I jumped off the sidewalk and landed in my parents’ embrace. Warmth seemed to pulse from them, filling me with renewed energy. Though I’d seen it, I still couldn’t believe how they defeated the third assassin. Mother had needed a general area to direct her heat sense, which I gave by mentioning the storage facility, and then she gave exact instructions to Father, who had launched a fireball of apocalyptic scale.

Present context didn’t suit introductions, nor could I give a concise outline of what had recently transpired. All my parents needed to know was Kusuma tried to kill us at the Auroch, failed, and now he’d hired help.

Father listened, and his certainty made my speech clearer. When I finished, he waved his hand and thin flames steamed the ice, freeing our driver’s vehicle. Then Father scooped Amber up, causing her to make a comically uncomfortable face, while telling our driver to follow his vehicle.

Soon after, we made it home without being attacked.

Octavia met us at the door and led the way to the drawing room. I sat on a couch by the hearth, and Father placed Amber beside me, her back against my shoulder and injured leg elevated on the armrest.

I hadn’t noticed Darden initially, but he stood motionless by the end of the mantle. He must’ve been in a meeting with Father. Now, he watched Amber with his usual inscrutable expression, skilled at hiding his thoughts. I doubted Darden knew the full situation, yet he asked Father, unwavering:

‘What’s the plan?’

Father used a napkin to wipe some of Amber’s blood from his palms; a few droplets marked his shirt cuffs. ‘We’re going after Wira Kusuma.’

‘Now?’

‘Now.’

Octavia brought Mother supplies to treat Amber’s leg for the second time. Since being carried, Amber hadn’t lost a rigid grimace, and ministrations on her leg only deepened her discomfort. Amber flinched often, less from pain than physical touch.

‘Is there time to mitigate fallout?’ Darden asked Father.

‘Only until we figure out where Kusuma’s hiding.’ On cue, Father’s phone rang, and he jabbed the answering button like he wanted to skewer the device. ‘Juroga,’ he said.

During the call, I stared at the fire in the hearth. As a child, I’d noticed that surrounding sources of fire reflected my parents’ feelings. Candles might’ve flickered. A bonfire could crackle from glee. The most powerful mage in the room tended to dominate this reaction, so I most often understood Father’s temperament. Now, the hearth pulsed sporadically, reaching high, as if trying to climb from the ceiling, or spilling out, resembling a kiln.

The assassin who tried to kill Cecilia had been caught by Detective Mages. Juroga Drakon, underboss, was in the precinct for separate reasons, but he secured the opportunity to…exchange information with the assassin. That’s why he’d called Father, to relay what he’d learned.

‘Kusuma’s got a private compound,’ Father announced, when the call ended. He told Octavia to get her gear. She jogged from the room.

‘I take it we’re not going to try and mitigate?’ Darden mused.

‘An attempt was made on Victoria’s life.’

I did not voice my thought: Kusuma had tried to take my life at the Auroch, yet my parents hadn’t acted. They’d cited timing. Something about delicate risk. Then again, two assassins and two police officers were dead, so…

Amber spoke for the first time since the fight, voice rasping. ‘Do you know Wei Yao?’

The hearth’s flames stilled and receded, flicking against the brickwork rhythmically. Darden’s lips quirked. Father eased himself onto the couch opposite ours, hands on his knees. ‘Who are you?’

‘She’s a friend,’ I said. ‘A possible ally. I told her a couple things about—’

Amber gently slapped my leg, and to Father she declared:

‘I’m Amborella Cole, from the Hunter-Yao gang. If you’re going after Kusuma, they’ll want in. So, if you know Wei Yao, now’d be a good time to call.’

Father, Mother, and Darden exchanged looks, as if each hoped the others might be less surprised, thereby giving them a reaction to emulate. Instead, the three looked like students caught off-guard by a teacher.

With steady, even movements, Father retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket, eyeing Amber like she were an unpredictable, cornered animal, eyes only flicking briefly down to find Wei Yao’s number.

‘Come to the house. Amborella is here,’ Father said, and hung up.

Within half-an-hour, our impromptu guests were led into the drawing room. I recognised all of them from police documentation and wanted posters:

Stefan Hunter, the savage. Handled “front end” matters for the gang. Wielded a custom Walther P99. Despite a monstrous reputation, he didn’t carry himself like a savage. Through the drawing room’s doors, he dashed to Amber’s side.

Wei Yao, the gentleman. Handled “back end” matters for the gang. Rarely had a direct hand in the gang’s crimes. Like Stefan, he was quick to reach Amber.

Solomon Beck, lead enforcer. Wielded a “Nosy Boy” GM19. Tall as Father but lacking the breadth.

Aoide Hendrix, sharpshooter. Wielded a Steyr SM14. Brown hair braided and hanging to the small of her back.

Elliana Petric, the lure. The gang’s primary thief. Wore a hoodie with a cartoon cat, track pants, and a flowery bandana around her neck.

Marshal the Marshal, the…marshal. Wielded an archaic revolver of unknown origins. Suspected by authorities to be an ex-clan member.

An awkward moment followed. The Fornax side: Father, Mother, Octavia, and Darden. They stood on one side of the room, while the Hunter-Yao gang hovered around Amber. All the members behaved in a concerned but relieved way toward Amber, very touchy, very real, yet also casual, as if they lived through similar scenarios on a weekly basis.

We covered the salient points, but even that proved unnecessary. Killing Kusuma convinced them to help us.

‘Kusuma stamped one of our passports,’ Stefan explained, to which Amber shot him a quizzical look.

‘What about…?’

The Cult.

‘We investigated,’ he whispered to her. ‘Wasn’t them.’

Father cleared his throat. ‘We won’t wait, so if you need anything—’

‘We’re ready,’ Stefan interjected, making for the door, pace equal to Father.

Everyone else followed – including me. Father paused under the transom, turned back, and locked eyes with me. ‘Look after your friend.’

‘I won’t ignore this,’ I replied, imbuing my voice with true intent. The last hour alone had changed me, cleaved aside youth, forced forth inevitable milestones on the timeline. The “me” beneath felt raw but sincere.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

‘Octavia, look after your sister.’

‘I’m serious. I’m going.’ I didn’t mean to undermine Father, especially in front of the Hunter-Yao gang, but I’d backed down in the past. Not now. They went to face a threat on my behalf, and I wasn’t going to wait around.

Father sighed. ‘If Octavia stays, will you try getting past her?’ When I assented, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a handgun, and flipped it so the handle faced me. ‘When did you last practice?’

‘Before the Vandagriff exam.’

Father didn’t look pleased, but he’d made up his mind. I gripped the handgun, experimented with the weight, and held it at my side.

‘I’m coming too,’ Amber said, hobbling from the couch.

‘How’s your leg?’ Stefan Hunter asked.

‘It’ll hold.’

‘Got your knife?’ Stefan added, to which Amber nodded. ‘Got your wraps?’ Amber said she’d left them at Vandagriff, so Stefan reached into his pocket and removed two rolls of what appeared to be stained, yellowed bandages. I grimaced, but she eagerly began to wrap her knuckles and wrists.

Mother remained behind; she intended to collect Samara and Dust from Vandagriff. Similarly, Wei Yao wouldn’t join the assault; I overheard implications that he needed to plan for reactions to Kusuma’s death. Darden Shrive had said similar words to Father, but I didn’t comprehend why Kusuma represented some kind of lynchpin in city-wide politics.

The rest of our unlikely group departed the Fornax mansion: Father, Darden, Octavia, Stefan, Solomon, Aoide, Elliana, and Marshal. Amber and I, the young and ignorant, trailed behind. Amber tried and failed to avoid using my shoulder for support.

We did not look at each other, but I sensed a shared resolve, almost a distortion in the air, as if we became dual sources of heat fuelled by mutual rage and fury. Mistake or not, we’d made our choice. We’d see it through.

#

Our party travelled north, toward the amber zone, before splitting briefly. My family went through the official checkpoints, guards looking away and raising the barrier as if a technical malfunction. The Hunter-Yao party took their own route.

I sat between Octavia and Amber, leant forward slightly and shoulders tucked inward due to their physiques. The more effort I expended to stay calm, the shakier I felt. I hoped nobody noticed the twitches in my knees or shoulders. I held my handgun—a small, simple revolver with short barrel—between my legs, pointed at the ground, unloaded until we reached the compound.

Octavia rested an elbow on the windowsill, tapping the glass with a shellac nail of burnished orange. She claimed firearms were an unnecessary bother, and people outside the family believed her. In truth, as a child she’d secretly tried to fire a huge pistol, massive power, and recoil from the shot threw it from her hands. Part of the slide slammed into her right eyebrow, which left a still-visible scar and thin strip without hair.

The gear Father had told her to collect included arm and neck guards. They appeared to be simple protective gear, but they had a magical element. Imbued with Aquarius magic, they helped regulate Octavia’s temperature when using her powers.

A mild pressure of Amber’s leg against mine helped stabilise me. Back at the house, she’d gone straight into the Fornax car, rather than follow the Hunter-Yao gang. I wondered if it’d been a conscious decision.

Amber fell somewhere between Octavia and I on the scale of outward nerves. She, too, stared out the window, unwrapping and rewrapping the bandages on her hands, but while Octavia’s nail-tapping passed for boredom, Amber’s repetitive motions invoked a sense of anticipation.

But, perhaps I analysed their mannerism to better distract me from my own.

Our vehicles rendezvoused in the amber zone, a hilly region of Diamond Creek, a couple kilometres from where Kusuma’s compound should’ve been. Father and Stefan Hunter conferred, and decided to split up. Given the terrain, it’d help if some of us could gain altitude, so Darden and Aoide Hendrix would take a vehicle and circle to a cluster of houses further up, where they might find a vantage point. The rest of us proceeded on foot.

‘We have to consider Wira Kusuma is not inside,’ Father said.

‘He isn’t at Vandagriff,’ I replied.

‘He can fly.’

Fair point, I thought, and instinctually glanced at the dark sky. He could swoop down at any second, but I reasoned he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t know about the assault. He’d sent three assassins to kill three teenage girls, which by all accounts should have been an easy task. But he wasn’t at Vandagriff; if he’d stayed there, he’d have an alibi, but he’d also be vulnerable. Most likely, he waited in his compound for confirmation from the assassins.

Stefan led the group, weapon drawn. ‘Are we expecting him to have backup?’ Nobody answered, nor knew. He’d hired assassins, so it wasn’t impossible he’d hired guards.

We’d find out soon enough, for we reached the start of a lengthy, sweeping driveway, which led to the compound. From the driveway, the compound appeared to be three houses connected by basic, amateur construction: Walls knocked down to make connecting passages, barriers put up, fencing consisting of corrugated metal sheets.

Our group advanced. Amber and I kept to the back.

Lights were off, compound quiet.

We kept a slow but steady pace. Amber’s injured leg dragged, but she did an admirable job of keeping quiet.

No leaves grew on trees lining the driveway. No shadows. Clouds moved and abrupt light of a full moon illuminated the grounds.

Gunshot!

Snap of light from a window and Solomon Beck stumbled back.

‘Octavia!’ Father shouted. She acted on practiced instinct. Powers triggered without conscious thought. Tendrils of flame curled around her arms in spirals, bathing us in warm light. Muscle memory worked likewise. Both her arms swung in a circle overhead before sweeping horizontally, as if swinging a sledgehammer, legs braced to mitigate the raw “weight” of her magic. Flames whipped from her arms and scorched grass and gravel and formed a wall, obscuring our group from shooters in the compound.

The lone gunshot exploded into an orchestra. Our group sprinted left and right. Half my face tingled with heat from the wall of flames. Father hurled basketball-sized spheres of fire at the compound. The gunfire didn’t lessen. Light exploded in waves against the walls. The fireballs weren’t supposed to hit; they were supposed to inform. The next few fireballs crashed through windows and engulfed rooms and the people in them. Most of them didn’t have the chance to scream, suffocated by the sudden heat.

One shooter loosed a choked shriek as they fell over a balcony. We’d reached the compound’s entrance by this point and inspected the corpse. Male. Mid-twenties. Wore a necklace whistle and brown, scale-patterned jacket. Marshal turned the corpse onto his front, revealing a snake insignia on the back. So – Wira Kusuma had resorted to hiring Rail Snakes.

The gunfire had stopped. Father remotely extinguished the flaming rooms above, returning us to moderate darkness. Flames on the lawn still crackled.

Octavia crouched by the wall, eyes shut, hand on the stone, sensing heat signatures of Kusuma’s Snakes as they retreated deeper into the compound. ‘Third house.’ She pointed down a passage connecting one building to the next. ‘But they’ve gone outside my range.’

The passage was made by dropping a shipping container between houses. Through it, we’d have to navigate the second house and make it to the third. If the Snakes had gone straight to the third, it likely had the best strongest defences.

‘Orders?’ asked Octavia.

Father took a few steps away from the building, pensive, stroking his stubbled jaw. Octavia and I watched. Winding up, Father launched a fireball. It arced over the first two houses, trajectory sending it directly upon the third. A small projectile flew from the house, met the fireball mid-air, and quadrupled in size. The fireball didn’t complete its arc, flames breaking upon the object in the air. The projectile crash landed a few houses away.

‘He’s hired an Ursa Major,’ Father grumbled.

I reassessed what happened. The small-turned-big projectile could be identified as a roof tile. One mage had sent it flying, whereupon an Ursa Major mage had caused the tile to grow to a tremendous size to block the fireball. A bit crude, but effective. Based on the power of flight, Wira Kusuma must’ve been around.

‘Light it up?’ Octavia suggested. ‘Smoke them out?’

Father shook his head. ‘The Erudite of Flight knows we’re here, but he hasn’t flown away. The only plausible reason I can imagine is that there is something inside worth defending.’

And if Kusuma tried floating objects away to safety, Father could burn them with ease. The way his Snakes and hired mage, or mages, congregated at the end of the compound implied an objective to defend.

Meanwhile, the Hunter-Yao gang didn’t pay us any mind. They’d propped Solomon Beck against a water tank. He’d been shot in the side, and blood poured freely. Elliana shone a torch, while Stefan extracted the bullet. Solomon kept a steely visage and steelier jaw, smothering his pain with remarkable effort. You wouldn’t have known he felt anything, aside from brief grunts and spasms. Upon removing the bullet, Elliana wondered aloud if the wound should be cauterised.

‘That’s a myth,’ Octavia remarked. ‘Supplies in the car would serve better.’

Amber stared, breath heavy. She fell into a coughing fit, and Stefan suggested she help Solomon back to the vehicles. I expected her to disagree, but she gingerly kneeled and offered her shoulder.

‘There’s a mage inside,’ I said without thinking. All eyes turned to me. ‘Perhaps more than one.’ I’d startled even myself, but the Hunter-Yao gang hadn’t been listening when we talked about the Ursa Major mage. I didn’t want to pressure Amber to stay on the offensive, but if she left, we’d lose our greatest asset: Her magic.

All the gang members stared at me, some intently, some uncertain. One wore an indignant countenance at what my words implied.

‘Get Sol to the car,’ Elliana told Amber, who looked between the gang members.

Stefan Hunter cracked his knuckles and sighed, not looking at anyone as he said:

‘Ellie, get Solomon to the car. Amber, with us.’

Marshal spat on the Rail Snake, primed his revolver, and plunged into the shipping container. Father, Octavia, and Stefan were a step behind. I waited. Amber looked across the flaming lawn, and Elliana looked back from beyond. They turned away at the same moment, and I was struck by a sense of having witnessed something not meant for my eyes.