Yig made the return trip hoisted on Slye’s back. It would’ve been comfortable if they hadn’t rocked so much on the uneven path down the hill. Still, he was so tired that he dozed off anyway. His teachers hadn’t lied when they warned him about the risks of aura exhaustion.

  The group returned to their village with a collective sigh of relief. Despite their cuts and burns, a quiet celebration passed between them—no one had been lost. Everyone was alive.

  A gentle breeze swept through the village and rustled the group, spinning the many wind-powered trinkets into motion—wooden wheels mounted on sticks, still bobbing in the lake. Pervoick raised a hand to halt his team, looking up sharply. He seemed to have heard—or felt—something.

  “Everything alright?” Slye asked as he came to Pervoick’s side.

  “It’s too quiet,” Pervoick said.

  “It’s always quiet here…” Yig muttered from Slye’s back.

  “No…” Pervoick replied, voice now lower. “This is a bad quiet.”

  “I sense it too,” Sil said, stepping up beside them.

  Yig tried to focus. With what little aura he had left, he could feel it—just a trace of malicious intent.

  Figures cloaked in black emerged from hiding—some from behind houses, others from the bushes.

  The Streana who still had knives quickly threw them to slow the attackers. A particularly large, bald man shot forward next, the blades bouncing off him like his skin was metal. As his gray aura faded, he landed among them, driving his fist into the earth with a quake-inducing punch. The group leaped away, scattering from the shockwave.

  Yig was flung off Slye by the force of the blast. He spent a second in free fall before hitting the ground and stumbling into an awkward standing position—not far from one of the carefully arranged garden ponds. That would’ve been a shame to fall into.

  He staggered, his vision reeling from the impact. Blurred shapes sharpened into focus. Three… no, four men in black Streana uniforms dashed around him, swinging at anything in reach.

  He nearly lost his balance when he saw one of them lunge at Sil, blade raised. She rolled from the first strike and grabbed a stray knife from the ground to parry the second. Of course she could handle herself—they all could—but their dwindling mana left him uneasy. Then, in the chaos, her attacker raised a hand in a strange pose and blasted the knife from her grip.

  Down on one knee, Yig struggled to catch his breath. This wasn’t the time to be caught watching. He couldn’t just stand by while his friends fought alone. A sudden sensation jolted the side of his head—an aura warning, slower than usual, but enough. He threw himself sideways, sliding through grass and dirt, his shoulder scraping along the ground. His hand reached for his waist, and Icarus flew up to guard him.

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  But the attacker didn’t follow up.

  He just stood there, silently watching Yig.

  And as Yig looked up, no words came. The face staring back was one he knew all too well.

  “Quinlou?”

  The man’s long, silky hair seemed to float in the air behind him. The aura around him was dark and menacing. Unlike the bears, his mana had texture—like thick, murky water. In his hands were two crescent-shaped cutlasses, each a dark silver.

  Any words Yig might have said died on his tongue. Only a name escaped his lips.

  “Quinlou…?”

  “No longer, Yig,” the man replied. “I’m not weak anymore. I’ve surpassed you!”

  “Qu—Quin—…” A crushing weight crashed down on Yig, like a landslide. “QUINLOU!!!”

  A mocking voice rang out from afar, followed by raucous laughter. “Blahahaha! Oi, Lou! You gonna finish him off or what?”

  From above dropped a man approaching middle age, his narrow head shaped like a spear tip, with unkempt hair the color of dirt. His eyes were unnerving, pupils stained red. His aura matched Quinlou’s. The same as the skull-faced man.

  “Blahaha! This scrawny thing? He’s a challenge to you?!” the man howled, grinning as he looked Yig up and down.

  “Leave him to me, Lefou!” Quinlou shouted.

  The stranger licked his lips. “Nah. You took too long.”

  Dark mana formed around his bony hands, stretching into claws the length of short swords. With a crazed look in his eye, he lunged at Yig, howling, ready to tear the aspiring hero apart.

  Metal flashed from behind Yig. In an instant, the attacker’s dark-clad arms were slashed clean off, flesh and shadowy aura torn away in a spray of blood. A Stearna appeared, twin blades in hand, mid-leap—impaling the man in the chest before his blood even touched the ground.

  “Father!” Pervoick’s voice rang out.

  A thick mist poured into the village, cloaking buildings, Stearna, and enemies alike. Yig’s senses were bombarded by the arrival of six powerful auras. They hit all at once—mighty, commanding… familiar. Trustworthy.

  The silhouettes of intruders were flung back as mana surged through the space, overwhelming Yig’s body and mind.

  He collapsed, gasping for air.

  The mist began to lift, revealing the adult Stearna standing proud and bristling with weapons. The ground was littered with parchment and shards of hardened clay. The man who had attacked Yig lay lifeless in a pool of blood, hands still clawed, red eyes frozen in his final expression.

  “Leave this place. We have no patience for your juvenile antics,” bellowed the largest of the adult Stearna—the one who had saved Yig. “Know your place!”

  “Father!” Pervoick cried out again.

  That’s Pervoick’s father…? Yig thought. Where has he been?

  But there was no time to dwell. The intruders now stood in a line, facing off against the adult Stearna. Quinlou seemed eager to continue the fight, but another man urged him to fall back.

  One of the men—the one whose skin had turned gray in a sudden flash—glared at Yig.

  All of them... their auras felt unbearable. Standing near them, even with a ten-foot gap, was like being splashed with freezing, acidic water.

  “We’ll meet again,” the man said.

  Yig took a hesitant step back, fists clenched in silent fury.

  The man swung his arm, mana-enhanced, sending a gust strong enough to hurl the Stearna’s mist back toward the village, cloaking them from view.

  By the time the air cleared, the intruders were gone.