The first fireball struck with an echoing boom, sending a ripple of flame across the distant fields.

  Romuald didn’t flinch.

  He stood in the observation alcove above the inner gatehouse, his gloved hands clasped behind his back.

  The slit of the lookout hole was narrow, carved centuries ago with both archers and observers in mind. Now, it served only one purpose: to bear witness.

  Outside the city walls, the world burned.

  From the dense tree line, waves of monsters surged like black sludge.

  Boarmen, of course, but also crawlers, giants, and others he had no name for. Whatever had crawled out of the First Ruins this time.

  Tents still littered the field. Some already smoldered. Others burst into flame as another fireball slammed into the slope, sending limbs and canvas alike tumbling through the air.

  Romuald’s jaw tightened.

  They should have fled days ago.

  And many had. He watched the rest of them now, those who believed until the last second that the gates would open.

  Refugees fled in groups and clusters, children clutched against ribs, with flimsy torches guiding their way. Another blast struck the edge of the crowd.

  Romuald winced. This is your ninety-five percent accuracy, Edden? He would chew him out the next time they met.

  The screams, indistinguishable between monster and man, reached him even through the thick stone and narrow vent.

  To Romuald’s surprise, the initially bloodthirsty enemies soon gave up their chase after the still living refugees. Instead, they attacked the cold metal gates.

  Those creatures were usually indiscriminate in their violence.

  Illusion at play? He could think of no other plausible explanation.

  An unforeseen development, but a welcome one.

  He took a sip of tea. It was lukewarm now, the porcelain cooling against his fingers.

  He was here, because he owed them that much.

  He couldn’t give them mercy. Nor could he offer sanctuary.

  But at the very least… acknowledgement. To keep in tune with their suffering.

  It seemed that his good judgement even rewarded him with a crucial crumb of knowledge. Somewhere in his city, someone had access to powerful illusion magic.

  He swallowed the rest of his tea, let the silence stretch, and finally turned away.

  The city thrummed like always, yet unaware, and he would see it remain unblemished.

  No matter the cost.

  Viera hit the mud face-first, her breath knocked clean out of her lungs. A weight pinned her down. Everything rang.

  The last explosion had landed far too close to not be intentional; It was a miracle she was still breathing.

  The man on her back wasn’t.

  His leg had been ripped off by an earthshaker earlier, and they’d barely managed to drag him clear before the blast came. His body had taken the brunt of it, shielding her.

  She shoved him off. Dead.

  “Shit,” she spat, scrambling to her feet.

  What have I agreed to?

  Screams echoed over the field, mingling with the monstrous howls and the crackling flames. Smoke curled thick and black over shattered tents and half-torn bodies.

  She looked toward the vanguard.

  Cero and Janni were still fighting, carving through monsters like butchers, holding the line with a ragtag wall of volunteer soldiers. If it came down to it, extracting them got priority.

  Always.

  And still, the people ran. Staggering. Screaming. Dying. They had to tear the refugees from the gates by force.

  Idiots. Her gut clenched. Can’t you see your lives are worthless in their eyes?

  She looked up. Toward the city walls.

  Nobles had to be watching.

  They had to know. They had to have predicted that the rebel leaders would be here, shoulder-to-shoulder with the people.

  Why else bombard the camps?

  She clenched her fists.

  She should’ve fought harder against the optimism. Should’ve torn her shirt off and blocked the damn door.

  Nobles are nobles. They’d burn a thousand innocents just to take a handful of pieces off the board. She, of all people, should have known that.

  A thin scream nearby snapped her focus.

  A woman, victim to the same explosion that caught Viera; Her face scorched, body curled protectively around a child.

  Too late for her.

  Viera ran forward, pried the child free from her blackened arms, and bolted.

  The child clung tight to her, wailing in confusion. He was heavy. Her legs screamed in protest.

  Behind them, more fire rained down.

  Eventually, she reached the fallback point. Whatever was left of the refugees huddled behind a ragged cordon of defenders, blades drawn, faces grim.

  Her body was strained to the edge keeping up with her artifact. If she collapsed… She shook her head.

  They were much too close to the monsters for weaker illusions to take hold properly. She had been forced to push the limits of the priceless ring.

  Even now, they were only holding off against stray monsters, or those too perceptive to fool. If her veil failed, no one would leave this field alive.

  But she needed help.

  She looked around, found Dolen.

  She dropped the kid to the ground and sprinted to him. She reached him breathless.

  “Woah sis, you good?” The man was humming and whistling as he moved his hands around, supporting the frontline with barriers. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Fuck off… and… charge it” She ceded between breaths. He was obnoxious as always.

  She slipped the ring from her finger and held it out to him.

  “Aye sir!” With an exaggerated motion, he grasped the artifact and tensed.

  The faint glow turned intense. She would have to get by without using it for weeks after that…

  But it was worth it.

  A thin veil shimmered outward. Like a gentle mist, it fell across the refugees, reinforcing the massive perception ward.

  Dolen smirked at her, dropping the ring back into her hand. “Happy, sis?”

  “I’d kill you if you weren’t so fucking useful” she whispered.

  “That’s just my charm, ain’t it?”

  The happier his face became, the more she wanted to punch it. He made her blood boil.

  She straightened and took a good look around. The fight wasn’t over, not by a mile.

  Fireballs bombarded the monsters pummeling at the gates, but some of them were too perceptive and sought out the refugees.

  Even now, three bristlemanes were charging Cero’s position. Curse their good noses.

  Janni noticed the attack at the same time Viera did. She took off at a run, picking up a pike along the way. A few soldiers followed after her.

  With sharp points aimed at their bellies, the monster’s charge was stopped and melee began.

  Viera threw a dagger in assistance. It swished through the night, spinning too fast for eyes to follow.

  The smallest of the three fell with a blade square between its eyes.

  Dolen waved his hand, and a barrier blocked the remaining two. Without their staggering momentum, even a group of bristlemanes were but a trifle to him.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Cero and Jani ran forward, their swords primed to strike, their ferocity bringing even a monster charge to shame.

  Between Dolen’s skillful magic and the knight pair’s brute force, the remaining bristlemanes were quickly butchered.

  Viera exhaled deeply, her shoulders finally sagging. The situation was mostly under control.

  Those with them would see dawn.

  But it was too little too late. They saved much fewer people than they hoped to. The rest were gone already.

  She dreaded the gruesome aftermath.

  Viera watched as the massive moon moved through the sky. From behind it, a wave of crimson light flooded the world.

  The Goddess’s rest was ending and with it, the monstrous screeches and fiery explosions at the gates stopped.

  Her people were going around, administering healing draughts and bandages to those who needed it.

  Despite their best efforts, between her and the gates, about a thousand corpses littered the dirt.

  Their soldiers incurred many wounds, too, but luckily no casualties.

  She turned to face the rest of her ‘leadership’ team. Except one cane-bearing man who was too good to walk through the bloody mud with them.

  “How’s Loviel?” She called out to Janni.

  “She’ll pull through. Her fighting days might be over, though.” Janni had removed her helmet and tears streaked her grime-covered face.

  Cero supported her from the side.

  Dolen either didn’t notice the mood or didn’t care. “I can’t understand why we’re wasting our time here.” He grumbled.

  “It’s the right thing to do.” Cero snapped back, vitriol in his voice.

  The two men started arguing, but Viera tuned them out.

  She wasn’t so sure herself about this whole operation.

  If it weren’t for the chance some of those survivors would bolster their forces later, she would have done her best to stop them from going outside.

  In the worst case, there would at least be some more bodies to throw against the nobles.

  “Quit bickering.” She finally silenced them, much to Janni’s approval. The world was now fully bathed in crimson, a clear sign their time was running short. “Hiveo will open the passage soon, we have to get going. Others will pick up the pieces.”

  Still under her veil, they gathered their soldiers and left.

  The morning after the long night came with the usual stir within the city. It was noisy. Lively. But even all that couldn’t drown out the thundering thumping of her heart.

  They were up later than usual, as Aura asked them to wait at least until the golden light receded.

  Sophie didn’t like it, but she would never argue against the woman she owed so much to.

  The tunnel before the gates was unusually busy. Empty carts creaked past, hauled by clattering golems.

  Sophie walked side by side with Marco, their footsteps lost in the frantic corridor.

  They were going gathering, as usual, and Marco didn’t seem too worried… Then why was she on the verge of tears?

  Then, the smell hit them. Burnt flesh. Smoke.

  Fire?

  As they stepped beyond the archway, the illusion of peace shattered. Her worst nightmares were in front of her, plain for all to see.

  The refugee camp… was gone.

  Ash and smoke still drifted over the blackened plains.

  Where tents once formed a maze, now only bones and charred wreckage remained.

  Craters dotted the land like open wounds. A few still glowed faintly at the edges.

  What?

  Sophie’s jaw was tense and her hands trembling. She was staring out over the wreckage.

  She could feel her vision clouding over.

  “Jina…” She whispered, looking for any trace of the kind woman.

  David almost fell over as Sophie’s hand vice-gripped his.

  He turned back, wanting to ask what it was about, but froze.

  She stood there, pale as paper, with tears flowing freely.

  He followed her eyes over the battlefield.

  Yes, it was a tragedy, but was it hers?

  He, of course, pitied the refugees too. But why would he cry over something that has happened?

  They had to keep going. Always.

  “Come, we have things to do.” He pulled her forward, but she didn’t budge.

  “They need my help.” Her empty eyes bore a hole in his face.

  He couldn’t bear to see her like that. All she had to do was just not think about it, like him.

  “We’re in trouble ourselves. Let’s just go!” He pulled again, but she just let his hand go and took a breath.

  Before she opened her mouth, he realized: This had been the wrong approach.

  “I don’t care! Just go without me then.” She screamed at him, ignoring the strange looks people gave them.

  “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to.” David shifted a few steps away from her, uncomfortable with all the staring. “What do you want to do?” He asked, hoping to placate her.

  “We should stay and help. Maybe bring them some food.” She was still looking around, as if searching for someone.

  Why care so much? In any case, it would be a bad moment to ask.

  Those people weren’t close to her, were they? Did she ever interact with them? It scared him how much he couldn’t understand.

  But, he’d seen her at her worst and this was different. Last time, she had given up, and now?

  She was determined. Could he really argue against that?

  He didn’t know why this hurt her so much, but he didn’t need to.

  “I– We–” He stammered, trying to form a sentence amidst the storm of thoughts in his head.

  He took a deep breath and finally forced the words out. “Stay and help. Take some money from our stash. I’ll work for both of us today.”

  Sophie exhaled slowly and nodded. He didn’t expect anything more.

  She turned around and started walking toward the city, but paused a few steps in.

  “Thank you.” She said, her voice still quivering. “Be careful.”

  “Always am.” He shrugged.

  He watched her disappear between the people, then continued toward the forest.

  -=-=-

  Further away, silver-robed mages waved their hands in the air, tracing runes that shimmered blue in the air.

  Water floated from the nearby barrels, hovering briefly before bursting over the scorched ground.

  Gusts of wind scattered seeds across dirt.

  Clean-up. How efficient. David scoffed.

  Survivors moved in silence, stacking the dead, salvaging cloth, digging with bare hands.

  A few hundred, maybe. A sliver, compared to the thousands who still lived here yesterday.

  The outside had it rough, but so did we. I am a survivor too.

  He walked on in silence, focusing on things that actually mattered. Like what he had to do.

  The forest was thick around David, muffling the wind and the smell of ash.

  He stayed closer to the city than usual, aiming for large quantities of cheap herbs.

  “Why would she do that?” David crouched over a cluster of voel as he talked to himself. “And delay our citizenship?”

  His hands trembled, though he wasn’t sure why. He bundled up the frothy herb and placed it into his satchel.

  “FUCK.” He cursed as he noticed the mana signature of the herb dimming. This was the third cluster he mishandled today. “What’s wrong with me?”

  He let himself collapse into the soft undergrowth. He just couldn’t focus properly.

  He was alone, confused and just wanting to move on.

  Maybe I should just blow some steam off.

  Luckily, he had just the thing to occupy himself with.

  David found a quiet spot tucked between the trees, far enough from the usual paths that no one would stumble across it by chance. The air was still and the only sound was the rustle of birds flitting overhead.

  He stood there a moment, breathing in the silence. Watching. Looking for monsters in the vicinity. Nothing. Good.

  It’s been way too long since he trained his body. And now? They’d be going deeper, farther into the forest. There was no other way.

  He closed his eyes and began to circulate his mana—slow, deliberate loops through his chest, arms, legs.

  Warm-up exercises.

  Just like before. Before the eclipse. Before the fire.

  The weight in his chest didn’t vanish, but it shifted. He was still but a child in this world, but that meant he could grow. And he did. Fast.

  With a quiet exhale, he pushed mana into his legs and leapt.

  His muscles, small but trained, exploded and his body surged upward.

  He caught a thick branch a few meters up and began to pull himself up until he touched his pelvis to the branch: one muscle-up, two, three.

  Still got it.

  Attempting the fourth, his arms trembled, so he stopped. He hung for a second, letting the unused mana dissipate, then dropped into a roll on the soft forest floor.

  His muscles screamed, but the pain felt… satisfying. Grounding. He smiled despite himself.

  Training. I missed this.

  He did a few lunges and push ups, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Afterall, this was just a prelude. He was delaying what interested him the most. Scared him.

  David stood, arms flexed, and stared at his hands.

  Enough dallying.

  He tried to remember the feeling he got when picking frost blossoms; a weird buzzing, like his fingers were on fire.

  He channeled mana.

  The claws showed instantly. Sharp, short. Thin black talons extending over his fingers like curved shards of metal.

  More mana. A little longer, a little more curved. They responded easily.

  But he could feel it: they had more to give.

  Morbid fascination took hold.

  He kept pouring in more mana and felt his fingers shift.

  They stuck together, the nails at the edges pulling toward each other like magnets.

  He stopped immediately.

  “Too much,” he muttered, shivering.

  He reversed the flow, hoping to retract them just a little.

  They shortened the tiniest bit, smoothly.

  Full control. That was good.

  He walked toward a tree; old, knotted, thick-barked. He raised his arm and struck.

  The claw cut deep with a crisp chopping sound.

  The hit reverberated through his arm, but not nearly as much as it should have. The natural weapon seemed to defy some laws of physics.

  He slashed again. And again.

  His attacks left behind deep cuts in the bark. The claws were extremely sharp.

  Yet when he took a look at their surface, they were pristine. Not a single fracture or chipping.

  But even with all that, his movement was clunky. Inefficient. He tried angling his strikes, spinning slightly as he imagined a fighter would, but it was clear he was doing something wrong.

  Frustrating.

  He knew the claws had more to give. He could feel it. David grew more and more tired with how frustrating it all was. How many more things he wouldn’t understand? How many times would he keep making mistakes?

  I need to stop with the half-measures.

  He poured mana into his arms, into the claws. They shifted, connecting into a single blade and growing back over his hand.

  This definitely looks more dangerous.

  Before he even thought about it, his stance shifted. Suddenly, his body moved cleaner. Sharper.

  Rip. Tear.

  The thoughts were… surprising. Not entirely his. But they felt right. Familiar.

  He slashed again, his body adapting perfectly to the strike, and this time, the tree bark flew in chunks.

  Now we’re talking.

  He wanted more.

  He needed more.

  He carved at the tree as the whispers filled his mind. With a growl, he flooded the claws with everything he had.

  They reacted instantly— twisting, elongating into curved scythes that extended over his forearms. A familiar shape.

  His pulse roared, a mantra stamping out other thoughts.

  Destroy it.

  David launched himself forward, hatred burning in his chest like bile. For the tree. For the world. For himself.

  He slashed at bark and wood and air, his scythes tearing through the trunk like a sawmill with every pass.

  His head was going blank and yet he felt mana trickle through his legs, his spine, his shoulders, letting the full body movement flow in perfect sync.

  Every motion was clean. Efficient. Brutal. He had never felt anything like this. He had never thought it possible.

  But he no longer controlled his movements. He witnessed them.

  His vision narrowed. The tree blurred. The world blurred.

  And then—nothing.