unfolding around them.
Jena bit her lip, refusing to let her tears show, refusing to let him see the blood—the carnage. His innocent eyes couldn't understand the true terror of the moment. Her heart wrenched as she pushed him closer to her chest, running faster, the stables their only hope.
The cries of the villagers—their neighbors, their friends—echoed around her, but she couldn't spare a glance. She couldn't let herself think of Ron, not now. Not while they were still alive. There would be no point in saving herself if she failed Matthew.
"Don't look, Matthew," she whispered fiercely, voice breaking, as she dashed past the crumpled bodies, dodging debris and the thick smoke curling through the air. "We're going to get out of here. We're going to be okay."
Her legs burned, but she didn't dare slow down. Every footstep was another moment closer to safety, but every scream that pierced the air felt like a knife in her gut. Ron... What was happening to him? Was he already—
No. She couldn't afford the luxury of that thought. Not now. Focus, focus on Matthew. He needed her.
She could feel him clinging tighter to her, his tiny hands gripping her coat like a lifeline. "I'm scared," he whispered, voice trembling, his small form stiff in her arms.
"I know, sweetie. I know," she breathed, pushing forward, urging her legs to move faster, faster.
The stables loomed ahead, a glimmer of hope in the distance. But each step felt like an eternity, every breath coming harder, the world around her threatening to collapse into chaos. The air burned, the ground shook, but none of it mattered. Not with Matthew in her arms.
Her family. Her world.
Focus.
...
Matthew's heart thudded erratically in his chest, each beat louder than the last, a constant reminder of the terror around him. His small hands gripped tighter onto his mother's coat, and he buried his face against her, doing his best to block out the cries and the flickering shadows of flames.
But his mind couldn't help but drift. He had seen death before. Neighbors who had fallen ill, villagers who never returned from the fields. He understood it in his way, even at his young age. But this... this was different. The Black Tower members—he'd heard whispers about them, the rumors of their power. But his father... his father was invincible.
Wasn't he?
Matthew shook his head, trying to push away the gnawing doubt that had planted itself deep inside him. No, he thought fiercely. Dad's strong. He's strong. His father, Ron, had always been his hero, the protector of the village. No one—no matter how powerful—could stand against him.
But then... why was his mother crying?
Why did her heart race so quickly, like it might burst from her chest? Matthew felt his stomach twist at the thought. His mother was always so calm. Strong. So why now?
A cold chill ran down his spine, and he glanced up at her, his eyes wide. She wasn't looking at him, but at the chaos around them. Her face was pale, tears streaking down her cheeks, her breaths ragged as if she were suffocating. Was she afraid? He thought. Afraid of losing Dad?
That thought felt like a weight on his chest, and he quickly shook it off. No, she couldn't be...
His father had told him once, in one of those quiet moments when they sat together before bed, that his mother was afraid in tense situations. She could be scared, he had said, but it was Matthew's job to protect her. To make sure she didn't feel alone or scared.
I have to be strong, he told himself, nodding slightly. I can't let her see that I'm scared. I can't let her think I'm weak.
He tightened his grip on the fabric of her coat, drawing strength from her as she had always done for him.
Matthew thought back to the Fireball art. The one he had only practiced a few times, but it was strong. Enough to hurt someone. Enough to drive them away. If another Black Tower member came, he could do it. He could make them leave, make them go far away. He would protect his mom.
I'll be strong for you, Mom, he thought, the decision settling in his chest. I'll make sure you're okay... just like Dad would want me to.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, his small fingers flexing, imagining the flames gathering in his hands. He'd show them. He'd make sure they weren't hurt. He wouldn't let anyone else take away his family.
...
Jena ran as fast as she could, her heart pounding in her chest. Matthew was still in her arms, his small body pressed tightly against her as she dashed toward the stables. The sound of screams echoed through the village, the frantic cries of the people as they realized the horror that had descended upon them.
Then, without warning, everything happened in a blur. A gust of wind rushed past Matthew, his mother's arm snapping out to throw him to the ground. He didn't even have time to react before he was airborne, his body hitting the ground with a painful thud. His ankle twisted beneath him, a sharp pain shooting up his leg. A small trickle of blood began to form where the scrape had opened, but it wasn't enough to make him panic.
Before he could even process what had just happened, he looked up in time to see his mother's face twist in pain. Blood trickled down her left arm, and she winced, but still, she stood tall, a dagger gripped tightly in her right hand, her stance unshaken.
Matthew's breath caught in his throat. She was hurt. She was hurt and still fighting.
Jena didn't hesitate. Her eyes locked onto their attackers, and without a word, she positioned herself to defend her son with everything she had. The first cloaked figure took a step forward, the shadow of darkness surrounding him like a thick fog.
Matthew tried to stand, but his ankle throbbed with pain. His body felt weak, but he couldn't just stay on the ground. He had to get up. He had to help her. But before he could push himself to his feet, the sound of a second figure's laugh cut through the air.
"Haha, did you miss? It's a freaking girl, and you couldn't take her down?" The voice was mocking, cruel.
The first attacker gritted his teeth, annoyance painted across his features. "Shut up. She's no ordinary girl."
Matthew's heart dropped. His mother, bleeding and in pain, was facing down two of them. Two of the Black Tower's members. She wasn't backing down, though. No, she was the one standing strong, even when the odds were against her.
Still, as Matthew looked up at her, he couldn't shake the fear rising within him. Why hadn't she made it? Why was she hurt? Was his father okay? Would they make it out of this?
And then his mother's gaze turned to him for just a moment, the briefest second, before she focused back on the cloaked figures, determination replacing any hint of fear.
Jena's voice was strained but firm, a pleading tone breaking through the raw tension. "Leave him alone... please." Her words were heavy, weighted with the desperate need to protect Matthew, even at the cost of her own life.
The second Black Tower member turned his gaze to Matthew. He paused, studying the boy for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he considered something. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but there was no mercy in his expression—just the cold amusement of someone who saw death as inevitable.
"Hmmm... alright, sure, sure," he muttered, almost as if deciding on a whim. "I'm just watching after all, and... haha, no way he makes it out alive in the end, so might as well give him a few more moments to enjoy and—"
His voice abruptly cut off. His eyes went wide, and his amusement faltered as something caught his attention. A soft, yet unmistakable shimmer of blue threads seemed to dance around Matthew's body. They glimmered in the dim light, crackling with an energy that hummed in the air—threads that swirled around his small form like an invisible web. Only those trained to recognize the One Power could see them.
The Black Tower member's expression shifted from confident to confused. He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the boy, his eyes darting between the pulsating blue threads and Matthew. "What...?" he muttered under his breath, his voice now less certain.
The threads moved with a subtle force, almost alive, snapping with electric potential. The crackling energy felt intense, radiating from Matthew as if something was awakening within him. It wasn't just the One Power; it was something more, something that shouldn't have been possible. He was just a child. Yet here he was, surrounded by the telltale signs of power that even an experienced Arts User would struggle to control.
Jena's heart raced as she saw the reaction in the Black Tower member's eyes, and fear gripped her once again. This wasn't just a frightened boy anymore. This... this was different. She could see it in the way the figure hesitated, uncertain of what Matthew truly was.
The first Black Tower member, his irritation boiling over, snapped at the second. "Leave the boy alone! I wanna fight this girl... got it?" His voice was sharp, almost frantic, as he focused on Jena, a maddening thirst for violence burning in his eyes.
The second one frowned, clearly annoyed. He opened his mouth to retort, but then clicked his tongue, the sound sharp in the tense air. After a moment's pause, he sighed, giving in. "Fine... but if he gets away... you're dead, you know that?"
The first member shook his head mockingly, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "C'mon, a little kid like him getting away? Haha, c'mon now!" His laugh was cruel, and he didn't seem the least bit worried about Matthew's potential to escape. His focus was entirely on Jena, eager for the fight to continue.
Jena, though still on edge, allowed herself a brief moment of relief. They weren't going to hurt Matthew, not yet at least. That small assurance gave her the strength to keep moving forward, but her heart was still pounding in her chest. She could feel the strain of the situation eating away at her, but Matthew... he was her focus now. Her priority.
Matthew, in the midst of it all, felt his world collapse inward. His mind, usually quick to latch onto any idea of protection or fighting back, was frozen in place. The thoughts of performing the Fireball art, of standing tall and fighting for his mother—everything that had kept him going up until this point—disappeared like smoke in the wind.
He was too scared to even think. His body refused to move. The crackling energy of the One Power swirling around him felt distant, like something unattainable. His small chest heaved with each ragged breath, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the figures looming before him.
The terror clawed at him, each beat of his heart pounding louder in his ears than the last. His mind screamed for action, but nothing came. The only thing that filled his senses was the oppressive, suffocating fear that seemed to wrap around him like a vice.
He couldn't even protect himself, let alone his mother.
Jena's voice broke through the haze of fear clouding Matthew's mind, pulling him back to reality.
"Matthew, go on... escape," she urged, her voice shaky yet full of a quiet, desperate strength. "Make it to where we promised we'd go... go on."
Matthew looked up at her, confusion and fear swirling in his wide eyes. He shook his head, the thought of leaving her behind, of running away while she stayed to face this unimaginable danger, felt like an impossibility. He couldn't abandon her. He couldn't leave her to face these monsters alone.
Without even looking at him, Jena already knew. She could see the indecision, the doubt, the pain in his expression. Her heart clenched, but she took a breath, trying to steady herself as tears slipped down her cheeks. She had to do this. She had to give him the strength to survive.
"You must," she said, her voice trembling with the weight of her words. "For me... for your father. Please, Matthew... you have to go, for both of us." Her hand reached out to him, gentle yet firm, urging him to take the first step, to leave, to save himself. Her voice broke as she said it—her last plea, her heart laid bare.
The first Black Tower member scoffed, irritation dripping from his words. "Speed it up. I've been kind enough to allow your son to go scot-free, haven't I?" His eyes flicked between the two of them, the hint of mockery in his tone evident, as if he was doing them some great favor by letting Matthew escape.
The second member stood still, watching in silence. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Matthew, focusing on the glowing blue threads that danced faintly around him—threads of the One Power, his blessing. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smirk as he observed the boy, his interest piqued.
Matthew's thoughts felt like a tangled mess of confusion and fear. He didn't want to leave his mother. His mind screamed at him to stay, to help, but Jena's words—her pain—finally broke through the haze. She needed him to survive.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Matthew nodded, though it was barely more than a twitch of his head. He turned to run, his heart still pounding with the terrifying thought that he might never see her again, that the world around him might fall apart and take everything he loved with it.
But one thing remained clear: he had to live. For her. For his father.
Tears continued to fall from Jena's face as she watched him, silently praying that he would make it.
Jena's voice was quiet but clear as she spoke to the first Black Tower member, thanking him, her words soft, almost ironic in the situation. "Thanks," she said, and the words made him freeze for a moment, surprise flashing in his eyes. He hadn't expected gratitude, especially not in such a dire situation.
She gave a strained but meaningful smile. "For letting Matthew go without hurting him."
The first member chuckled darkly, dismissing her words with a wave. "I only did that so I could enjoy this fight. Don't get any ideas." His voice dropped, his smile widening with a cruel satisfaction as he prepared for what was to come.
Suddenly, the air around them shifted. The first Black Tower member raised his hands, the familiar crackle of energy surging through the air, and a pulse of dark energy erupted from him. Black tendrils shot toward Jena, tearing the air with their speed and power.
But Jena was quick—her instincts honed by years of surviving, of fighting. She was a seasoned warrior, even if the injury in her left arm throbbed, leaking crimson across her sleeve. With a fluid motion, she dropped low, her dagger flashing in her right hand as she darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the tendrils that whipped toward her. Her breath was sharp, her heart racing, but her focus was unwavering.
The first Black Tower member sneered, his expression darkening as he summoned another surge of power, the energy crackling and coiling around his hands like a living thing. With a scream, he hurled a mass of black energy toward Jena—no longer a simple tendril, but a raging ball of pure destructive force aimed right for her chest.
Jena reacted swiftly, slashing her dagger through the air, the blade gleaming under the dim light. She moved with practiced precision, using the momentum of her strike to flip herself out of the path of the oncoming attack. The force of the explosion behind her rocked the ground, sending debris scattering, but she remained unscathed, her movements a blur.
The first member growled in frustration, leaping forward with a swing of his fists, which were now charged with dark energy. He tried to overwhelm her, but Jena danced around him, her body low to the ground, her right hand wielding the dagger with a grace and skill that belied her injured state. Each move was measured, calculated, as though she had fought battles like this countless times before. The pain in her arm did not slow her down—if anything, it fueled her determination.
She feinted to the left, drawing his attention away from her true strike, and then, with a swift, fluid motion, she lashed out with her dagger, catching his exposed side. The blade sliced into his cloak, grazing his skin, drawing a thin line of blood. The first member recoiled, a low growl escaping his throat as he stumbled back, temporarily thrown off balance.
"You're quick, I'll give you that," he spat, rage simmering in his voice. "But that won't be enough."
As he spoke, the second Black Tower member stood at the side, watching in silence. His gaze shifted between the fight and Matthew, still frozen in place, but his mind wasn't fully on the battle. The boy... the boy was something else. The threads around him—blue threads that danced and crackled with raw power—were unlike anything he had ever seen. His mind lingered on the boy, on his blessing from the One Power. No one had ever been so blessed, so... powerful. Everyone had the faint blue threads, the mark of the One Power, but these threads... they weren't just faint. They were alive, alive with energy, with strength. They sparked like lightning, crackling with force.
And it reminded him of someone he had seen only once in his life—the leader of the Black Tower. The Dark Crow. The strongest Arts user in the world. The presence of the boy, the intensity of his power, made his thoughts flicker to that figure, to the leader that had never been surpassed, not in power, not in mastery.
Was this boy... special? Could he be a future threat to the Black Tower? The second member couldn't help but wonder.
But for now, his focus was on Jena, the woman who was making this fight so difficult. He kept his eyes on her, gauging her movements, but his thoughts were clouded by the boy and the crackling threads of power surrounding him. There was something about Matthew... something dangerous.
...
Matthew ran as fast as his legs would carry him, the cold night air biting at his face, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. The world around him was chaos—flames casting an eerie glow over the street, the smoke swirling and thickening as it rose into the sky. The screams, the horrible, gut-wrenching screams, echoed in the distance, filling his ears, making it hard to focus. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his small body shivering, though not from the cold. It was fear—fear for his parents, fear for what he had just witnessed.
Tears blurred his vision, but he kept pushing forward, stumbling slightly as he ran between the burning houses. He had to get away. He had to survive. But the questions swirled in his head, choking him with doubt and confusion. Were his mother and father really... gone?
Matthew shook his head furiously, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. No, no way. My father is strong. He's invincible! He's always been invincible. And Mom... she's tough too. But there were two Black Tower members fighting her. And they weren't normal fighters. They were terrifying. But no... no way...
His legs burned, and his ankle, still tender from the earlier fall, screamed in protest with every step. But he couldn't stop. He had to keep moving. He had to keep going.
He pushed the thought of his parents out of his mind for the moment, focusing on survival. As his eyes darted back and forth through the flames, he remembered something—Coupitia City.
The legendary hero, the Fierce Lion, lived there. Matthew had only been there once, and he had barely remembered the route, but it was his only hope. If anyone could help his mother, if anyone could stop the Black Tower, it was the Fierce Lion. His father had spoken of him—said he was a hero like no other. If I can make it to Coupitia, I can get help... I have to. I can't just give up.
He tried to steady his breathing as he ran. His thoughts were frantic, but his body was determined. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with danger, but it was his only choice. He had no idea how to get there clearly. He had been so young the last time he had seen the city, so small. But he remembered some parts of the way. He knew the general direction.
He could do this. He had to.
The darkness felt oppressive, the weight of the world pressing down on his small shoulders, but Matthew pushed through it. His tears were mixed with the grit in his eyes, his breath coming in uneven bursts. The road ahead was long, and there was no certainty in where he was going, but Matthew didn't hesitate. He would find his way to Coupitia City. He would get help. No matter what.
...
Matthew's breath caught in his throat when he saw the small figures ahead. His eyes widened, and his heart thudded painfully in his chest as he recognized them—the Marlston girls, the two younger boys from the neighborhood. The children. His friends.
They were all crying. The sound of their sobs cut through the chaos around him like a blade.
The two girls, barely more than toddlers, clung to each other as they walked shakily toward him, their faces streaked with tears. The older one, barely five, reached out with trembling hands, her tiny voice quivering as she whispered, "Matt... where's our mommy? Where's daddy?"
The one closest to Matthew's age, was clutching his chest as if in pain. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. "Matt, what do we do? My mom... my dad... they're..."
Matthew's mind raced, his thoughts tumbling over each other. I... I can't lose my cool... I can't cry. They're looking to me. I have to be strong. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm despite the tightness in his throat.
He kneeled down to their level, his hands shaking as he tried to comfort them. The little girls' hands grasped at his shirt desperately, their tiny fingers digging into the fabric as they looked up at him with big, frightened eyes.
"I... I don't know where our parents are, Matt... we're scared..." The older boy's voice cracked, the words barely a whisper. He was the bravest of them, but even he couldn't stop the tremor in his voice.
Matthew's heart broke for them. I should be scared too... but I can't show it... they're looking at me like I'm supposed to know what to do. I have to be their leader... for them...
He swallowed, the lump in his throat heavy as he wiped his own tears away, his eyes hardening with resolve. I can't fall apart. I'm not the oldest, but I'm the one with arts... I have to protect them...
"Hey," Matthew said, his voice coming out much steadier than he felt. "We're gonna get through this, okay? I promise. We just have to stick together."
The Marlston girls looked up at him, their faces full of uncertainty, but there was a flicker of hope in their eyes. They trusted him. They believed in him.
Matthew took a deep breath and stood up, adjusting the way he carried himself. Even though he was just seven, even though he was terrified on the inside, he couldn't show it. Not now. Not when the others needed him most.
"Alright, let's go. I'm gonna protect you guys, okay?" he said, though it felt like he was trying to convince himself as much as them.
But the thought of what had happened to his parents, to the rest of the town... it hurt. His mind kept flashing to the images of his mother, bleeding and fighting with the Black Tower members. His father... had to be okay, right? But the kids—they need me. I have to protect them...
"Let's go," Matthew repeated, determination setting in. He held out his hand to the older boy first, then to the younger girls, pulling them into a group. His heart was pounding in his chest, but there was no time to be scared anymore. They were depending on him.
He took a deep breath, feeling the threads of the One Power swirling around him, crackling with energy. He couldn't afford to waste time. If he could just get them to safety, maybe they could find help... maybe the Fierce Lion...
But first, he had to get them away from here. Stay strong, Matthew. Stay strong for them.
—End of Chapter.