Elliot gulped, a cold weight settling in his chest. The figure before him appeared frail—bent with age, wrapped in the dignity of finely tailored cloth—but the air around him told a different story. It pressed against Elliot's skin like invisible heat, the kind that rose from coals before they burst into flame. There was power here, unmistakable and deeply wrong.

  The old man’s thin lips curled into a crooked smile, and with slow, deliberate steps, he paced a short line before them like a predator savoring a cornered prey.

  “I must take a moment… to commend myself,” he said in a voice like dry parchment rustling in a storm. “It seems my foresight was not wasted—I knew you would visit this lovely enstablishment after that ash odored creature lay his hand on you”

  His smile widened, revealing a glimpse of unnaturally sharp teeth—jagged and too white for any human mouth. Something about the shape of his jaw, the glint in his slitted eyes—it was all wrong.

  “He’s a half-orc…” Elliot murmured under his breath, tension bristling through his shoulders. The words fell like a stone into still water—rippling through the air between them.

  And with that, the last shred of illusion peeled away.

  The old man's eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his expression calm but sinister. “Clever eyes, stranger…” he said, voice soft but filled with menace. “I’ve spent years sculpting this appearance—refining my posture, grinding down the telltale signs, smothering the scent of my blood. Most wouldn’t give me a second glance.” He tilted his head, and for a fleeting moment, the aristocratic veneer cracked to reveal something far older… and far more monstrous. “Yet here you are… sniffing out my heritage with just a glance”

  Serena clutched at Elliot’s sleeve behind him, her breath caught in her throat.

  The danger was no longer hypothetical—it had a face, a voice, and a hunger that loomed in the shadowed room like a noose slowly tightening.

  “I’ll spare us the pleasantries,” the old half-orc said, his voice low and deliberate. “You wounded nine of my men—my subordinates, my property. I believe it’s only fair that you pay in kind.”

  Elliot said nothing. He kept his stance guarded, eyes locked onto the stranger’s every movement. His muscles were tense, ready, coiled like a drawn bow.

  But Serena—never one to hold her tongue—stepped forward, her voice sharp with outrage.

  “Well, they deserved it!” she snapped. “Your men were harassing me! Groping, jeering, treating me like—like I was nothing!” Her eyes sparked with fury. “They got what was coming.”

  For the first time, something in the old man’s posture shifted.

  His grip tightened on the head of his ornate walking stick, knuckles whitening. His jaw clenched. Clearly, he wasn’t accustomed to being defied—especially not by a young woman half his size.

  “You insolent brat,” he murmured, the rage in his voice simmering beneath a thin, practiced calm. “Let me show you what comes to those who mock me.”

  He lifted the cane from the floor and brought it down—once, twice—with a deliberate rhythm. The sound echoed unnaturally through the chamber. The floor beneath him groaned, then cracked with a burst of arcane pressure as a glowing sigil flared to life. A chanting circle appear beneath him, a chanting circle with six caeluses.

  “Come on, Come all… My Haunter Servant… Nyros Paldium,” he whispered with venom.

  The chamber darkened, shadows pulling inward as if the very light feared what was coming. From the circle, a shape clawed its way into being—at first a shimmer, then a full-bodied monstrosity.

  A towering figure emerged, semi-transparent and shifting like smoke caught in glass. It had no head, no eyes, no face—but in the center of its chest was a grotesque, vertical maw, stretching wide with rows of jagged, salivating teeth. The creature hunched like a predator ready to spring, its claws twitching, its form pulsing with unnatural hunger.

  Serena instinctively stepped back, her bravado crumbling beneath the sheer weight of the abomination now rising before them. Her voice trembled, yet her scholar's mind raced ahead of her fear.

  “That’s… a third-grade advanced spell,” she breathed out. “Six caelus principles… primary element: darkness… classification: summoning.”

  For the briefest moment, the old half-orc raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curling in faint approval.

  “Well, well… as expected out of a fresh graduate of Orias Academy,” he said, his tone more mocking than complimentary.

  Then, with a sharp tap of his cane against the floor, the grin fell away. “Kill the girl. Cripple the boy.”

  At his command, the summoned horror let out a guttural, otherworldly roar—high-pitched and cavernous, as if its shriek echoed from the depths of some forgotten void. It lunged forward, long claws dragging across the stone with a screech.

  In that moment of rising chaos, Elliot’s instincts took over. He turned to Serena and seized her by the waist, pulling her close with a suddenness that stole the breath from her lungs.

  “Put your arms around me,” he ordered, his voice low and urgent.

  “What—Excuse me?” she gasped, caught between confusion and the impossible timing of the request.

  “Just do it,” he snapped, eyes not leaving the advancing monster.

  There was no room for protest. Something in his voice—steady, commanding, unshakable—cut through her hesitation like a blade. Once again, Serena looked into his eyes and felt herself drawn in. They were mesmerizing in that fleeting moment—sharp, unwavering, and filled with a resolve that felt entirely unnatural for someone their age.

  She obeyed, heart thundering in her chest, and wrapped her arms around him.

  With Serena clinging tightly to him, Elliot launched them both to the left in a powerful burst of motion, narrowly evading the downward swipe of the monstrous servant’s claw. The beast’s talons gouged deep into the stone floor where they'd just stood, sending shards of brick and dust into the air.

  Elliot didn’t stop to look back. He hit the ground running, Serena holding on as best she could, her breath caught in her throat. Their destination was clear—the spiral staircase they had used to ascend. If they could just make it back to the ground floor, there might still be a chance to escape.

  But fate had other plans.

  As they neared the arched doorway, Elliot skidded to a halt. Blocking the exit stood a cluster of figures, their broad frames unmistakable even in the dim light—more half-orcs, and not just any rabble. At the front of the group loomed a wiry figure clad in black-studded leather, twin greatswords strapped across his back in an X, their steel glinting with menace.

  The wild grin plastered across the half-orc’s face told Elliot everything he needed to know. This wasn’t about orders or duty. This was personal. That look in Marshall’s eyes—half-crazed and wholly eager—was the kind that only blood could satisfy. “Tell me human, how does your blood taste?”

  Cornered from both ends, Elliot's mind raced. The clawed abomination was closing in from behind, while Marshall and his band of vengeful half-orcs advanced from the front like a wave of doom. His eyes darted across the room—left, right, floor, walls. Nowhere to run.

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  Then he looked up.

  "A skylight..." he breathed.

  Without wasting another second, he glanced at Serena. “Hold on tight.”

  “I am holding on as tight as I possibly can!” she shrieked, clinging to him with all her strength.

  Marshall’s boots thundered against the stone, his blades glinting in anticipation. Behind them, the summoned monstrosity let out a guttural roar that shook the chamber walls.

  “Elliot!” Serena screamed, her voice trembling with fear. “Do something!!”

  She buried her face in his chest, eyes shut, bracing for the end. But in that moment, the floor never came. Instead, she felt a sudden drop in her stomach—a lurch, followed by a rush of air screaming past her ears. Wind tore at her hair and cloak. She dared to open her eyes.

  Above her, sky.

  Endless and blue, freckled with drifting clouds. The city unfolded below in sweeping grandeur—spires, rooftops, narrow streets stretching in all directions. For a moment, the surreal beauty of it all stole her breath.

  Is this death? she wondered. Did I die and ascend to the heavens?

  But the illusion shattered in an instant as gravity reclaimed them. She shrieked again as they plummeted, only to land with a heavy thud atop a slanted, red-tiled rooftop. The impact jarred her bones, but they were whole—alive.

  Her hands still clung to something warm, solid. Elliot.

  Panting, he steadied himself on one knee.

  “Huh…?” she blinked, disoriented. “Am I… dead?”

  “No,” Elliot managed between gasps. “We are pretty much alive.”

  She looked around, dazed by their new altitude, trying to make sense of how they got there. It took her a few moments before the truth dawned on her.

  “Wait, did you just—” Her head snapped toward him. “Wait—did you… did you just jump us out of that chamber?”

  Elliot gave a calm nod, as if leaping through a skylight and surviving a two-story drop were nothing more than a casual stroll.

  Serena, still breathless and wide-eyed, stared at him like she’d just watched a man walk through fire. Her mind reeled, trying to process what she’d just witnessed. There had been no incantation, no sigil, no visible source of magical propulsion. Whatever he had done—it wasn’t common spellwork.

  “Wha—but how? That wasn’t—” she stammered, hands fluttering in front of her, her brows furrowed in utter disbelief.

  She had a dozen more questions ready to tumble from her lips—but they never made it out.

  In a blur, Elliot shoved her aside, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her behind him. His other hand shot out and snatched an arrow from midair—its obsidian head inches from Serena’s face.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “We’re not safe yet,” Elliot muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned his gaze skyward.

  Above, three dark shapes circled like vultures. Gryphons. Massive wings beating against the wind, their riders cloaked in black leather and bristling with weapons. Half-orcs—all of them. And from the grim expressions carved into their faces, they weren’t here for parley.

  “Come,” Elliot said simply, extending his hand toward Serena.

  She hesitated only a breath, her heart already thudding in anticipation. It didn’t take much to realize what he was planning—not after what he’d done minutes ago. Another leap. Another impossible flight. And though every part of her trembled with reluctance, her fear was eclipsed by something else: the strange sense of safety he exuded, as if the very air around him bent to his will.

  His voice, calm and assured, held no space for doubt. And she found herself stepping forward, compelled by the steady certainty in his eyes. As her hand clasped his, she murmured, “Please… don’t drop me.”

  Elliot gave no reply. He didn’t need to.

  With Serena secured against him, he launched into motion—another blur of raw, unnatural speed. They soared through open air once more, leaping from the infirmary rooftop to a neighboring structure. Arrows rained down like iron hail, whistling past them—some barely missing by a breath—but none found their mark.

  “Aaaaa!!!! Please holy Artheons, don’t let me die!!”

  Serena clung to him with all the strength her arms could muster, her breath caught in her throat as they landed hard atop the stone shingles of another building. She gasped, partly from terror, partly from awe.

  Above them, the gryphon riders reined in their beasts, eyes wide with disbelief. They watched in stunned silence, struggling to comprehend how this man—unarmored, unenchanted, unchanted—was performing feats that should have demanded the strength of giants or the aid of advanced spellcraft.

  But the half-orcs would not be deterred. Their prey was running. And that was all they needed to see.

  Flight meant weakness. Flight meant fear. And fear could be chased down. With savage cries, the riders wheeled their gryphons around and dove into pursuit, talons flashing, bows drawn tight once more.

  “They’re not stopping!!” Serena shrieked, her voice rising in pure panic as arrows whistled past. She was still cradled in Elliot’s arms like a princess, though she felt more like a sack of screaming potatoes.

  “We need to take them down,” Elliot growled.

  “Oh, brilliant deduction!” she snapped. “Any more genius insights?!”

  “You’re a sorceress! Don’t you have any long-range spells?! Something—anything—that could hit them?”

  “Me!? You want me to do something?!”

  “Yes, you! Who else here wields a staff and went to magic college?!”

  “Im not suppose to practice any incantation! Without a supervisor around!!” She retaliates. “I could get banned from becoming an Adventurine!! Permanently!!”

  “I!! I will be your supervisor! Now cast something at them!! Beside! You can’t become an adventurine if youre dead!!”

  “Seriously?? You do that for me??”

  “SERENA!!” he is clearly losing it.

  “I—woah!!” Her protest was sliced short as an arrow zipped past her ear, close enough to leave a sharp sting and a ringing echo. “By the stars! That was my ear! That was almost a permanent cosmetic disaster!”

  “I can’t keep this up!” Elliot barked. “They’re gaining, and i’m running out of rooftops and air—and patience!” Elliot grunted. “Just cast something! I don’t care if it’s fireworks or a talking goose! Do something!”

  Serena flailed, then groaned, surrendering to the inevitable. “Ugh, fine!! Just keep me steady and don’t bounce so much!”

  “I’ll try,” Elliot muttered, lungs heaving. With gritted teeth and faltering strength, he altered his movement—less evasive, more stable—just enough for Serena to cast without tumbling out of his arms.

  Taking a deep breath, Serena reached into the magically expanded satchel hanging at Elliot’s side and retrieved her staff—polished wood, elegantly carved, and crowned with an orb the color of midnight seas, flecked with glimmers like stars caught in glass.

  “Focus… focus…” she whispered, planting her feet as best she could in his arms. The tip of her staff glowed as a chant circle bloomed into being, suspended in the air like a halo of fireflies.

  “By the grace of the risen and the fallen,” she intoned, “come forth—the colorful ember…”

  Two glowing caelus cores materialized at the edge of the circle, pulsing in rhythm with her voice, signaling her control over both raw energy and fire.

  “For its flame shall prevail…”

  A flickering ball of flame formed at the circle’s center, rotating faster, growing brighter—red at first, but suddenly shifting to an unnatural azure, the color of frozen lightning and ghostfire.

  “Azure Nova!” she cried, thrusting the staff forward.

  The blue fireball launched like a comet, cutting the sky with a shriek of air. The first and third riders veered away just in time. The second was not so lucky.

  The fireball struck him square in the chest—and then, for the briefest moment, the world went silent.

  Then came the explosion.

  A thunderclap of shimmering blue light engulfed the rider and his gryphon, the flames twisting like celestial winds. The magical blast expanded outward in a dome of sparkling fire, searing the air with heat and brilliance. When it faded, there was nothing left but drifting embers and a single charred gryphon feather, floating down like a snowflake.

  Elliot’s breath came in short gasps, his lungs still catching up to his brain. He blinked once. Twice.

  After they landed on a safe ground, he voiced his concern and confusion directly to the source. “You—” he stammered, voice hoarse with disbelief, “—you just took down three riders... with one shot.”

  His words hung in the air as he turned stiffly to Serena, who was still wrapped in his arms, her staff cradled awkwardly between them. She looked just as stunned as he was, her wide eyes reflecting the pale sky and faint embers falling like stardust.

  “I told you,” she said, her voice carrying the weary sigh of someone who is guilty. “I’m not supposed to cast anything without supervision.”

  Her expression was the perfect storm of sheepish guilt and quiet triumph, with just enough ‘I told you so’ energy to make Elliot question everything he knew about spell tiers.

  “I thought that was a low-grade fire spell…” he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.

  “It was!” she insisted, defensively. “Basic two-caelus cores—fireball. Nothing fancy! It just… does that sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?!”

  “I don’t know why!” she threw her hands up. “It’s probably the staff, or the orb, or my animus is cursed—take your pick!” slightly annoyed too to say the least.

  Elliot exhaled, dragging a hand through his windblown hair. “Next time, warn me if your beginner spells come with a blast radius.”

  “Next time,” Serena said with a drt frown, “I want my own rooftop and a safety perimeter.”

  But Elliot wasn’t the only one frozen in stunned disbelief.

  From three rooftops away, crouched in shadow beneath the broken arch of a chimney, a lone half-orc spy watched the scene unfold with wide, disbelieving eyes. The wind carried the last dying embers of blue flame to where he hid, whispering of calamity. His comrades—three seasoned raiders, aerial specialists trained for precision strikes—had been obliterated in a single burst of magic. No skirmish. No resistance. Just gone.

  And by her—a slip of a girl, barely out of her robes, with no name, no reputation, and supposedly no threat.

  His breath caught in his throat, mind racing. This wasn’t a setback. It was a disaster. He had to return to his master at once. Whatever this mission once was, it had now twisted into something far more volatile... and dangerously unpredictable.

  He turned away from the ledge, melting back into the shadows, his thoughts spiraling into one undeniable truth:

  The girl was no longer just a target. She had become a threat.