"Let's go! I told you we were going to change your fate," Jamie declared with a confident grin.

The words had left his lips when the ground beneath their feet quaked. As if answering his words, a distant rumble echoed. As they searched the sourced of the such sound, they looked up to see a column of thick, black smoke raising into the sky above Hafenstadt.

"Bloody hell. What is it this time?" Aldwin muttered, shading his eyes with a hand. His half-elven heritage granted him better vision than most. He squinted, trying to discern details beyond the city walls.

The group exchanged uneasy glances before breaking into a stride toward the southern gate of the city. The cobblestone streets echoed under their hurried footsteps.

"Can you make out anything?" Jamie asked, his voice filled with concern.

Aldwin shook his head, his gaze still fixed ahead. "Soldiers are moving back and forth," he reported. "But they don't seem to be engaging an enemy. No one's fighting."

"Could it be a fire?" Bertram suggested. His usually jovial face was set in a serious expression.

"Maybe," Eliza chimed in thoughtfully. "An explosion causing a fire, perhaps. But if there was an explosion, wouldn't the soldiers be rushing toward it? Not just standing wating?"

Jamie grimaced. "Let's hope it's not the Lower Quarter," he said. "Any fire there could raze what's left of the homes. The buildings are too close, too old."

They pressed on, weaving through the townsfolk who had begun to gather, pointing and whispering among themselves.

As they passed through the towering southern gate, the source of the smoke became unmistakable. Flames leapt into the sky from the direction of the Noble Quarter.

"At least it wasn't on the Lower Quarter." Jamie spoke with some relief.

"What could have caused this?" Eliza wondered aloud.

Jamie turned to his companions, quickly formulating a plan. "Eliza, Bertram," he commanded, his tone urgent. "Return to the Golden Fiddle. If Alonzo or Thyra are there, send them to the Noble Quarter immediately. They're the only ones that can fight fire."

"Understood," Eliza replied as she nodded sharply. Bertram gave a resolute grunt.

Without wasting another moment, the two of them spun on their heels and sprinted back down the street, disappearing into the crowd.

"Aldwin," Jamie continued, his gaze locking onto the half-elf. "Go to the Academy. Check if Alonzo and Thyra are there. Better, just find them."

Aldwin gave a swift nod. "I'm on it," he affirmed, already moving.

Jamie turned to Thomas. Thomas met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them.

"We'll see what happened," Jamie said, his jaw set.

"Right behind you," Thomas replied, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. The two men broke into a run, heading straight toward the heart of the city.

The explosion was anything but discreet. As Jamie and Thomas crossed the bridge into the Noble Quarter, the calamity unfolded before them.

At the intersection of two streets, a towering inferno blazed. It looked like a raging pyre spewing tongues of fire.

Scattered across the cobblestone streets lay soldiers, some motionless, others writhing in pain. A few labored to drag the wounded away from the destruction. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Anguished cries for help that echoed from all directions.

Debris was everywhere. Splintered wood, shattered stone, and shards of glass were spread amid the chaos. Nearby buildings bore the signs of the blast. Some had their walls scorched black, others windows blown inward. But those closer to the explosion had their roofs collapsed.

Those who had been walking in the streets were now trying to return to their homes. Some were still confused, and many of them were covered in blood. Children and the elderly seemed to struggle the most to find support to get out of the middle of that hell.

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Jamie and Thomas sprang into action almost instinctively. Running toward the chaos, their boots pounded against the streets. The heat intensified with each step, searing their lungs and stinging their eyes. Through the haze, they spotted civilians struggling to walk. Men and women disoriented, some too injured to move.

"Is there a mage here who can wield water?" a soldier shouted into the frenzied crowd, desperation sharpening his voice.

"Any druid able to command nature?" another screamed, his gaze darting among the faces around him.

Their pleas went unanswered.

Amidst the turmoil, Jamie approached two fallen soldiers. One lay still, unconscious or worse. The other thrashed, his hands grasping at the air as if reaching for something or someone.

"Hold on!" Jamie called out, skidding to a halt beside them. He hoisted the unconscious man over his shoulder with a grunt.

Jamie held his breath, trying to put all his strength into his next movements. He found it difficult to move, feeling the weight of the armor on him, along with the weight of the unconscious soldier. "We've got to move. Now!"

The man was muttering incoherently, eyes glazed and unseeing. "They told us not to speak," he whispered, voice cracking. "They said... can't talk... can't talk!"

"You're safe now," Jamie assured him, guiding them both away from the flames. The heat was intense, prickling the side of his face as embers floated past.

The soldier began to tremble, his murmurs escalating into shouts. "He didn't listen! HE DIDN'T LISTEN!" A manic laugh burst from his lips, dissolving into choking sobs.

"Easy, easy," Jamie soothed, easing the man down onto a patch of ground. He noted with concern the severe burns marring the soldier's arms and legs. The stench of burnt skin and fresh blood hung heavy in the air.

"Calm down. Look at me," Jamie said firmly, placing a steady hand on the soldier's shoulder. But the man's eyes darted wildly, his mind trapped in some unseen horror.

Before Jamie could say more, a figure emerged from the swirling smoke. A woman clad in a deep emerald cloak, hood drawn low.

"Leave him to me," she said.

Jamie glanced up, startled. "Who are you?" he asked.

"A cleric," she replied. "In cases like this, it's best to let them rest."

Kneeling beside the distraught soldier, she raised a slender hand.

[Sleep]

As if commanded by some divine force, the soldier's contorted features relaxed. His eyelids closed, breathing evening out into a peaceful rhythm.

Seeing that the soldier was in good hands, Jamie chose to turn his gaze back to the scene before him.

Around the explosion there was some groups of townspeople packed together. Their faces dirty with soot and their eyes wide with shock. Many had small injuries from the debris and the blast.

But the soldiers were hurt the worst. They lay on the cobblestone streets, some not moving, others groaning as they held burned limbs. Their armor was twisted from the heat and could not protect them from the flames. A few had died, their bodies remaining on the ground. Some were twisted into strange positions, while others were completely charred.

Through the chaos, Thomas emerged. He had been assisting in pulling more of the injured to safety. Approaching Jamie, he cast a concerned glance back at the devastation.

"Do you know what happened yet?" he asked, his voice rough from inhaling smoke.

"Not yet," Jamie replied, a note of frustration creeping into his tone. "It's all too chaotic." His keen eyes scanned the frantic crowd, searching for any high rank officer. "I don't see any captains from the City Guard or even from the Hafenstadt garrison."

Thomas shook his head, wiping a streak of soot from his brow. "They've been alerted, but only about the explosion itself," he surmised. "They might not realize the full extent of what's going on."

"Damn it," Jamie muttered angrily. The lack of organized response gnawed at him.

Jamie saw a group of young soldiers standing around, unsure of what to do. Among them was an older soldier with gray in his short hair, standing tall with authority. He shouted orders, trying to bring some order to the chaos.

Without hesitation, Jamie strode over to him. "What happened here?" he asked.

The soldier turned sharply, his expression stern. "Civilians should keep their distan—" he began, but recognition flickered across his face. "Oh, it's you," he acknowledged, his tone softening just a fraction. "The bard who has become quite a celebrity."

"I need to know what's going on," Jamie insisted, undeterred.

The soldier sighed heavily, the weight of exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I don't know for certain," he admitted. "There's bits and pieces of information coming from all sides, but nothing concrete."

"What have you heard so far?" Jamie pressed.

The soldier hesitated, a hint of reluctance in his posture. "Look," he said, his voice tinged with impatience, "I know you're well-connected with the townsfolk, and that's commendable. But when it comes to the real work, it's best left to us soldiers."

Before Jamie could respond or get his daggers, another soldier hurried over, his face flushed and eyes wide.

"I found the carriage's emblem," the newcomer reported breathlessly.

The veteran turned. "Which carriage?" he demanded.

"The one from the prison," the younger soldier explained, swallowing hard. "It was transporting the prisoners."

A heavy silence settled over the small group. The implications were immediate and grim.

"Any survivors?" the veteran asked quietly.

The soldier shook his head, his expression somber. "None."

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