Aelric’s heart pounded as he stared at the man stumbling toward him, his mind racing with possibilities. The venomous words echoed in the night air, dripping with hatred and malice. He tried to remain calm, to remind himself that he had dealt with far worse accusations before. But something about this felt different—dangerous.

“Cursed thing… shouldn’t be here,” the man slurred, his voice thick with alcohol, yet his gaze was sharp, filled with something far more menacing.

Aelric’s thoughts scrambled, trying to make sense of the situation. Why now? Why, after weeks of relative peace, was this happening again? His pulse quickened as the man’s drunken form lurched closer, the shadows of the empty street pressing in around them.

And then it hit him. The familiarity in the voice, the anger behind the eyes.

“Calder?” The name slipped from Aelric’s lips before he could stop himself. His heart sank as the realization struck. It was Calder—the same man who had been maimed during the trial. Calder, who had accused him of being a witch, who had lost everything because of that accusation. And now, here he was, broken and furious, his eyes wild with a maddened glint.

“You took… everything,” Calder spat, his words laced with bitterness. “You’re the reason… I’ve lost it all.”

Aelric took a step back, his hands instinctively balling into fists. He could see it now—the toll the trial had taken on Calder, both physically and mentally. The man was a shadow of his former self, but the hatred that burned within him had not dimmed. If anything, it had festered.

“I didn’t… I never meant for this,” Aelric tried to reason, his voice trembling as Calder advanced, his movements jerky and uneven. “You know the truth now. I’m not—”

“Shut up!” Calder roared, swinging a fist at Aelric.

Aelric barely had time to react, stepping to the side as Calder’s punch sailed past him, the man’s drunken form nearly toppling over with the force of his own strike. Aelric’s heart raced. He hadn’t expected Calder to resort to violence, but it was clear now that reason would not reach him. Calder was lost in his own rage, and nothing Aelric said would make a difference.

Another wild swing came, and Aelric dodged again, but Calder’s anger was overpowering his drunken state. His punches grew more focused, more controlled with each failed attempt.

Before Aelric could dodge again, Calder’s fist slammed into his face, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. Aelric stumbled backward, stars dancing in his vision. The punch was sloppy but powerful, and it left him reeling. Desperation surged through Aelric as Calder advanced, fists raised again.

He couldn’t keep dodging. Calder wasn’t stopping.

Aelric made a split-second decision. He lunged forward, tackling Calder to the ground. The two of them crashed onto the cobblestones, the air knocked out of both their lungs. Aelric’s arms wrapped around Calder, pinning him down with every ounce of strength he had left. If he could just hold Calder down, if he could end the fight here…

But Calder wasn’t finished. His rage knew no bounds.

With a snarl, Calder squirmed beneath Aelric, struggling to free himself. Aelric pressed harder, keeping him pinned, but in the midst of the struggle, Calder’s hand slipped beneath his cloak. There was a flash of metal—too quick for Aelric to see—and the next thing he knew, pain flared in his side.

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Aelric gasped, his mind struggling to register what had happened. He looked down and saw the blood seeping through his cloak, staining the fabric red. Calder had stabbed him. But the pain didn’t register fully, not yet. The adrenaline of the fight dulled the sensation, making it feel distant, almost unreal.

But then, something else happened—something Aelric hadn’t expected. His magic, the warmth he had always kept tightly controlled, began to leak from the wound, drawn to the injury in a desperate attempt to heal it. A dim light flickered at the edge of the wound, faint but unmistakable.

Calder’s eyes widened as he noticed the glow. His lips curled into a twisted smile, triumph gleaming in his eyes. “I knew it,” he hissed, his voice trembling with fury. “You’re a witch. The magic… it’s trying to heal you.”

Aelric’s heart pounded, the heat of his magic surging in response to Calder’s words. His mind spun, panic mixing with desperation. He hadn’t meant for this. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. But Calder’s blade was still in his hand, and the man was trying to stab him again, his face twisted with maddened hatred.

The fire flared in Aelric’s chest, stronger than ever before. He couldn’t stop it this time. His emotions were too raw, too powerful. As Calder raised the blade again, Aelric’s hand shot forward, his palm pressing against Calder’s face.

Flames erupted from Aelric’s hand, engulfing Calder’s skin. The scream that tore from Calder’s throat was filled with agony as the fire seared his flesh. Aelric’s other hand joined the first, both palms ablaze, pressing down on Calder’s face with a desperate force. The heat surged through him, uncontrollable, unstoppable.

Calder’s body convulsed beneath him, his cries of pain echoing in the empty street. Aelric’s mind screamed at him to stop, to pull back, but his hands wouldn’t move. The fire inside him had taken control, fueled by fear, anger, and survival instinct.

When Calder’s screams finally stopped, Aelric realized what he had done.

The flames flickered out, leaving only smoke and the acrid smell of burnt flesh. Aelric stared down at Calder’s lifeless body, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. The man’s face was unrecognizable, charred beyond recognition, and Aelric’s hands were still trembling from the heat.

He had killed him. Calder was dead, and it was by his hand.

Aelric’s chest tightened, his vision blurring as the gravity of the situation settled in. He had never killed anyone before, never taken a life with his own hands. And now, standing in the dark, with Calder’s body still smoldering on the ground, the reality of it was too much to bear.

His legs felt weak, and he stumbled backward, barely managing to stay on his feet. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with guilt, fear, and a sickening sense of loss. He had defended himself—he had no choice—but that didn’t make the weight of the act any lighter.

Aelric’s breath came in shallow gasps as he stared down at Calder’s lifeless body, the flames finally dying out. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene, the horror of what he had done seeping into his bones.

He barely noticed the sound of footsteps—heavy, rushed—echoing down the street. Someone was coming, likely drawn by Calder’s screams. The thought of being discovered, of facing what he had just done, sent a jolt of panic through Aelric’s already weakened body.

His side throbbed, the wound Calder had left him still bleeding. The magic trying to heal it was weak, insufficient against the depth of the cut. Aelric knew he didn’t have much time. He couldn’t stay here.

Making a desperate decision, Aelric turned and ran, his steps faltering as his vision blurred. He could feel the blood seeping through his clothes, leaving a trail behind him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. There was only one place he could go.

Elda’s.

The journey to her house felt longer than it should have. Each step sent a wave of pain through his body, and his strength was fading fast. His magic tried to heal him, but it wasn’t enough. Not this time.

By the time he reached Elda’s door, Aelric’s vision was swimming. He raised a trembling hand and knocked, the sound weak, barely audible. His legs buckled beneath him, the blood loss finally catching up with him. The world tilted, darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision.

The door opened just as Aelric collapsed, Elda’s voice barely registering in his ears before everything went black.