A shadow swept across the sky, drowning the meadow surrounded by bushes in grey.

Did he transform?

Outwardly, he looked the same. But something seemed to have shifted in his presence, like the air before lightning strikes.

The grass suddenly wilted around his feet, blades curling inward as if recoiling from poison.

This could get dangerous. Oh, High Priestess, give me strength.

I readied my sword and my breath, then looked over towards Zephyr.

He was... trembling?

Was that fear in his eyes?

What did he see that I didn't?

Or was it…

He looks odd, just a bit...

—

Abruptly, I heard a voice. Low, but as if it bounced all around me. It reminded me of the voices in the mines.

... .... ... ... ...

I listened to every word.

In that moment, I dropped my gaze.

Something glowed at my feet.

A crystal?

It was half-buried in the grass, pulsing with inner light.

Suddenly, Zephyr's figure collapsed backward, ducking into the grass like a rodent trying to hide. His form blurred, melting into the green as if it just disappeared.

The masked leader reacted instantly. The orb materialized something between his palms, resonating with sickly green light. And with a blast, he thrust it forward.

WHOOSH.

The blast carved through the air like a bullet. Grass turned to ash, dirt scorched black, everything caught in its path reduced to smoking ruin. Where Zephyr fell, nothing remained.

"ZEPHYR!" I shrieked; it tore my sick throat.

"A true pussy in the end!" the leader called out, not hiding his contempt. "Only confident around the weak!"

"Ohh, don't cry, little Vandymion!" The man's smirk seemed visible even through his mask. "Didn't your parents teach you anything? Actions have consequences."

"Now, time for more consequences."

Green light gathered in his palms again—not aimed at me.

His gaze shifted like a predator... And his target? The child.

At Darren. Like a statue, he stood motionless.

His eyes were still dead.

I didn't think. My hand closed around the crystal at my feet, and I launched myself forward.

"ENOUGH!"

I stood in front of the little boy.

I blocked him with my body and didn't look back.

In that moment, he lowered his hands, the blast flickering then dying.

He can't risk killing me. I'm his main target.

"So—"

Another speech?

The instant he opened his mouth, I pounced.

The crystal in my hand was an arcane crystal. I dug my nail into its surface, cracking the lattice structure just enough, and hurled it straight at the masked man's face.

I slammed my eyes shut, and covered my face.

He raised his hands to blast it from the air, but it was too late.

The crystal detonated.

Pure luminescence erupted through the bushy meadow, white, gold, violet, any colour I thought of, I caught a glimpse of it through the slits in my hand.

The memory of Zephyr using one as a flare in the prison flashed through my mind, except this was not only a signal, but also a weapon.

The masked man's shriek split the air.

"AGHHH!"

One second of blindness. One second of confusion.

That was all it took.

From behind, Zephyr struck clean and true. He held the sword by the tip of its hilt, and thrust from maximum range.

A stab to the heart.

The man fell, gurgling. Blood frothed at his lips, mixing with ash. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the wound. The light died in his eyes— not all at once, but in stuttering intervals, like a candle drowning in its own wax.

Zephyr's blade, corroded and half-melted from whatever power the man carried and clattered to the ground, then he flipped backward, putting distance between himself and the leader.

The body... it began to disintegrate.

Flesh turned to dust, bones to ash, until only empty clothes remained.

The Orb, now cracked and dimmed, fell on the ground where the man once stood.

It was over.

Dangerous. Any wrong move and we would have died. To think we'd attract such attention so soon.

I glanced at Zephyr. Could it be his arcane energy leakage?

At least it's all over now...

"That was clean!" Zephyr panted, retreating toward me.

"And that was a dirty tactic, monkey." I kept my voice level despite my pulse. "Temporal Echo? A sneak attack, really?"

He made an echo clone, blended it into himself, then crawled away on the grass while his clone still stood distracting. I only noticed it after.

"You never cared about tactics," Zephyr said. "You just wanted to call me a dirty monkey."

"Oh, however could you have figured that out?" I rolled my eyes.

"That scream of yours was really realistic! Even I thought I had died! Must have been from the bottom of your heart," He cracked his knuckles.

"Shut it, midget." I yawned, but he continued as if he didn't hear me.

"The guards will be here soon." His eyes swept the meadow. "Even in a secluded area, the screaming and that light show will attract attention."

"I'm aware." I sighed.

Suddenly, Zephyr's expression shifted, as though reflecting, "You know, I wasn't trying to kill him. I actually missed his heart. I wanted him alive to hand him over to the authorities, maybe question him myself."

Hmm? In such a situation, was Zephyr calm enough to purposely not deliver the finishing blow? I wondered.

"I see… So that orb must have sensed something and decided to kill him itself? Does it have some sort of sentience?" I asked.

The question hung between us.

"We'll leave it to the guards to figure out when they come," Zephyr said.

I nodded.

Too unknown, too dangerous to check. But the itching, off-putting feeling from it all lingered.

The shadow from the cloud drifted away, and sunlight broke through. Warmth touched my face. Wind brushed across my skin. Goosebumps raised along my arms. The sound of leaves rustled in the breeze, and the scent of grass filled my lungs.

I'd just survived a battle that could have killed me three times over.

So why did I feel so calm?

After every storm, there is calm. But after every calm, there is always another storm.

One should not be complacent and should prepare for both.

"We'll be back on the island of the priestess soon," Zephyr sighed. "I'll miss this weather,"

I nodded.

Onwards home… yes… That will be my next storm after this calm…

But something slipped my mind, and I was only reminded when I saw it.

Or rather him.

The boy walked ahead of us in a slow limp, eyes foggy and glassy. He shuffled past dead grass and ash stains, past where bodies had fallen, until he reached a corpse by the carriage horse.

Darren stood over the corpse of his father.

Or what was once a corpse. Now it was just a pile of clothes that covered ash.

Instantly, his legs gave out.

"AHHHHHHH!"

The wail tore from his throat. His small hands clutched at the clothes, at the ash that had been his father, and he sobbed.

The first sound he'd made in what felt like forever, and it was this.

The same boy who could not keep his mouth shut, no longer spoke words.

All his grief, all his fear, everything he'd bottled up came pouring out at once.

"Quit your crying," I said, walking closer. "Your father was a terrible man anyway."

"Wha—what..."

"He was the one who hired that bandit group to attack us. He knowingly put your life at risk too. He's a terrible father. No amount of money should be worth that risk."

"N—no..." Darren's voice cracked. "Papa could never... he—"

"You heard exactly what he said, didn't you? I know you did."

"He would never... I don't know... He could have been forced and—"

"And whose fault would that have been?" I kept my tone still, "Because he was weak, he was forced to become a dog and bend the knee. Because he was weak, he thought it best to sink so low. Because he was weak, he put you in danger rather than finding another way. Because he was too weak to find another way. A weak father is also a terrible father. Love will only get you so far."

"We're dregs! How could it be his fault?"

"Yes, a pitiful dreg. But even dregs can excel and rise through other paths." I paused. "Of course, this assumes he was truly forced. He would have turned you into his copy. Don't grow up to be like him. Perhaps his death was a blessing in disguise."

"Ahh—ah—" Fresh tears streamed down Darren's face. "Sir Zephyr was wrong... You really are mean..." His voice shook like glass about to shatter.

"I didn't need to talk to you, and you're lucky I did. I'm only speaking the truth. Take it as you will."

"But thank you..." The words came out small, almost inaudible. "For protecting me."

Protecting? My thoughts stuttered. I did no such thing. All I did was buy time. The boy's life was of no concern to me.

I opened my mouth to say exactly that.

"You're welcome."

But those words slipped out instead...

"You'll be alright, Darren." Zephyr's voice came from behind me.

He was watching the whole time. Silently.

Darren didn't respond. He just held his father's empty clothes and wept.

But his grieving would not last long either.

"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?"

The shout cut through the meadow like the crack of a whip.

Guards poured into the clearing—six of them, wearing the dark blue uniforms of the city watch, hands on sword hilts, eyes scanning for threats. Their leader, a young, broad-shouldered black-haired woman with a scar through her left eyebrow, took in the scene.

Calmly, she pulled out a notebook: burned and whithred ground, bodies reduced to ash, three survivors standing in the aftermath, an odd cracked orb.

"ALL THREE OF YOU! HANDS UP AND STAND BY THAT TREE!"

We complied. What else could we do?

The guards moved with practiced coordination. Two secured the perimeter. Two more searched us for weapons, their hands rough and impersonal. The remaining pair approached the cracked orb, one pulling out thick leather gloves before gingerly lifting it. They sealed it inside a small chest inscribed with containment runes.

Usual guards don't have tools like these. These people must be some sort of special forces. I noticed.

Zephyr, Darren, and I stood with hands bound in rough rope, flanked by two guards.

After a few minutes of searching, they all came to a halt.

The scarred woman approached, her gaze moving from her notebook to meet us.

"What are your names?" She went straight to the point.

"Zephyr," Zephyr said.

"D—Darren," the boy whispered.

Then her eyes fell on me.

"Rayah Vandymion."

Silence.

The guards exchanged glances.

"Your real name," the woman said flatly. "I'm not here for jokes."

Jokes? Heat flashed through my chest. Who would use my name for jokes?

"I am Rayah Vandymion!" I drew myself up, meeting the woman's eyes. "The rightful air of the Frost Birds of Galica!"

"Must I start using threats?" The guard's expression hardened. "The Vandymion's youngest daughter died while on an expedition. Her funeral was held just under a month ago."

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