Matthew crouched low, his heart pounding as he peered through the small gap between two crumbling houses, his eyes scanning the dimly lit stables in the distance. The flickering glow of fire from nearby houses cast eerie shadows across the open space. He could hear the faint crackle of flames and distant cries, but for now, all was eerily quiet near the stables. He bit his lip, trying to steady his breath.
"Shh..." he whispered harshly, turning to the other kids behind him. The Marlston girls were clutching each other, their wide eyes filled with fear. They were only little, but Matthew needed to stay strong for them. The other boys, both a little older than him, stood stiff as statues, waiting for their next move.
He glanced back at the stables again. There was no movement, no sign of any more Black Tower members or anything that would indicate danger. He looked over at the nine-year-old boy, his name was Dorian, the oldest of the group, and the one who had helped Matthew ride horses in the past. Dorian gave him a quick nod, his expression just as tense but with a hint of confidence.
It was a small comfort.
"Alright, Dorian," Matthew whispered, his voice steady despite the chaos. "You take Tom and ride on one of the horses, and I'll take Terria and Sonia riding another, got it?" Dorian nodded in understanding.
The Marlston girls were still huddled close together, their small faces pale and full of worry. Matthew knew they were terrified. They had lost their parents, just like he had, but they couldn't afford to stay and cry.
"We'll be fine," he assured them softly, reaching down to ruffle their hair. "You just stick close to me, and we'll get to the city, alright?"
The girls nodded, and Matthew could see the tiniest spark of hope in their eyes. It was a small victory, one that made him feel a little stronger.
Dorian shifted on his feet, a look of determination on his face. "I've got it, Matt. We'll stick to the plan, just like we practiced." He gave a quick glance over his shoulder at the others. "Let's go."
With a final look at the stables, Matthew gave a nod. He turned and began to lead them out from behind the houses, keeping his body low and his steps quick. The closer they got to the stables, the louder his heart beat in his chest, but he couldn't afford to let fear control him—not now.
The first boy followed Dorian, both of them eager to get to the horses. As they made their way, Matthew stayed close to the Marlston girls, holding their hands gently as they moved, guiding them through the darkened streets. He kept his focus sharp, eyes darting from every shadow, every rustling movement. He could feel the weight of their safety pressing on him.
The stables were just a few steps away. Matthew held his breath, scanning the area one last time. His heart pounded in his ears as his eyes darted over the dimly lit yard. Nothing. No movement. No figures lurking in the shadows. Just the distant roar of flames and the occasional scream carried by the wind.
Still, he hesitated. It felt too easy.
But there was no time to doubt.
"Come on," he whispered, motioning for the others to follow.
They darted across the open space, their footsteps barely making a sound against the dirt. The scent of hay and sweat filled the air as they slipped inside the stables. Horses stirred in their stalls, restless from the chaos outside, their heavy breaths and shuffling hooves the only sound besides their own.
Matthew's eyes landed on a white steed near the center. Even in the dim light, he recognized it instantly. His father's horse.
He swallowed hard. Not now.
Dorian, meanwhile, was already moving toward a sleek black horse. "This one's good," he muttered, running a hand over its mane before moving to saddle it.
Matthew turned back to the Marlston girls, their tiny frames trembling beside him. He spotted a wooden chair nearby and quickly grabbed it, setting it beside his horse. "Here, use this to climb up."
The older of the two nodded, her little hands gripping the saddle as she climbed. Her sister followed, and Matthew made sure they were secure before swinging himself up behind them.
The white steed huffed and shifted beneath him, as if recognizing its new rider. No—not new. Familiar.
Matthew gritted his teeth. His father wasn't here. He had to focus.
"Ready?" he asked, glancing at Dorian.
The older boy gave a firm nod, gripping the reins of his black steed. "Let's go."
As they guided their horses toward the stable doors, Dorian glanced at Matthew, forcing a grin despite the tension in the air.
"Hey, Matt," he said, keeping his voice light, though Matthew could hear the strain underneath. "Bet you five copper coins I can ride faster than you."
Matthew snorted. "You don't even have five copper coins."
Dorian chuckled, nudging his horse forward. "True, but if I win, you'll owe me five instead."
Matthew rolled his eyes. "That's not how it—"
Fire.
A blinding eruption of flames swallowed Dorian, the other boy, and their horse in an instant. One second, they were there—Dorian smiling, teasing—
The next, they were fire.
Screaming.
A horrible, gut-wrenching sound, cut short far too quickly. The fire crackled hungrily, licking at the stable walls, casting an eerie orange glow across Matthew's face.
His body refused to move. His hands, gripping the reins, were locked in place, his knuckles white. His mind couldn't catch up to what had just happened.
Dorian… was gone.
The Marlston girls clutched at his back, their tiny fingers digging into him, trembling so hard he could feel it through his clothes.
Not a word. Not a cry. Just the silent, choking terror that gripped them all.
Matthew wanted to breathe, wanted to think—but all he could do was stare at the place where his friend had just been.
Their rotten corpses fell to the ground with a sickening thud, the burnt flesh cracking as it settled. The scent of charred meat filled the air, thick and suffocating.
Matthew stared, unable to move. His mind refused to process what had just happened. One moment, Dorian had been there, grinning, making a joke—one meant to lighten the mood. The next, he was nothing but a smoldering husk.
It was only when a voice rang out, sharp and utterly unimpressed, that the world snapped back into motion.
"I personally didn't like that joke. I took offense to it. I mean… it's an insult to comedy."
Matthew's breath hitched. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned toward the voice.
A figure stood there, cloaked in black, standing just outside the burning remains of what had once been Dorian. His stance was relaxed, almost casual, yet there was something deeply unsettling about him. His golden eyes glinted in the firelight, not with amusement or malice, but with pure, unfiltered irritation.
Matthew's body locked up again. His worst fears had come true. A member of the Black Tower.
There was no escape.
The man exhaled sharply, as if truly exasperated, before running a hand through his dark hair. "Do you people have no standards anymore? A joke is supposed to be structured. It needs a setup, a buildup, and a payoff. But what did I get?" He scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "A halfhearted attempt at levity in a situation far beyond such pleasantries. No wit, no refinement—just empty words."
His tone grew more irate, his voice rising. "A joke should strike the soul like a finely crafted blade! It should captivate the audience, make them laugh despite themselves! But instead—" He gestured toward the burnt corpses, his lip curling in disdain. "I was subjected to that disgrace of a punchline. Truly, I would have let him live if he had even tried to be clever. But no. Instead, I was forced to witness such mediocrity."
His hands clenched, his golden eyes burning with frustration. "I ask you, boy—how could I possibly let that slide?"
Matthew didn't answer. He couldn't. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst. The Marlston girls clutched at his back, their small fingers digging into his clothes, shaking.
The man sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Ah, but look at me, rambling. It's unbecoming, isn't it? No matter. What's done is done. And now, onto the next act."
His gaze locked onto Matthew, and for the first time, the boy truly understood—he wasn't just in danger.
He was being toyed with.
The cloaked man let out a sigh, shaking his head with theatrical disappointment. Then, as if remembering his manners, he straightened his posture, placed a hand over his chest, and gave a shallow nod.
"Ah, but where are my manners? It's only proper to introduce oneself, is it not?" He smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "You may call me Veylin. And you are?"
Matthew remained frozen, his throat locking up before he could even think of answering. His fingers clenched around the reins of his horse, his knuckles turning white. The Marlston girls whimpered softly behind him, trembling so much he could feel it through his back.
Veylin's smile twitched.
"No answer?" His golden eyes narrowed, and a small, incredulous chuckle left his lips. "No… answer?"
The air grew heavier.
"What a horrid, insufferable lack of respect." Veylin's voice lost its casual charm, slipping into something sharper, like a blade being unsheathed. "You do understand the significance of a name, don't you? It's one of the most basic courtesies one can offer! A person's name is their identity, their legacy! It is how they are recognized, how they are remembered!"
His voice rose, filled with growing indignation. "And yet, when presented with the simplest of inquiries, you stand there, silent, as if I am some irrelevant wind passing by?!" His golden eyes burned as he took a step forward. "Are you mute? Are you deaf? Or are you simply so staggeringly ill-mannered that you believe withholding your name is some kind of power move?!"
Matthew shrank back. His heart pounded in his chest, and still, he could not force himself to speak.
But before Veylin could spiral further into his self-indulgent outrage, another voice cut in, sharp and impatient.
"What are you doing? Do you never shut up, Veylin?"
Veylin's rant came to an abrupt halt. His eye twitched in irritation, but he turned toward the new arrival regardless.
Emerging from the darkness was another figure, similarly clad in black. His voice carried no amusement, only frustration. "Take care of your job and burn the stables. We don't have time for—"
The figure stopped mid-sentence the moment his eyes fell upon the children.
There was a pause. Then, a loud, exasperated tsk.
"So what if they're kids?" The second Black Tower member scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if even acknowledging them was a waste of energy. "Can't you just be done already? If you need help, then—"
He started forward, his presence heavy with intent.
Matthew barely sucked in a breath. His entire body screamed at him to move. To do something. But he was trapped—his limbs refused to respond, his mind still reeling from the horror of watching Dorian burn alive.
And now… now it was their turn.
The second Black Tower member barely held back his irritation as Veylin raised a hand, blocking his path. His brows furrowed, his patience already thin.
"What are you doing?" he snapped, glaring at the man beside him. "Are you seriously getting in my way right now?"
Veylin, for all his earlier dramatics, now looked strangely composed. His golden eyes gleamed under the faint firelight, unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he silenced the complaint before it could continue.
"Do you know me as someone who takes insults and stays calm?" he asked, his voice almost mocking.
The second Black Tower member hesitated.
Veylin smirked at the reaction, his tone growing amused. "You heard me ranting about the boy just moments ago. And yet, despite my... passionate grievances, I did nothing." His golden eyes narrowed. "Think a little."
That made him pause.
It was true—Veylin never hesitated to lash out when slighted. He was arrogant, obsessive, easily offended, and took great pleasure in making people pay for perceived insults. For him to rant and then simply... hold back?
That wasn't like him.
The second Black Tower member's annoyance faded, his expression turning more serious as his gaze snapped back to Matthew.
And then—he saw it.
A faint, crackling energy pulsed around the boy. A presence in the air, subtle but undeniable, shifting like lightning before a storm. It coiled around him, wild and unrefined, flickering in and out of existence like something that shouldn't be there.
The One Power's blessing.
The Black Tower member froze in place, his breath catching for just a second.
He had never seen anything like this before.
The second Black Tower member's eyes gleamed with excitement as he took a step closer, unable to contain himself.
"Incredible!" he breathed, his voice filled with genuine amazement. "The sheer talent this boy has... with proper training, he could easily reach Rank 7, maybe even Rank 8! Do you realize what that means?" He turned to Veylin, his excitement growing. "If we nurture him well, he could become one of the Black Tower's pillars in the future!"
Veylin smirked, pleased by the recognition. "Exactly. That's why I didn't kill him, despite his... lack of manners." He turned his golden eyes back to Matthew, studying him like a valuable artifact.
Then, his gaze shifted.
The two little girls still clung to Matthew's back, their small fingers gripping his shirt tightly, their bodies trembling in terror.
"And what about you two?" Veylin asked, his voice silky, coaxing—yet undeniably laced with danger. "Your names?"
The Marlston girls only trembled harder. No answer came.
Veylin's smirk faded.
"Tsk. Seems like bad manners run in this little group." He sighed, raising a single hand. The air around him shifted.
Then—flames.
A small fireball flickered to life in his palm, swirling with the raw energy of the One Power. It crackled, pulsing with heat, illuminating his face with an eerie glow. Slowly, deliberately, he pointed it toward the girls.
Matthew tensed, his breath hitching. His mind screamed at him to do something, but his body refused to move. The Marlston girls whimpered, pressing themselves tighter against his back, their tiny hands clinging to him for protection he wasn't sure he could give.
The second Black Tower member chuckled.
"Relax, Veylin." He lifted his hands, wind swirling around them in controlled, twisting currents, "Go ahead, the boy will be safe from the flames."
Matthew's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He was terrified. His eyes flicked between the two Black Tower members, the Marlston girls, and the fireball hanging in the air, threatening to consume them all. He couldn't even think straight, the fear overwhelming him.
But then, as he heard their words, something inside him shifted. It wasn't about saving himself anymore—it was about saving them. The only thing he knew how to do, the only thing that felt real to him in that moment, was the one thing he had always practiced—the Fireball art.
The blue threads of the One Power crackled around him, glowing brightly against the dark, oppressive air. They danced with energy, swirling around his vision. Matthew didn't hesitate. He reached out with trembling fingers, drawing the threads closer. He could feel the power, hot and alive, as it pulsed beneath his fingertips. It felt strange, but it felt right too.
Slowly, cautiously, he began to shape it. His movements were slow, hesitant, but he pushed through the fear, concentrating on the threads as they curled around his hand. He wasn't sure how well he could do this, not even sure it would work, but he had to try. His fingers trembled as he carefully formed the beginnings of the flame.
A tiny spark flickered to life, like a faint ember dancing in his palm. It wasn't much, but it was something. And to his surprise, it made the two Black Tower members stop in their tracks. They froze, eyes wide, as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing. The air seemed to crackle with tension as Matthew held the tiny flame in his hand.
The second member, his voice laced with astonishment, spoke first. "Not only is he blessed, but... talented?" His eyes locked onto Matthew. "How old is he? Seven? Eight years old? And already he knows how to perform the Fireball art?"
His voice dropped, a hint of disbelief creeping into his tone. "And he's not even a noble's kid?"
Matthew's hand shook as the small flame flickered above his palm, barely larger than a spark. But to the Black Tower members, it was a terrifying sign. The second member's gaze never left the tiny flame, his eyes widening in shock and intrigue.
"Unbelievable," the second murmured, a low chuckle escaping his lips, though it was devoid of any warmth. His tone wasn't mocking anymore—no, it was something else now. Something... calculating. "This kid... he could be more than just a tool for us. If he really can do this at his age... the potential is endless."
Veylin's expression, which had been so annoyed just moments ago, softened ever so slightly, though his eyes remained cold. He took a small step forward, still watching Matthew with that strange, calculating gaze. The fireball in Matthew's hand wavered, growing brighter with the boy's growing focus, though still contained in a small sphere of energy.
"Interesting," Veylin said, his voice low and smooth, as if savoring the words. "A boy this young... already capable of grasping something like Fireball, and with such control over his power... He's a rarity. I almost... respect him for that."
Matthew's heart raced faster, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vice. They were watching him like he was some kind of prize, some kind of asset to be claimed. His throat tightened, but he couldn't stop now. He couldn't let them think they had the upper hand. He couldn't let them think he was weak.
The Marlston girls clung to his back, their small, terrified sobs barely audible over the crackling tension in the air. Matthew's head was spinning. The fireball in his hand felt like the only thing keeping him grounded. If he let it go, if he didn't keep concentrating... he knew they would attack. He knew they wouldn't hesitate. His heart screamed at him to run, to find a way out, but fear rooted him to the spot.
Veylin glanced at his partner, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment, the second member looked conflicted.
"Don't just stand there," Veylin snapped suddenly, his voice sharp. "What are you waiting for? We're not here to babysit. If you're done admiring the kid's potential, then finish what we came for. Burn the stables. Finish it."
The second member, seemingly snapping out of his daze, took a deep breath, the excitement in his eyes replaced with the same cold indifference. He nodded, but as his gaze shifted back to Matthew, something flickered—perhaps respect, perhaps curiosity—but for a fleeting moment, Matthew could see it.
But Veylin wasn't done. His expression twisted into something almost like amusement, as if he were testing Matthew's resolve. "Well, boy?" Veylin drawled. "You're not gonna just stand there, are you? You've got potential... prove it. Show us what you can really do. Maybe then we'll see if you're worthy of a place in the Black Tower."
Matthew's breath hitched. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he knew he couldn't back down. If he showed any weakness now, any sign of fear or hesitation... it would be over. But he couldn't afford to fail.
In the tense silence, Matthew could feel the fireball in his hand grow, just a little bit brighter. He looked at the Black Tower members, at the girls behind him, and swallowed his fear. He had to make a choice now.
He had to survive.
The second member began to gather the One Power around him, his hands moving fluidly as the air crackled with energy. He clenched his fists, summoning the swirling currents of wind, his face intense as he prepared to unleash the fireball. The energy began to hum in the air, thickening, growing more powerful with each passing second.
Veylin turned his head sharply, eyes widening as he saw what was happening. He tried to scream something to alert his partner, but before the words could leave his mouth, a shocking silence filled the air.
The second member's expression twisted in sudden shock. His eyes reflected the horror before his head was cleaved cleanly off, the decapitation happening so swiftly, there was no time for him to react. His head tumbled away from his body, landing with a sickening thud on the ground. Blood poured from the severed neck, splattering across the earth in dark, crimson streaks.
The body of the second member slumped lifeless to the ground with a heavy thud, as if the air itself had lost its power.
Standing there, a figure dressed in a red jacket appeared, his back to Matthew. The jacket was a deep crimson, and his long sword matched the color. A symbol on the back of the jacket—a sword embedded in a shield—stood out clearly.
Matthew's gaze locked onto the man, a chill crawling up his spine as he realized what had just happened.
Veylin froze, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. The decapitated body of his partner lay at his feet, blood pooling on the ground. He had no idea how the man had gotten there, how he'd killed his comrade so quickly and without warning.
The young man in the red jacket slowly turned, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Veylin's. He stepped forward, casually placing his boot on the decapitated body, as if it were nothing more than a piece of trash beneath him.
Veylin swallowed hard, his voice shaking. "Who... are you?" His words were barely a whisper, fear evident in his tone.
The blonde-haired man raised an eyebrow, his gaze still cold and calculating. "Me?" He smirked, though the expression was devoid of humor. "I'm the last thing you should have been worried about today."
He didn't even glance at Matthew, his focus entirely on Veylin. "But you..." The man's voice darkened as he stepped closer, his gaze never wavering. "You're about to learn the hard way. Never underestimate those you seek to destroy."
The blonde-haired man adjusted his sword, the crimson blade gleaming in the dim light. Without another word, he looked back down at the dead body of the Black Tower member, his eyes narrowing slightly.
As Matthew stood frozen, his eyes wide in disbelief, the tension between the two figures escalated.
The blonde-haired man stepped forward with a fluid motion, his sword raised. Veylin reacted immediately, gathering the One Power around him to defend. His hands moved with precision, weaving the air into a thick, defensive barrier. A gust of wind surged outward, a wall of air forming in front of him to shield against the strike.
But the blonde-haired man was faster. He moved like lightning, his sword slashing through the air with deadly accuracy. The clash of steel against wind echoed in the night, the shockwave vibrating through the ground. Veylin's body was thrown back slightly, but he maintained his footing, using the One Power to quickly recover.
Veylin launched another attack, this time gathering the One Power into his hands to create a large fireball. He hurled it toward his opponent, the flames roaring as they cut through the air. The blonde-haired man didn't flinch. With a swift flick of his sword, he deflected the fireball to the side, the explosion lighting up the area but leaving the man untouched.
Veylin floated higher above the ground, using his air control to hover, maintaining his advantage. He thrust out his hand, sending a powerful air lance toward the blonde-haired man. The force of the attack was enough to shake the air around them, but the blonde-haired man dodged, his sword slicing through the air with swift, practiced movements.
The man closed the distance, his sword coming down in a vertical strike. Veylin tried to block with his air wall, but it wasn't enough. The sword cleaved through the wind barrier with ease. With a twist of his body, Veylin barely avoided the strike, but the blonde-haired man was relentless, pressing forward with precision.
In a split second, Veylin's footing slipped, and before he could react, the blonde-haired man kicked him square in the face. The force of the blow sent Veylin crashing to the ground, blood spilling from his mouth as his body hit the dirt.
The blonde-haired man took a step back, his left arm slightly singed from the residual heat of Veylin's fireball, but his expression remained cold and focused. Veylin, struggling to rise, cradled his broken arm, gasping for breath. His body ached, and the taste of blood filled his mouth, but he knew he was in no position to fight back.
The clash had ended with clear victors—at least for the moment. Veylin's blood stained the ground, while the blonde-haired man stood tall, his posture unwavering.
Veylin, though clearly wounded, didn't relent. His eyes narrowed in fury as he lifted his remaining hand, gathering the One Power around him once more. Without warning, he launched a blast of fire toward Matthew, aiming to eliminate the threat before him.
The blonde-haired man reacted instantly, his focus shifting to Matthew as he moved to intercept the attack. His sword cut through the air, slashing at the fireball and redirecting the flames away from the children. However, the force of the blast was so intense that it struck the white steed, sending it tumbling to the ground with a horrible screech as the flames engulfed it. The animal's body twisted in the fire, its cries a cruel sound before it finally collapsed, motionless.
Matthew froze, staring at the tragic scene. The horse—the one he had chosen—was dead. The warmth of its body had been a comfort, a source of strength, but now it lay still, consumed by the flames.
"NO!" Matthew screamed, his heart sinking into his chest. His hands shook as he gripped, the pain of loss cutting deep.
But Veylin didn't give them a moment to grieve. As the blonde-haired man focused on the children, Veylin took his opportunity to float higher into the air, using his ability to gain distance. His eyes glinted with dark amusement as he turned back toward the group. A cruel smirk twisted his lips.
"You think you've won, boy?" Veylin called out, his voice dripping with mockery. "You've only just begun to understand what you're up against." His tone became colder, more venomous. "There's no escape from the Black Tower. We'll be waiting. And remember this..." Veylin paused, relishing the moment. "I'll be the one to take everything from you."
With that, he floated higher, disappearing into the night, leaving Matthew and the others in stunned silence. The words echoed in Matthew's mind as the weight of their meaning settled in. They had won this battle, but Veylin's final words haunted him, a chilling reminder of the danger they were still facing.
...
The blonde-haired young man stood there, his expression softening as he looked at the three children. Despite the weight of what had just transpired—the battle, the loss—the sight of the young ones, bruised and terrified, tugged at his heart. He tried to offer them a comforting smile, though the exhaustion in his body and the chaos around them made it hard.
He opened his mouth to speak, his voice gentle, but it cracked slightly under the tension of the moment. "My name is Asvin Cavias," he said, his tone warm yet serious. "And you are?"
Before he could get any further, Matthew, still trembling from the ordeal, swayed on his feet. His body gave out, and with a sudden, barely audible gasp, he collapsed forward. Asvin's reflexes were quick, and he caught the boy in his arms before he hit the ground, holding him gently yet securely.
The smallest of the two girls, Sonia, had already dropped to the ground, her tiny body unable to withstand the weight of everything that had happened. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her face pale and eyes wide with terror.
Terria, the older of the two, stood beside them, her expression a mix of fear and determination. She managed to steady herself despite the chaos, her gaze meeting Asvin's as she took a deep breath.
"Terria," she said, her voice shaking but firm. "He is Matt… and she is Sonia, my little sister. Mister Asvin… will you protect us?" Her words came out almost as a plea, but there was a steely resolve behind them, as if she had already accepted that they were on their own.
Asvin felt a tightness in his chest at the weight of her words. He nodded, his smile softening further, his eyes glistening with empathy. "Of course," he said, his voice steady. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. I'll protect you, all of you. You're safe now."
Terria hesitated for a moment, as though she still wasn't sure if she could believe him completely. Then, her gaze shifted to the burning village in the distance, and she spoke again, her voice quieter, laced with worry.
"Can you save our village?" she asked, her eyes pleading as she clung to a shred of hope.
Asvin froze. For a moment, his eyes darkened, and his expression stiffened. The weight of her question hung in the air, unanswered. He stood there, looking down at the three children, unsure how to respond. The truth was, he didn't have the power to change what had already happened. The village was lost, and the road ahead was uncertain, dark, and dangerous.
Finally, he exhaled slowly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make the truth too real. "I… I don't know if I can save your village. But I promise you this," he said, his voice resolute, "I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from here on out."
There was no more reassurance to give—no easy answers. Only the quiet promise of protection, and the understanding that, for now, that was all he could offer.
Asvin gently took Terria's hand, his grip firm yet comforting, and helped her to her feet. With a swift, practiced motion, he gathered Matthew and Sonia into his arms. He cradled them both close to his chest, his left arm holding them securely as his red sword, still strapped to his belt, swayed lightly with each movement.
Terria, still trembling but trying to be strong, stood beside him, her wide eyes filled with a mix of fear and exhaustion. Asvin didn't waste any time, turning to lead her toward the edge of the village. There, waiting patiently under the shadow of a nearby tree, stood his black steed—a majestic creature with gleaming hooves and a sleek coat, its breath steaming in the cool night air.
He mounted the horse effortlessly, using his right leg to swing up, and then helped Terria climb up in front of him. She sat still, trying to steady herself, her small body tense but trusting. Asvin adjusted his hold on the two children in his arms, making sure they were comfortable in his embrace.
With one final glance over his shoulder, he took the reins, spurred the horse into motion, and rode out of the village.
As they galloped through the night, the sound of hooves pounding the ground echoed in the stillness, but the burning village lingered in Terria's mind. The flames flickered against the dark sky, their light casting long shadows over the ruined homes. The cries of burning wood and the smoke curling up into the night hung heavy in the air.
Terria didn't speak, the weight of everything still too much for her to comprehend. Instead, she rested her head against Asvin's chest, her exhaustion catching up to her, and soon, her eyes fluttered shut.
The last thing she saw before sleep claimed her was the image of Ronia Village, burning quietly in the distance, its peaceful nights shattered by the flames.
...
The village was silent now, save for the crackling of the flames that had consumed it. The quiet, eerie darkness of the aftermath spread across the once peaceful homes, casting long shadows over the fallen bodies of its defenders.
By the wall of a nearby house, Ron's lifeless body lay sprawled on the ground, his gut punctured by the vicious blow of a Black Tower member's weapon. The gaping wound had drained the life from him, leaving his blood staining the dirt beneath him. His once proud figure, a symbol of strength, was now a mere corpse.
The Black Tower member, the one who had faced Ron in his final moments, lay crumpled beside the wall, a twisted, grotesque mockery of the fight they had waged. His body, lifeless and still, showed the price of his defeat—his face frozen in a moment of shock, as though he had not expected to die.
...
In another part of the village, Jena's body lay crumpled against the cold ground. Her once fierce and determined face was now lifeless, a casualty of the brutal conflict that had torn the village apart. Her body was still, limbs sprawled at odd angles, as if the fight had drained the last ounce of strength from her. Another Black Tower member lay beside her, his body remained, lifeless, as the scene of battle lingered around them.
An arm was also on the ground, it seemed to be the left arm of whoever it belonged to.
The man, despite the pain of his severed arm, let out a bitter laugh. He stared down at Jena's lifeless form, his admiration for her strength clear, even in death.
"What a woman," he muttered under his breath, his voice raspy with a mix of regret and respect. His eyes briefly flickered to Matthew in his mind, recalling the boy's blessing—the One Power coursing through him, raw and untamed. The boy's talent had taken him by surprise, a blessing so pure and dangerous. It made him pause, an unsettling realization creeping in.
Before he could move, a shadow fell across him.
Veylin descended from the sky, his presence dark and foreboding. The air shifted with a crackling energy as his black cloak billowed, landing lightly beside the second Black Tower member. His form, like a storm in the night, overshadowed the chaos around him. He stood still for a moment, the weight of his presence pressing down on the scene as the second member's gaze widened in shock.
The severed arm, still fresh with blood, rested in the dirt, the only sound the quiet trickle of crimson pooling around it. Veylin's landing, though silent, was all-consuming, the quiet aftermath of his arrival unsettling. The second member, still frozen in place, seemed to realize just how alone he truly was.
—End of Chapter.