The night deepened, casting a veil of stillness over Ironvale. Only the faint rustling of the wind through the streets broke the silence. Silas remained perched atop his vantage point, his eyes fixed on the Eastern Gate, monocular pressed against his eye as he watched for any suspicious activity. His thoughts were interrupted by the faint buzz of the communication stone in his hand.
Silas adjusted the small, glowing stone in his hand, bringing it closer to his ear as Rowan’s voice crackled softly through it.
“Silas, we’ve got something,” Rowan whispered, his tone tight with urgency.
Silas straightened. “What’s going on?”
“The caravan—they’re loading something into the back. It’s wrapped in cloth, large enough to be a person.”
Silas adjusted his monocular, scanning the area around the caravanserai. In the dim lantern light, he spotted the three figures Rowan mentioned. The driver and two others hauled a long, cloth-wrapped bundle into the caravan.
“I see them,” Silas said grimly. “Stay on them, but don’t get too close. Meet me in the middle—let’s see where they’re heading.”
There was a brief pause before Rowan replied, “Got it. We’ll keep our distance.”
With that, Silas slid down the rooftop, his boots hitting the stone with a soft thud. He kept to the shadows, weaving through the narrow alleyways of Ironvale, his footsteps muffled by the cool night air. The distant sounds of taverns and patrolling guards were faint in his ears as he neared the meeting point.
When he reached the meeting point, he saw Rowan and Layla slipping toward him through the shadows. “They’re headed for the Eastern Gate,” Rowan whispered. “They’ve got the bundle hidden inside the caravan.”
“Alright,” Silas said, thinking quickly. “Layla, can you stay behind and watch the Eastern Gate? Any caravan coming in at this hour is suspicious. You should keep Goldie and Trickster with you in case of trouble. “Here,” he added, handing her the monocular, “use this to keep an eye on things.”
Layla frowned, not particularly pleased about being left behind, but then she nodded. “Be careful,” she said, accepting the monocular Silas handed her.
With a nod to Rowan, “Silas summoned Breeze with a soft whisper, her figure flickering into view. “Ready?” He asked Rowan.
Rowan swallowed hard, glancing at the gusting wind around Breeze. “Yeah… let’s do this.”
Silas held onto Rowan as Breeze enveloped them both in a rush of air, lifting them off the ground. They ascended quickly, the streets of Ironvale shrinking beneath them. The cool night wind rushed past their faces, and Rowan’s grip tightened as they floated higher into the dark sky.
“You alright?” Silas asked, his voice barely audible over the wind.
Rowan forced a nod, though his heart pounded with nerves. “I’ll manage,” he muttered, trying to focus on the task ahead rather than the fact that they were floating high above the desert.
Silas smiled briefly, then returned his attention to the caravan far below. He raised the monocular to his eye, tracking the slow movements of the wagon. It was moving eastward on the main trade route toward the gate, its occupants unaware of the silent pair gliding high above.
Breeze gave a soft hum of effort, pushing air currents in the direction of the caravan. It wasn’t a smooth ride—her control over the wind was still clumsy, causing them to jolt as the gusts pushed them forward. Rowan glanced nervously at Silas, but Silas kept his focus through the monocular, watching the caravan below.
The caravan soon approached the Eastern Gate. As expected, the guards didn’t even bother to check the goods. The driver simply nodded, and they waved him through without a second glance.
They continued to track the caravan as it moved beyond the city gates, sticking to the official trade route for a while. Silas kept his monocular trained on the caravan, watching as it trundled along the well-worn path toward the distant outpost.
The outpost came into view—a sturdy structure, heavily guarded despite the late hour. Armed sentries patrolled its perimeter, their torches cutting through the night. Silas’s brow furrowed. as he thought, ‘That’s a lot of security for a regular trade route checkpoint.’
The caravan slowed as it neared the outpost. Silas watched intently as the driver dismounted and walked up to a guard. Through the monocular, he noticed the guard hardly glanced at the cargo. After exchanging a few brief words with the driver, the guard nodded and waved them through without any inspection.
'They’re not even checking the caravan,' Silas thought, tightening his grip on the monocular. 'They're in on it.'
Rowan strained his eyes but was unable to make out the details.
After passing the outpost, Silas noticed something even stranger. The caravan continued on the main route for a while, but as soon as it cleared the checkpoint, it subtly veered off, heading north toward the barren desert.
'They’ve left the official route,' Silas thought. 'They’re heading north?'
Rowan shouted something to Silas, but his words were lost in the roar of the wind. The night air whipped around them, making communication nearly impossible. Silas glanced at Rowan, seeing the concern etched on his face, but before he could respond, he heard a faint, familiar voice in his mind.
“Silas... it's too much... I can’t… hold on much longer…”
It was Breeze, her tone strained. Silas’s heart sank as he realised she was struggling to keep them afloat.
Silas’s heart skipped a beat as he felt the wind currents weaken around them. Breeze was clearly struggling to keep them aloft. “Drop us ahead of the caravan,” Silas instructed, his tone calm despite the urgency. “Behind that dune over there. We need to stay out of sight.”
“We need to land,” Silas shouted, leaning closer to Rowan. He pointed toward a large sand dune ahead of the caravan. “Breeze, drop us behind that dune—quickly!”
Breeze gave a faint, broken hum of acknowledgement, and the air gently shifted, guiding them downward. Silas tightened his grip on Rowan as they descended, the wind rushing past them until they landed softly behind a large sand dune. The soft sand cushioned their feet as they crouched low, hidden from sight.
Silas lowered the monocular, peeking over the top of the dune. The caravan was steadily approaching, its riders blissfully unaware of the two figures now lying in wait, hidden by the desert’s shadows.
Silas’s mind raced as the wind settled and the caravan came closer. They had a hostage in the caravan—killing the slavers by attacking the caravan outright risked harm to their captive.
Still catching his breath from the earlier flight, Rowan spoke up, his voice low but urgent. “I tried telling you this in the air, but this is dangerous territory. The traders in Ironvale mentioned that this is a breeding ground for Uraeuses. They are giant serpent creatures that devour their prey, including the caravans. But… we can attack these slavers and make it seem like an accident. No one will trace it back to us. It’ll just look like they got unlucky.”
Silas’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “That could work.” He nodded. “We’ll make it seem like the caravan fell prey to one of those beasts. It won’t raise any alarms.”
He turned to Rowan, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “I’ll create a diversion to stop the caravan. Once they’re distracted, you flank them from the side. Your job is to get the hostage out safely. Once you’ve done that, come back and help me finish them off.”
Rowan nodded determination in his eyes. “Got it.”
Silas watched as Rowan crouched low, moving silently along the underside of the sand dune, keeping out of sight as he flanked the caravan. The night offered cover, and the soft sand muffled Rowan’s footsteps as he vanished from Silas’s view.
Once Rowan was in position, Silas took a deep breath and called on Breeze. He whispered the command, and she responded, her ethereal form swirling beside him.
“Wind Edges,” Silas’s breath steadied as he traced the runes in the air. Power surged through his fingertips, a sharp, tingling sensation as Breeze responded to his command. The gusts that followed were swift, cutting through the night with a whistling edge, the sand exploding around the caravan like a silent storm.
The caravan came to a screeching halt as the driver yanked on the reins. Startled, he looked around, eyes wide with panic. The two men in the back of the caravan scrambled out, their expressions twisted with confusion and irritation.
“Perfect,” Silas muttered, standing from behind the dune. He stepped into view and put on his best bandit act, laughing darkly.
“Alright, scum! Leave the cargo and all your possessions behind and Fuck off!” Silas shouted.
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The two slavers bristled at the insult. One of them sneered and cracked his knuckles. “You’ll regret that, little doll. Oh… Aren’t you a cute one?” His voice oozed malice. “Maybe I’ll fuck you and train you to serve me later.”
Silas’s blood boiled at the words, but he kept his face calm, even amused. “Is that so?” he taunted before commanding Breeze to send another gust of wind their way.
The slavers staggered back, caught off guard by the sudden force. Their expressions shifted from mockery to confusion. One drew a curved blade, while the other unsheathed a long sword, both enhancing their bodies with a Spirit Infusion. It was clear they were Soulweavers.
The two slavers advanced on Silas, their movements becoming quicker and smoother on the shifting sand, thanks to augmentation. Silas grimaced, knowing he had to tread carefully. A single mistake could lead to the caravan flipping over or damaging the captive inside. He unsheathed Ebonheart, the blade gleaming under the moonlight, and prepared to meet their attack head-on.
The first slaver lunged forward, his curved blade aimed for Silas’s throat. Silas sidestepped with ease, the tip of his sword flicking out like lightning, parrying the blow. Steel clashed in a flash of sparks. The second slaver circled around, his long sword gleaming under the moonlight. Silas felt the rush of air as both men moved to flank him.
Meanwhile, Rowan had reached the side of the caravan undetected. He peered over the edge and saw the driver still standing near the front, looking shaken but not moving to join the fight. Seizing the opportunity, Rowan crept closer, silently casting a Soul Bind on the man. The driver froze, unable to move or cry out.
Rowan’s heart pounded as he moved closer, gripping the blade tightly. ‘This is for the hostage,’ he reminded himself, but there was no hesitation in his movements. The driver gurgled as the blade slid into his throat, and Rowan caught him before he hit the ground.
Rowan quickly moved to the back of the caravan, where the hostage lay wrapped in cloth, still and seemingly unconscious. He dragged the body out, making sure to stay low and hidden from the ongoing fight. With careful but hurried steps, Rowan pulled the captive to the safety of a nearby dune, laying them down out of sight. His heart pounded, but his focus never wavered.
Once the captive was safe, Rowan wiped the sweat from his brow and dashed back toward the battle, keeping low as he moved through the shadows. Silas was already engaged in combat with the two Soulweavers. He needed to get back in time to help his friend.
As Silas parried their attacks and dodged their Soulweaving techniques, he grinned, knowing that Rowan would be ready any moment. His eyes flicked to the side, waiting for the signal.
“It’s done!” As Rowan’s voice rang out, satisfaction crossed Silas’s face. The hostage was safe. It was time to deal with the slavers, and there would be no mercy.
Realising what they were up to, the slaver with the curved blade growled, his eyes wild with fury. “You’re dead, you little shit!” He infused his weapon with Spirit Essence, his blade glowing as he charged. This time, Silas didn’t dodge. Instead, he stepped into the attack, Ebonheart meeting the slaver’s blade with a bone-shaking clash. The force sent vibrations through his arm, but Silas grinned through it.
“Not good enough,” Silas spat, twisting Ebonheart and forcing the slaver’s blade down. With a swift motion, he slammed his knee into the man’s ribs. There was a sickening crack, and the slaver gasped, stumbling backwards as blood splattered from his mouth.
Before he could recover, Silas traced a rune in the air with a finger slicked with his own blood from the earlier clash. Breeze’s Wind Edges cut through the air, invisible blades slashing into the slaver’s chest and legs. His scream echoed across the dunes as deep gashes tore through his flesh, spraying the golden sand red.
Seeing his comrade faltering, the second slaver rushed forward in desperation, his long sword raised. But before he could reach Silas, Rowan was on him, faster and more ruthless than before. Rowan’s eyes were cold, his breath steady as he cast Soul Bind, freezing the slaver mid-step.
The slaver’s body locked up, his muscles rigid and strained. His eyes widened in terror as Rowan closed the gap between them. “You picked the wrong fight,” Rowan whispered coldly, and in one fluid motion, he smashed the hilt of his sword into the slaver’s face, breaking his nose with a sickening crunch. Blood poured from the man’s nostrils, and his screams were muffled as Rowan grabbed him by the collar, dragging him through the sand like a rag doll.
The slaver’s attempts to cast Soul Disruption were pitiful, barely registering to Rowan. With one final motion, Rowan drove his knee into the man’s stomach, forcing all the air out of his lungs. He dropped to his knees, wheezing, hands clutching his belly in agony.
“Get up,” Rowan growled. “I want you to feel this.”
Meanwhile, Silas had his opponent on the ropes. The man with the curved blade was staggering, blood pouring from his wounds. But there was no sympathy in Silas’s eyes—only cold calculation. He stepped forward, slicing the air with a fire rune. Spark’s flames erupted and scorched the slaver’s skin. The man’s screams filled the desert night, but Silas didn’t stop.
“I’m just getting started,” Silas muttered. He sheathed Ebonheart, switching to hand-to-hand, and drove his fist into the slaver’s already cracked ribs. The man howled as more bones broke under the pressure. Silas grabbed his throat, lifting him off the ground with ease before slamming him into the sand.
The slaver coughed, spitting blood, his voice weak. “Please… stop…”
Silas knelt down, his eyes inches from the man’s face. “You didn’t stop for those you captured. You didn’t stop when you were selling innocent people. Why should I stop for you?”
He stood up and brought his foot down hard on the slaver’s leg. The bone shattered with an audible snap, and the man let out a guttural scream. His body convulsed, writhing in pain.
“Now you’re starting to understand,” Silas said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Rowan, having subdued the other slaver, kicked him to the ground. The man groaned, clutching his stomach and nose, his body twitching from the pain. “He’s broken,” Rowan muttered, wiping blood from his sword. “They won’t give us any more trouble.”
But Silas wasn’t done yet. He turned to the slaver beneath his boot, watching as the man’s eyes flickered with terror. “You’re going to tell us everything,” Silas whispered. “And if you lie, I’ll break something else. Maybe your arms this time.”
The slaver whimpered, his spirit shattered. His confidence, his bravado—gone. All that remained was fear. He nodded frantically, tears streaming down his bloodied face. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk! Just don’t—don’t hurt me anymore!”
Silas stepped off the man’s leg, allowing him to breathe, though he kept his gaze locked on him, his eyes promising further pain if the slaver hesitated.
The slavers had been crushed, both in body and spirit. There was no fight left in them, no defiance, only the cold realisation that they had been utterly defeated.
“We’ll drag them back to Ironvale,” Rowan said, looking at the broken men. “We’ll get more out of them there.”
Silas nodded, but not before giving the man one final look. “You’re lucky we need you alive,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “If not, I’d make sure you’d never see tomorrow’s sun.”
With that, Silas and Rowan knocked both men out cold, their bodies limp as they slumped into the blood-stained sand. The battle was over quickly.
Silas stared at the slaver’s mangled form, his heartbeat slowing as the adrenaline ebbed. He wiped the blood off his hands and met Rowan’s gaze, neither of them needing to speak. Rowan felt that it had to be done. Silas, on the other hand, gave no damn; there existed no pity for his enemies in his heart; that emotion had been stripped away.
After knocking them out, Silas and Rowan tied them up with the rope Silas had bought in the market earlier. They also stuffed their mouths with the ragged pieces of cloth so they couldn’t make any noise when they woke up.
With the slavers tied, Silas turned his gaze towards the hostage. She was a beautiful young woman and appeared to be in her twenties. The woman, still unconscious, was wrapped tightly in cloth and lay safely behind the dune. Rowan had placed her there carefully after pulling her from the caravan.
Silas and Rowan unwrapped the tight cloth around her to make it more comfortable for her, but the girl was still unconscious.
“I hope she doesn’t wake up before we get back to Ironvale,” Rowan said quietly, crouching beside her to check her condition. “If she sees us, she might end up knowing more than she should.”
Silas nodded in agreement. “Yeah, especially about my elemental magic. We need to keep that hidden.”
Rowan sighed, wiping some sweat off his brow. “At least she’s out cold for now. Let’s blindfold her. We can’t take any chances if she wakes up.”
Silas nodded, “Sounds good.”
Silas helped Rowan carefully blindfold the hostage using strips of cloth from the caravan. The binding was loose enough to be comfortable but tight enough to prevent her from seeing.
Then, Silas’s focus returned to the now-ruined caravan. It sat in the sand, broken but still too obvious a trace of what had happened here.
“It’s time to get rid of this thing,” Silas muttered, summoning Spark. The fiery spirit materialised, crackling with anticipation as it floated in the air.
Rowan stepped back, giving Silas room to work. “You need to make it disappear completely. No trace.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Silas replied, raising his arm and tracing a fire rune with a precise motion. Spark’s magic surged through the air, guided by the rune. In an instant, the entire caravan ignited, engulfed in vibrant flames that devoured wood, fabric, and contents alike. The blaze roared to life, reducing the structure to smouldering ashes within moments.
The sharp scents of burnt fruit, perfume, and singed wood hung in the air, clinging to their senses. Silas took in the thick smoke, his jaw tensing slightly.
Breeze appeared next, her form flickering and dim after the earlier exertion, having floated them to catch up with the caravan. Silas shot her a worried glance. “You up for this?”
Breeze’s shimmering form trembled, but she nodded in determination. Silas softened his gaze, trusting her strength. With a gentle sweep of her ethereal hands, a cool gust of wind swirled around the ashes. The smouldering remains were lifted into the air in delicate spirals and scattered like dust particles into the sand as Breeze directed the wind flow.
The acrid smell of burning debris dissipated, carried away by the fresh air she summoned. Soon, the place was cleared, as if the caravan had never existed. A calm breeze brushed against their faces, carrying the final remnants far into the horizon.
“Nice work,” Rowan said quietly, watching the ashes disappear.
Silas gave Breeze a grateful nod. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Breeze.”
Breeze’s form flickered, her once ethereal form dimming as she hovered unsteadily in the air. “I... need to rest,” she murmured, her voice barely a breeze itself.
Silas knelt beside her, placing a comforting hand on her fading form. “You’ve done more than enough, Breeze. Thank you. Rest now.”
Breeze, though reluctant, nodded. “It’ll be several hours... before I can... take you back.”
Rowan glanced at the dark sky. “The night’s still on our side. We can wait here until you’re ready.”
Silas gave Breeze a reassuring look. “You don’t have to worry. We’ll manage until then.”
With that, Breeze dissolved into the air, retreating back to Elementis along with Spark. The spirits needed time to recover after the long chase and their exertions.
Silas and Rowan sat in the cool sand, keeping an eye on the unconscious slavers and the hostage. The golden sand stretched endlessly around them, the cool night air brushing their skin like a whisper. Above, stars blinked in the vast sky, silent witnesses to the carnage that had ensued here tonight.