Three days later, the guild came at dawn.

Alex was hauling water from the well when he saw them—three enforcers with iron-tipped staves, their guild sigils glinting like fresh scars. Behind them rolled the guildmaster’s truck, a hulking machine of rust and spite.

He dropped the bucket.

Inside, his mother slept fitfully. The medicine was gone. So soon? Panic clawed his ribs. He’d calculated four doses. She’s been skipping them. Saving them for you, he realized.

“Alex Kinsley!” The guildmaster’s voice boomed through the walls. “Time to settle accounts!”

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He barred the door, hands shaking. The enforcers laughed.

A rock shattered the window.

“Come quietly,” the guildmaster crooned, “and we’ll make it quick for her.”

Run, his mother’s voice echoed. Run.

But his feet were roots. His hands were stone.

Then—a scent. Lotus blossoms.

Emily stood at the edge of the clearing, her basket of herbs forgotten on the ground. Their eyes met. Go, she mouthed, gesturing to the forest. Now.

The enforcers turned.

Chaos erupted.

Alex doesn’t remember grabbing the knife. Doesn’t remember lunging. Only the guildmaster’s roar, the truck’s engine snarling to life, and Emily’s scream—

“Alex, NO!”

He turned. The truck careened toward her, its brakes screeching a death hymn.

Later, he’d wonder why he didn’t hesitate.

The impact was a symphony of breaking things.