The late afternoon sun bathed the village in a hazy amber glow, but the scene was anything but peaceful. Thin columns of smoke curled upward from the center of the village, marking where the bandits had already struck. The faint cries of villagers hiding in their homes mingled with the heavy thud of boots on dirt as the intruders spread out.

Elira and Kael stepped into the chaos, their breaths visible in the crisp air. A handful of villagers—mostly women armed with whatever they could find—had gathered in a loose, trembling line in front of the central square. One gripped a pitchfork, another a heavy iron pan. One of the older women held a broom like it was a spear. Their faces were pale, but their eyes burned with quiet determination.

“They’re terrified,” Elira murmured, her hand tightening around the fire poker she carried.

“They should be,” Kael replied, scanning the village. The bandits were spreading out, their weapons drawn as they shouted orders to one another. They hadn’t noticed the makeshift defense yet, but that wouldn’t last long.

Kael stepped forward, his body still aching but his posture steady. “Listen up!” he called to the villagers, his voice cutting through their fear. “Hold your ground. Don’t run, no matter what.”

“Who are you to give orders?” one of the women snapped, though her voice wavered.

“Someone who knows how to fight,” Kael said, his tone sharp. He picked up a wooden staff that had been discarded nearby and tested its weight. “Stick together. Watch my back, and I’ll watch yours.”

Elira glanced at him. “You’re not going to wait for them to come to us, are you?”

He smirked, his eyes fixed on the nearest group of bandits. “Not a chance.”

Before Elira could respond, Kael broke into a sprint, closing the distance between himself and the closest bandit with terrifying speed. The man, clad in mismatched armor and wielding a club, barely had time to react before Kael’s staff whipped across his wrist, sending the weapon clattering to the ground. A quick, brutal knee to the stomach followed, and the bandit collapsed with a wheeze.

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Another came at Kael from the side, swinging a rusty sword. Kael sidestepped the clumsy attack and closed the gap, his movements precise and efficient. His elbow connected with the man’s temple, and the bandit crumpled like a sack of grain.

The villagers watched in stunned silence, their grip on their improvised weapons tightening as Kael took down the first few attackers with ease.

“Push forward!” Kael barked, gesturing for the villagers to follow. His confidence was contagious, and the line of defenders took a hesitant step forward.

But the bandits weren’t about to retreat so easily. A shout from their leader—a burly man with a jagged scar running down his face—rallied the others. Five more bandits charged toward Kael at once, their weapons glinting in the fading sunlight.

“Too many!” Elira shouted, gripping the Molotov tightly.

Kael’s stance shifted, his movements becoming sharper, more deliberate. He ducked under a wild swing from a bandit’s axe and countered with a kick to the back of the knee. The man fell forward, and Kael finished him with a swift strike to the neck.

But even Kael couldn’t fend off five attackers at once. As another bandit lunged at him with a dagger, Kael blocked the attack but stumbled slightly, the strain on his injured body beginning to show.

Elira’s heart pounded as she watched. Her hand trembled as she pulled the Molotov from her satchel. “Kael! Get out of the way!” Kael glanced back just in time to see her light the rag and hurl the bottle. The arc of its descent was slightly off, veering too far to the side to hit its intended target—a cluster of bandits pressing in on him.

Kael’s eyes widened. Without thinking, he leapt into the air, catching the bottle just before it could miss its mark.

“What are you doing?!” Elira screamed, but Kael didn’t answer.

He landed heavily, spun on his heel, and hurled the Molotov with pinpoint precision. The bottle shattered against the bandit leader’s chest, and the oily liquid ignited instantly. Flames roared to life, engulfing the leader and his three best fighters. The screams of the burning men pierced the air, and the remaining bandits froze in terror. The leader fell to the ground, rolling frantically to extinguish the flames. His charred, blistered skin was enough to send the rest of his crew into a panicked retreat.

“Fall back!” one of them shouted, his voice cracking. Within moments, the bandits were fleeing toward the treeline, their bravado utterly shattered.

The villagers let out a ragged cheer, but Kael barely registered it. He turned on his heel and walked back toward Elira’s hut without a word, his staff dragging against the dirt.

“Kael!” Elira called after him, hurrying to catch up.

He made it to the doorway of the annex, gripping the frame for support. His shoulders slumped, and his legs wobbled.

“Never…” he muttered, his voice faint, “never show weakness… to the enemy.”

And with that, he collapsed.