“Are you sure that’s the Lunacane boy?”

Three men mingled within the crowd of Lestag’s main street, blending in almost perfectly. They never strayed more than a couple of meters from each other as they continued forward. Each passed communications between each other using an earpiece that was nearly invisible to the untrained eye. Again, although they were dressed inconspicuously, to the trained eye, it was clear to see they were armed to the teeth and brimming with blood lust. Each man also wore a tattoo of a black reptilian eye insignia on their jugulars.

“It’s the one with the bigger bag. That’s the Lunacane boy.”

Jin and Zeirdin were on their way back from the bathhouse. Both of them had spent too much time soaking and were exhausted. The heat had drained their already fatigued bodies even further. Willem and Doryan had left the bathhouse an hour before they did. Zeirdin was now thinking that might’ve been a better choice. Jin had complained so much about his fatigue that they switched backpacks. Jin had brought many unnecessary items along on the expedition, while Zeirdin had stuck to the bare minimum.

“Oh my god, your pack is so much lighter,” Jin said as they walked down the pathed section of the main street.

“Yeah dumbass, why did you bring an entire gas stove on a day trip.” Zeirdin retorted.

“Obviously to cook the bacon I brought along,” Jin muttered defensively.

Zeirdin turned his head to look at Jin, “Wait, what? Let’s cook that stuff up when we get back to the inn. I haven’t had bacon in forever.” Jin smiled back.

“It’s a plan.” The two boys raced each other back to the inn, Jin still losing even with the advantage of a lighter pack.

Zeirdin had a substantial lead and lost Jin in the crowd. They both knew the way to the Inn so it wasn’t a problem. He breathed in even controlled breaths, in accordance with the rhythm of his boots thumping on the ground. He was starting to get used to wearing gear, even when tired. He wove his way through and around people, never stopping. As the inn came into view over the heads of people in the bustling night crowd, something hooked Zeirdin’s foot from underneath him.

His feet flew out behind him and flew forward, headfirst into the ground. Dazed and disoriented, strong rough hands ripped him off the ground by his shoulders as a black canvas bag was put over his head. Zeirdin tried to scream and yell but his mouth was swiftly covered by a hand. He thrashed and kicked but it was no use. The roar of the crowd slowly faded to a whisper. He was being taken away.

Once they reached what Zeirdin guessed was a dark alleyway, his kidnappers threw him to the ground. He landed hard on his back, in a foul-smelling puddle, the wind knocked out of him. Zeirdin wheezed, his lungs unable to move not listening for his cries for air. He gasped finally able to breathe again. Zeirdin’s arms were wrenched behind him and his wrists and thumbs were forcefully zip tied together. Before he could stand up on his own, his ankles were bound together as well. He groaned, bruised all over. These people knew what they were doing.

“Alright, there’s no one following us. His friend is a complete dumb ass and didn’t notice. Let’s get him to the warehouse.” This was followed by two grunts of agreement. Zeirdin was hoisted over a shoulder like a bag of potatoes with no effort. This man was probably one of the Level 1s Gindos had been talking about. Zeirdin began to thrash again in desperation. The man carrying him squeezed his waist like a vice grip, crushing the wind out of him once again. Zeirdin wheezed.

The gap in physical abilities between Zeirdin and these men was something he had never experienced before. If he was wood, they were stone. Something he couldn’t imagine being able to break. Fuck. The reality of the situation was setting in. He didn’t know what they wanted from him, and they were vastly stronger. Suddenly he had an idea. If he could maintain his concentration while circulating his mana, he could reinforce his hands and feet and snap the zip ties.

He was slung over the man’s shoulder with his stomach facing down, head on the man’s back. Again, if he could maintain concentration, he could deliver a powered elbow to the back of the man’s head. Even if there was an entire zinnia enhancement level gap between them, it should spell instant death. The final part of his plan was the blood clotting spell he had modified. He had spent enough time on it to remember the critical components, and he could fill in the gaps himself.

The second he finished off the man carrying him, he would need to begin casting. He had never actually cast the spell and had no idea if it was within his abilities to cast it twice within quick succession. They had dumped all his stuff, including Jin’s pack and his rifle in the alleyway so it was his only choice. This was all a big gamble. Lovac users were rare for a reason. Even most Galma users up to 4th circle didn’t move a muscle while casting.

Steeling his resolve, Zeirdin began to circulate the mana within him. He hoped none of them practiced the Cerulean Arts and wouldn’t notice. Fire began to build within him. He didn’t want to be the victim anymore. Zeirdin squeezed his eyes shut. It was dark and it would be a problem if they noticed his eyes glowing red. He focused the current of energy on his arms and legs.

Just a little faster. He reached the circulation speed he thought was realistic for him to maintain while moving. It was much slower than his fastest. He hoped it was enough. He began to prepare himself. Keeping the flow steady, he slightly twitched his finger. Still steady. Wiggled a toe. Still steady. He was almost ready. He would time his attack to the moment his kidnapper stepped. If his attack failed to dispatch the man, it would at least knock him to the ground. Zeirdin slowed his mind down. And practiced every movement he would make in his head. Again and again.

Now. Zeirdin flicked his eyes wide open, a few pinpricks of light visible through the canvas. He violently twisted his waist, while he forced his hands and legs apart, snapping the ties with ease. The man began to react. In the same fluid motion, he brought his left arm back from behind his back to his front. Body full of fire, now twisting his waist in the other direction, Zeirdin delivered a devastating elbow to the base of the man’s skull. Bone and flesh crumbled like wet rotten wood, giving way to Zeirdin’s reinforced elbow.

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A wet nauseating crunch echoed through the alleyway. Zeirdin’s captor crumbled lifelessly to the ground. The other men began to shout. Zeirdin fell to the ground, getting knocked out of concentration. Ripping the sack off of his head, he looked around. The man carrying him had been in the middle of the other two men.

“FUCK! He got Jeff! Let me deal with him” The man in front of Zeirdin shouted. They both carried automatic weapons, but the proximity to each other was too close to risk friendly fire. Zeirdin got lucky. Full of adrenaline, he Rolled off of the corpse and jumped to his feet. The situation was dire. They probably were not going to kill him before, but now chances of that were much lower. Forcing his mind to stop, he began concentrating on the spell. He was going to go for the man in front of him. The man slowly walked towards him, holding a combat knife in standard grip. Zeirdin visualized the spell prints in his mind, tracing the mana paths and structures, slowly materializing them. He didn’t have the concentration or control to cast from a distance while moving.

He was going to precast it on a mana timer and then charge the man. A few blue sparks flew around his right hand. It was ready. Zeirdin released the timer and the spell, finally relieving his mind of much of the strain it had been forced to bear. He had to still supply mana to the timer. Now all that was left was his timing. Zeirdin charged toward the man, hands up, elbows guarding his midsection.

The man reacted accordingly, leaving one hand up but leaving the knife down low for a stabbing attack, using Zeirdin’s momentum against him. It was a brutal and practical way of fighting, but Zeirdin was not going to get that close. All that remained was two meters between them. Zeirdin stretched his right hand out in front of him. A flurry of glowing blue sparks exploded in front of his palm in an instant. Simultaneously, the man froze mid-stride, muscles convulsing eerily. Blood poured out of every orifice on his face, his eyes turning red.

Relief and disgust flowed through Zeirdin. He had prolonged his struggle again at the cost of human life. Not a good human, but a human life all the same. The hairs on the back of Zeirdin’s neck stood on end, and he flicked around to see the last man fly over the ground between them. He covered over three meters in a second. Zeirdin tried to react, but a wave of exhaustion ran over him. He had depleted much of his natural mana stores as well as what he had gathered.

All he could do was assume a guard stance. Chin down, hands up near his brow, elbows guarding his midsection, and knees slightly bent. The man arrived a moment later, going through Zeirdin’s guard like it wasn’t there. Zeirdin could barely react as the man delivered a precise hook to his liver. A flower of pain blossomed, consuming his entire torso. The world spun and slowly faded, a metallic taste filling his mouth. He had been so close. This man was in a different league from the other two men. Was he level 2? Frustration was the last thing Zeirdin felt before the world went completely black.

The gentle amber glow of dusk caressed Zeirdin’s cheek like a warm towel. He made sure to hug the bag of fresh produce firmly against his chest, the distinct scent of tomatoes wafting out of the bag. Tonight, uncle Filip was going to make lamb stew. Zeirdin’s mouth was watering just at the thought of it. A light smile ran across his face. The orange glow illuminated the old architecture of north Tualaden beautifully. Zeirdin had taken a side footpath to avoid the evening traffic.

A dream. This was a dream. If he remembered correctly, around a month had passed since the government men had taken his father away. There still was no word from him. In the meantime, Zeirdin had been staying with Filip and his family, who was close to his father.

Zeirdin arrived at the Mondir household. He put down the bag of produce and unlocked the door. There was a commotion inside. Filip and his wife Enith were having a heated discussion, all the while they hurridly shoved items into their packs. Meanwhile, Iris sat on the first step of the stairs, staring blankly. Despite being in a dream, Zeirdin’s heart ached at the sight of Iris.

“Thank god you’re back, bud,” Filip said tensely as he grabbed a handful of pens off of his desk. “Pack your things, we have to leave.” Zeirdin put the bag of produce down on the kitchen table, confused.

“B-but wh-,” Zeirdin said before he was cut off.

“Just do it, we don’t have time,” Filip said as he ran to his office. Zeirdin ran past Iris and went up the stairs to his room in the attic. Quickly, he packed two changes of clothes, a hunting knife, a first aid kit, and False Polaris, the zinnium blast rotator his father had made. He put it all into the very same backpack he had used until recently in The Tower. Zeirdin ran back downstairs to finally see Iris moving.

“I’m done packing, what’s going on?” Zeirdin asked, standing from the third stair.

“A buddy in the military, he sent a terminal message,” Filip said shoving a towel into the top of his pack. “There’s an extermination unit on the way. They have ears inside. They heard about the Toxda Unification treaty early.” Filip panted. A baker, Filip was by no means an athletic man.

“Oh, no, no...” Zeirdin put his face in his hands. His father had always warned about this. The Toxda clans of Gistern had been battling for land rights ever since Gistern had become a vassal state of the Mudian Empire, 28 years prior. The Toxda people had stewarded much of the land of northern Gistern for centuries. The struggles began once it was discovered that Toxda land had rich stelgloate ore reserves.

“Let’s run for the hills. We can reach the cabin by midnight if we don’t stop,” Filip grunted. Enith was still frantically packing. Iris had finished packing her things and waited silently. Filip spoke calmly, “Enith, we don’t have time for this.”

She began to search even more frantically, “I can’t find my necklac-.”

“Enith.”

The four of them left the house almost jogging. The sun had gone down, the final rays of gold disappearing behind pointed roofs. Zeirdin’s stomach growled. The thought of missing out on lamb stew left a sour taste in his mouth. There were worse things to worry about though. If the tip from Filip’s buddy was true, then the situation was quite dire.

They made their way towards the secondary northeast gate. They would prioritize cordoning off the main gates first. A gust of cool evening wind whipped Zeirdin’s hair around. Then it happened. This memory had played over and over in Zeirdin’s head countless times in the nine months since. A black hooded figure flew over the buildings in the distance in an unnaturally linear fashion. Then it stopped. Hovering was the wrong word. The black hooded figure stood completely unmoving in the air. It was as if the figure was standing on an invisible pillar.

“FUCK, they sent a court mage,” Filip swore. “They’re serious about it.” Zeirdins stomach sank, a hard pit forming in the back of his throat. Northern Tualaden was primarily composed of Toxda citizens. Collateral damage was not an issue. The black hooded figure stretched out a hand. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a torrent of crimson flames gushed forward, a meter from the mage’s hand. A downpour of hellfire began. The city square was first. The screams began. The four watched in horror before quickening their pace. Zeirdin’s heart was beating in his throat. He knew in advance that everything he had ever known was going to be burnt to ash.

They stood atop a wooded hill, roughly four kilometers away. In the distance, half of Tualaden burned red, like the smoldering coals in the heart of a campfire. Tears streamed down Filip and Enith’s cheeks. The black smoke from the fires burned Zeirdin’s eyes and he wanted to puke. Iris was curled up in a ball on the ground. This image would stay with Zeirdin for the rest of his life.