The air is unnervingly still, the faint rustle of leaves barely audible over the pounding in my chest. Shadows creep along the clearing, distorted by the moonlight filtering through the trees. I grip the hilt of my sword tighter, it's cold steel biting into my palm. Something just feels off about the entire situation. I peer deeper into the woods trying to make out the figure while Willow walks by me, gently pushing me aside.
“My, aren’t you a little freaky? Full black cloak? You can’t be a mage, so you just play dress up to scare people in the forest?” Willow’s voice slices through the silence, calm and groggy. He rubs his eyes, squinting at the cloaked figure standing a few paces away. That’s when it hits me. The same cloak, the same build. My stomach drops. It’s him. The one I saw near the woodline in the slums. Has he been following me?
“I would never have elfen blood in my veins to wield magic,” the man sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “Besides, we don’t care about you.”
“Ah, so you two are responsible for all the crimes on this road lately?” Willow asks out of pure curiosity.
“Not exactly, but I wouldn’t say I was ignorant about it either,” the mysterious man says slyly. “More so than anything, we just want the girl.” My breath hitches, the words sinking in like stones.
Willow stiffens beside me, his posture shifting from sleepy to alert in an instant. “We?” His voice sharpens as he glances around. “I only see you. And nah. This girl’s a sister to me, so I love her. I’d die before letting you lay a finger on her. Take a look at me, don’t you know who I am?”
The cloaked man hesitates, his stance slightly faltering. Shadows stir at the edge of the clearing, and three more figures emerge, their bald heads gleaming under the pale light. Their stark white robes glow faintly, making them look like they are part of some religious cult.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, nor do I care,” the man says, though his confidence is already slipping from my judgment. “It doesn’t matter who you are, it’s four against one.”
Willow steps forward once more, his presence suddenly immense. The air around him seems to shift, growing heavier with an unseen force. “The name is Willow Mira, first lieutenant of the Royal Army of Stormhaven, son of the great General Rowena Mira. I swear it, none of you will see the sunrise,” Willow announces, placing his hands on his hips. The cloaked man hesitates for a moment before his hand signals the others to move. Willow leans toward me, his voice a sharp whisper. “If you see an opening, run to Siburg. Report what’s happening. I’ll handle them.”
“No!” My voice cracks, panic rising in my throat. “They’ll kill you!” Willow doesn’t look at me. His eyes are locked on the cloaked man. “So,” he says louder now, “you want the girl. Why?”
“None of your business,” the man snaps, his hand flicking a signal. “Your kind is too stupid to even understand.” The robed men charged. Willow’s lips curl into a fierce grin as he raises his sword. “Ignis Corona!”
A ring of fire roars to life around us, bright and searing, forcing the attackers to halt. The flames dance, casting grotesque shadows on their faces. Willow’s sword glows faintly as he channels the fire’s energy around us. He points it at the first man nearest to us, and the flames leap forward in a burst, streaking through the air like a comet. The attacker dives, but the fire is faster. It engulfs half his body before he is able to be out of the flames path. His screams cut through the night, the smell of burning flesh churning my stomach. Willow groans. “Too easy. Come on, fight!”
The flames flicker and fade, plunging us back into the cold darkness. “Lamberra, why are you still here?” he snaps, his tone sharp. “Go!” I hesitate, my feet rooted to the ground, my heart pounding. Willow growls in frustration, stepping forward to engage the next attacker. Steel clashes against steel, the sound sharp and brutal. The robed men move in tandem, their strikes coordinated, but Willow moves faster. His blade slashes through the air in a deadly rhythm.
The second attacker lunges at Willow, his movements almost mechanical. Willow sidesteps the strike and counters with a precise upward slash, his blade catching the man’s forearm. A spray of blood arcs into the air, dark as ink in the moonlight. The wounded man doesn’t scream. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he pivots unnaturally, twisting his body with an eerie grace as he thrusts his short sword toward Willow’s ribs. Willow blocks just in time, their weapons clashing in a burst of sparks. Willow lets out a laugh, “not bad!” his voice booms outward. In the corner of my eye, I catch the third attacker now charging me. “Lamberra!” Willow’s shout jolts me out of my paralysis. “Run!”
I take a step back, but my legs feel like lead. My mind races, torn between the urge to flee and the overwhelming guilt that I’d be abandoning him, especially if he were to be killed. What would I tell Belli? I decide to fight, I watch the third attacker rush toward me. His bald head gleams like polished stone, and his empty, soulless eyes lock onto mine. “Willow!” I scream, scrambling to raise my sword.
The man is faster than I expected. His blade whistles through the air, and I barely manage to block. The impact jars my arms, sending a sharp pain through my wrists. He presses his weight against me, his strength far surpassing mine. Desperation takes over. I twist my body, using his momentum against him. He stumbles, just enough for me to break free and slash wildly at his side. My blade grazes him, and he hisses, a thin line of blood blooming on his robes. His eyes wide in shock. Before he starts another flurry of attacks, Willow barrels into him, knocking him to the ground. “Stay away from her!” Willow snarls, his blade plunging downward. The man rolls to avoid the blow, but not fast enough. Willow’s sword catches his thigh, eliciting a sharp inaudible cry of pain.
The distraction costs Willow. The second attacker closes in, his blade slicing a shallow cut across Willow’s shoulder.
“Willow!” I cry out, reaching out my left hand toward.
“I’m fine!” he snaps, spinning to parry another blow. Blood stains his fine white uniform, but he doesn’t slow. His movements are precise, calculated, like he’s anticipating their every move. “I need you to go now! There’s an opening.”
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Finally feeling the courage to flee, my legs spring into motion, churning through a forest thick with fallen leaves and brittle sticks. The world around me blurs as panic sharpens my senses, every snap of a twig beneath my boots loud enough to betray me. My breath comes in short gasps, the cold night air slicing down my throat. In my mind, the only thought is to run, though I can’t even tell where my legs are taking me. My escape is cut short when the cloaked man, the one who has been watching all this time with a predator’s stillness, steps forward. His mere presence feels like a weight pressing down on my chest, his gaze colder than the night air. Unlike the others, he speaks. “Enough,” he commands, his voice cutting through the forest like a blade. “Do not let her escape.” I watch the cloaked man now charge toward Willow, two against one.
His words and movements echo, chilling and absolute. My heart slams against my ribs, my steps faltering for just a moment as his words send chills down my spine. My eyes stay locked on him, dread pooling in my stomach. I see something calculating, almost cruel, in the way he tilts his head watching both me and Willow. Distracted, at the last second I notice the massive tree root cutting across my path, but it’s too late. My foot catches, and I pitch forward. The ground rises to meet me violently, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. Pain explodes in my side as I tumble, rolling over and over until I finally come to a jarring stop. I lie there, stunned, my head spinning as sharp twigs jab into my skin and damp leaves cling to me. My sword, my only means of protection, is gone, flung several feet away from me. I jerk my neck attempting to find the best path to retrieve it. The world swims before me, my chest heaving with ragged, panicked breaths.
A searing pain in my lower left side anchors me back to the present. My fingers shakily press against the spot. Instant searing pain when I put pressure, but it’s the cold realization that freezes me, I am completely exposed and open. I force myself to sit up to get a better look at my surroundings. Distantly, I hear the clash of swords and Willow’s voice. He yells through the chaos, calling my name. “Lamberra! Are you okay? Lamberra!” His words are frantic, desperate, but I can’t answer. The fear has stolen my voice, pinning me in place. The distant sounds of Willow’s fight are drowned out by a rustling that grows closer and closer. The crunch of leaves becomes a drumbeat, steady and relentless. My gaze snaps to the source, and I see him, a white robed man charging toward me, his weapon glinting in the moonlight.
Time slows. My eyes dart to where my sword lies, glinting faintly several feet away, far out of reach. I scramble backward, dirt and leaves tangling in my fingers, but the effort is useless. The man is closing the gap too fast, and I have nothing. No weapon, no way to properly use magic, no plan. My chest tightens with the crushing weight of helplessness. I’m not ready to die. But at this moment, it feels inevitable. The man’s shadow falls over me, his sword raised high, his arm dripping blood. My heart thunders as my limbs go slack. I can almost hear my own voice in the back of my mind whispering, This is it. You can’t win.
The thought sinks in, cold and suffocating. I feel something in me start to break. All the years of scraping by, of convincing myself I was strong enough to survive this harsh world. More than that, creating a better world for Amara and Mama. I failed. I crumble under the reality that I am not. I am just a girl from the slums who is going to die like someone from the slums should.
The white robed man’s face twists as he lunges. My hands raise instinctively to shield myself, a pitiful reaction. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for darkness. a voice pierces the chaos like thunder cracking the night. “Magna Ignis!”
A low hum fills the air, followed by a flash of searing orange light. Willow steps into the clearing, his sword outstretched and glowing with raw, pulsing energy. A sphere of fire begins to form at the tip of the sword, small at first but growing rapidly as tendrils of heat coil and twist around it. The air vibrates, charged with power, and the robed man hesitates, his gaze snapping toward the light. Willow’s voice yells toward me, as he channels the spell. “Get your sword. Fight. Remember the fundamentals!”
With a final, commanding shout, he hurls the fireball toward the attacker. It streaks through the air like a shooting star, illuminating the clearing in a wash of blinding orange. The robed man barely has time to react before the fireball collides with him, but he dives out of the way at the last second. The explosion is deafening, sending a shockwave through the forest, and flames erupt around us, setting aflame the dry underbrush and igniting the trees. The man is thrown back by the force, his robes scorched as he scrambles to his feet, coughing from the smoke now thick in the air.
The acrid stench of burning wood and charred fabric fills my lungs as I desperately crawl forward to retrieve my sword. My gaze darts around, searching for the man who had charged me, but I can’t find him. Perhaps he fled, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. My gaze falls onto Willow, I see him locked in combat with not just one attacker, but both the cloaked man and another robed figure. He moves with deadly precision, every strike of his sword calculated and fierce.
With a swift kick to the chest, Willow sends the cloaked man staggering several feet back, forcing him to momentarily retreat. Wasting no time, he turns his focus on the robed attacker. The clash of steel against steel fills the air as they go blow for blow, but it’s clear the robed man is no match for Willow. Too focused on defending against Willow’s relentless strikes, the man doesn’t notice until it’s too late, Willow’s free hand flashes, a glint of steel catching the firelight as he pulls a knife from his belt. With a single, precise motion, he slashes the robed man’s throat. Blood spews upward, splattering the ground as the man gurgles and collapses to his knees before crumpling lifelessly.
“Lamberra!” Willow’s voice snaps me back to reality. The last robed man was already rushing toward me. My body protests with every movement, my side aching, and slight burns across the side of my face from the fireball but I stand tall. The hilt is cold against my hand as I grip it tightly. The man’s blade arcs toward me, and I barely manage to block it. The impact reverberates through my arms, but I hold firm. His strikes come faster now, each one forcing me back a step.
Remember the fundamentals, Willow’s voice echoes in my mind. Let them think they’re winning. Let them get arrogant. That’s your opening. I slide left, drawing him into an overreach, but he’s quick to recover, his blade sweeping toward my side. I twist away, the tip of his sword grazing my dark blue tunic but missing flesh. The movement costs me my balance, and I stumble, falling to one knee. The robed man sneers, his confidence swelling as he raises his weapon for a decisive blow. Time slows, and I see it, the gap in his guard.
With every ounce of strength I can muster, I thrust my sword upward, the blade sinking into his stomach. The resistance is horrifying, the feeling of flesh and bone giving way beneath the steel. The man’s eyes widen in shock, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as he crumples forward, his weight dragging me down with him. I shove him off, my chest heaving as I scramble back. His body twitching.
I regain my composure and slowly lower to both my knees grabbing my side. It feels like there's been a knife in my ribcage ever since I fell. I watch Willow and the cloaked man go blow for blow. Clearly, the cloaked man had more skill than the three white robed men combined, but Willow was still clearly better. With one swift blow toward the chest the hood falls off of the cloaked man. Dark red eyes compared to Willow’s bright red. Long black hair cascading down his back, but panic fills his body.
“GWAAH,” I scream, the sound raw and guttural. My legs buckle as the attacker I thought I killed plunges a knife into my upper right chest, dragging it through my shoulder as he falls. My vision blurs as I collapse beside him, his lifeless red eyes staring into mine. “Lamberra!” Willow’s voice is frantic. He disarms and yanks the cloaked man by his collar, his sword poised. The man pleads, his voice shaking. “I can save her. Please! It was just a bounty we were trying to collect! We’re just hired men!”
Willow’s voice is low and cold. “Ignis Venire.” A small flame ignites at the tip of his sword, then shoots forward like a cannon. The cloaked man’s head snaps back as the flame tears through his skull. Blood pools around his crumpled body. “Lamberra!” Willow slides to my side, his face pale. “Oh no. Can you hear me?”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, trying to smile. “It’s not a deep wound,” attempting to laugh but instead I coughed up blood.
Willow doesn’t respond. He tears my shirt open, exposing the wound. I flinch, embarrassment flashing through me, I try to move both my arms to cover myself but I could only move my left arm. “No time for modesty,” he mutters. “You’ve healed yourself before. As a kid, remember?” I nod faintly, only from memories of others do I remember. “I’ll stop the bleeding, but you need to do the rest. I know your mana is low, but you’re a fighter, Lamberra.” His voice is firm, grounding me as he presses the flat of his sword against the wound. I watch him whisper something down at his blade. I see the sword become red hot and smoking, my eyes widen and I attempt to tell him no but suddenly I feel searing pain across my chest slowly edging toward my shoulder. The smell of burnt flesh and iron filled the air again, much more intense than before.
“GWUHHH,” I scream out. “Stay with me!” Willow’s voice is desperate, his hand gripping mine. “Lamberra, look at me. Stay awake!” I try. I really try, but the cold is creeping in, and my eyelids feel impossibly heavy. Willow’s voice grows distant as darkness overtakes me.