Samantha stood at the narrow window, high above the clouds, watching the world beneath her flicker and flare like a dying forge. Orange and red flashes pulsed up through the cloud cover, lighting the grey from below. Even this high, she could hear it, muffled booms, the distant crack of collapsing stone, the faint, awful chorus of a city being torn apart.

  Her reflection stared back at her in the glass: wide eyes, tight jaw, worry written plainly across her face.

  “What is going on down there?” she whispered, though no one was there to answer.

  The craft hummed around her, steady and obedient in a way that made her skin itch. Autopilot. Safe. Controlled.

  Useless.

  She turned sharply to the console. The screens were calm, indifferent, numbers and coordinates, no urgency, no permission.

  Samantha clenched her fists. “Auto pilot, off!”

  “Command not authorised.”

  Her teeth ground together. “Land the ship!”

  “Command not authorised.”

  “Ahhh, this is so frustrating!” she yelled, slamming her palm against the side panel hard enough to sting.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to do what she always did, reach for the thread of time, twist it, step through it. She focused on the ground below, the idea of it, the shape of streets she couldn’t see.

  Nothing. Without a fixed point to picture, her jumps were just panic with nowhere to land.

  She opened her eyes, furious at herself and the ship and the helplessness.

  “What do I do?” she muttered, pacing the small cabin. “I can’t just sit and wait.”

  She stopped, staring at the window again, at the thick cloud layer between her and the city. “If only I could see the ground… I’d have something to envision. Anything.”

  As if the craft heard her complaint, it suddenly shuddered. The floor lights blinked once, like a decision being made without her.

  Samantha spun back toward the window just as the ship halted, paused in the air like it was holding its breath, then began to descend.

  Her heart leapt into her throat.

  The craft slipped down through the clouds, the orange and red flashes growing brighter, closer. The muffled sound became a roar. Smoke rose in heavy columns. Fire crawled along rooftops. Bombs fell like burning stars.

  Dalan, what was left of it, came into view.

  Buildings burned on every side, their frames black and skeletal. Women screamed in the streets. Children ran, faces streaked with ash and panic. Shoven craft hovered above like dark predators, dropping explosives into the city with mechanical patience.

  Samantha pressed her hands against the window, breath fogging the glass. “No…” Her stomach turned, not at the Shoven, but at the thought that she’d led them here.

  The craft kept drifting down, trying to stay low and unnoticed, but even the attempt felt laughable in a sky filled with Shoven metal.

  Samantha forced herself to breathe. Think. Focus. You can do this.

  She scanned for a clearing, any open space not currently on fire. Between rooftops and smoke, she caught a glimpse of a courtyard, half-choked with debris, but open enough.

  “Okay, Samantha,” she whispered, voice trembling with effort. “It’s just like before. Only we’re moving.”

  She shut her eyes and locked that courtyard into her mind, its shape, its emptiness, the way smoke curled over its edges. She reached for the feeling of time folding, that strange pressure in her bones before a jump.

  The craft rumbled.

  Samantha cracked one eye open and saw vessels angling toward her, sleek Shoven fighters slicing through smoke toward the descending craft.

  Panic flared white-hot.

  “Come on, teleport!” she shouted, eyes squeezed shut again. “Teleport, teleport, I’ve done it multiple times!”

  Her hand flew to the amulet around her neck. She clenched it until the metal edges bit into her palm.

  “Oh for the love of gods,” she hissed, “please just teleport!”

  The amulet cut deeper. She didn’t care.

  Then...

  A woosh of air. A sudden emptiness. The colours around her vanished like a curtain dropped.

  Samantha opened her eyes and stumbled forward into heat, smoke, and screaming.

  She was on the ground.

  Firelight flickered across broken stone and soot-stained walls. Ash drifted through the air like snow. Above her, the craft, her craft, was now the target.

  It tried to flee. Too late, Shoven targeting had already locked on.

  It didn’t make it.

  A burst of light and sound ripped through the sky and the ship exploded, raining burning fragments down into the streets.

  Samantha threw herself against a wall, shielding her head with her arms as pieces of metal screamed past and clattered across the stone.

  “Thank the gods,” she panted, half laughing with shock as she slid down into a crouch. “That was close.”

  She let her head fall back against the wall for a heartbeat.

  Then she heard the clang.

  Heavy footsteps. Metal armour. Snorting breaths that weren’t human.

  Samantha pushed herself up, drawing both pistols in one smooth motion. Blue energy hummed beneath her fingers, responding like an eager animal.

  “Well,” she muttered, stepping into the smoke-filled street, “out of one crisis and into another.”

  Shoven rounded the corner, three at first, then more behind them, their armour scorched and grimy, eyes bright with the promise of violence.

  “Looks like the Shoven are here,” Samantha said with a bitter laugh. “Fantastic.”

  She opened fire.

  Ice and flame spat from her pistols, slamming into armour joints, blasting faces, driving them back. One fell with a wet grunt. Another staggered, screaming. She kept moving, feet quick over rubble, smoke burning her lungs.

  “That’s right,” she shouted, firing again. “Stay back!”

  For a few breathless seconds she held them, forcing them to hesitate.

  Then more came, behind her.

  Flanking.

  Samantha’s stomach dropped. She spun, coughing hard as smoke thickened. Fire crackled all around. There were no side streets clear enough to run. No open path.

  “Oh gods,” she whispered. “Now I’m in trouble.”

  The ring of Shoven tightened.

  And then...

  “Samantha, get down!”

  A familiar voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Something moved in the smoke above, fast, controlled, not Shoven.

  Samantha ducked instinctively as a figure dropped from above, sword already drawn. Tyron landed hard in the street, cloak snapping behind him. His limp was slight, but it was there. and the Shoven in front of him hesitated just long enough for him to strike.

  He moved like he’d been born in battle, clean, decisive slashes, turning armour into useless weight. He grabbed Samantha’s arm and hauled her upright.

  “You okay?” he demanded, eyes sharp.

  “I am now,” Samantha breathed, relief surging through her like warmth.

  Tyron’s mouth curled into that crooked grin of his. “Let’s take these pigs out together.”

  They went back-to-back, pressed close, forming one spinning storm inside the larger one.

  Samantha fired in tight bursts, forcing Shoven to lift arms and shields. Tyron darted between them, blade slipping into seams and joints, slicing through the soft points where metal couldn’t protect flesh.

  “Oh this is fun!” Tyron cackled, twisting his sword free and driving it into another throat.

  The last Shoven fell with a ragged sound. Tyron yanked his blade out and flicked green blood from the edge.

  “Well,” Samantha said, and her knees suddenly remembered she was human. She collapsed onto the stone. “That’s them finished off.”

  Tyron glanced down at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” Samantha shot back, wiping soot from her cheek with the back of her hand.

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  He shrugged like the city wasn’t burning around them. “Elders sent me to watch over you. No idea why. Said it was integral to the mission that I protect you.”

  Samantha stared at him, confused and slightly irritated despite her gratitude. “Well… thanks for helping. I was in a rather tight spot.”

  Tyron turned slowly, scanning the ruined street. “Where are we anyway?”

  Samantha coughed again, tasting smoke. “I’m guessing this is Dalan. Or what’s left of it.” She looked around at the fire and the bodies. “Why attack this place?”

  “Because of you.”

  The voice came from behind, calm and sharp.

  Tyron and Samantha both turned.

  A tall man stepped through the smoke as if it parted for him. He wore a hooded cape darkened by ash, a sword strapped across his back. Broad shoulders. Confident stance. The firelight caught the edges of his silhouette, sparks spitting at his boots as he approached.

  “Me?” Samantha said, suddenly feeling very small.

  “The news of The Chosen arriving in Dalan was enough to send the Shoven into overdrive,” the man said flatly. “They arrived hours ago. Relentless.” His gaze swept the burning street. “We’ve lost so much. You should leave.”

  He turned as if the matter was settled.

  Samantha stepped forward quickly. “But I’m here for my training. To become The Chosen.” Desperation crept into her voice before she could stop it.

  The man paused. Slowly, he looked back at her.

  “Do you not see what you have caused?” he demanded. “Do you not see what has happened because of you?” He gestured toward the fire and the smoke, the screams. “The fact you are here puts us all in danger. I cannot teach you anything while my city burns. I have people to look after.”

  He started to walk away again.

  “You?” Samantha blurted. “You’re training me?”

  “I was meant to be,” he snapped, then looked around again, jaw tight. “But not like this.”

  Tyron stepped forward, voice firm. “We can help you. We can help rebuild, take care of the wounded. If the Shoven return, we’ll take them out. Just, don’t give up on us.” He held the man’s gaze. “I’m here to protect Samantha. Protecting her means seeing her trained.”

  The hooded man exhaled slowly, rubbing his face like he was scrubbing soot from his thoughts.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “You can stay. But make yourselves useful. Maybe then I’ll help you with your training.”

  He paused, as if remembering manners were still a thing in a burning city.

  “The name’s Tink, by the way.”

  “Samantha,” she said quickly, standing a little straighter. “And this is Tyron.”

  Tink’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah, I know who you are.” He turned away. “Now get to work. People are dying.”

  He disappeared back into the smoke.

  Tyron and Samantha stood for a moment, the silence between them filled with distant screams and collapsing beams.

  They started walking, picking their way through rubble and ash.

  “Sooo…” Samantha said awkwardly, trying to break the heaviness. “This is Dalan?”

  Tyron snorted. “Yeah. Looks nice.” He waved vaguely at the flames. “Minus the fire, the smoke, screaming, and the terror.”

  He hesitated, then rubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah… probably not the right time.”

  Samantha’s lips twitched despite everything. “So how did you get here?”

  “Craft,” Tyron said with a shrug. “I was on the way to meet someone for training, but it diverted here. Council orders.” He frowned. “No idea why.”

  Samantha bumped him lightly with her shoulder. “I think you just wanted to spend more time with me.”

  Tyron shot her a look, amused despite himself. “Yeah, sure. That must be it.”

  They reached a large tent marked by frantic movement. People rushed in and out. Inside, rows of beds filled nearly every inch. Medics moved like ghosts in stained aprons, hands slick with blood and water and sweat.

  A nurse barked at them as soon as they stepped in. “You! What’s wrong? If you’re walking we don’t have time—take some Joko and move on.”

  “No, no,” Samantha said quickly. “We’re here to help.”

  The nurse paused, surprised. Then she shoved bandages into Samantha’s arms. “Great. Water’s over there. If there’s an issue, speak to a nurse. Stay out from under people’s feet.”

  She stormed off, then halted and glanced back. “Oh...” Her expression softened for a flicker. “Thank you.”

  Samantha blinked, then nodded. “Of course.”

  Tyron leaned closer. “Split up? See who needs help?”

  Samantha nodded, clutching the bandages like they might bite her.

  She moved through the beds, suddenly aware of how out of her depth she was. She could freeze time. She could teleport. She could kill Shoven with pistols that spat fire and ice.

  And here she was, holding bandages and trying not to look lost.

  “Excuse me!”

  A small voice called her.

  Samantha turned to see a boy lying on a bed, face pale beneath a smear of ash. His eyes were wide, scared in a way no armour could protect.

  “Hello?” Samantha murmured, stepping closer.

  “Are you a nurse?” he asked, wincing.

  “I’m not,” Samantha admitted gently. “I’m just… someone here to help.”

  He swallowed hard. “Could you sit with me for a while? I lost my mum. I don’t know if she made it.”

  Samantha’s chest tightened. She pulled a stool closer and sat. “Of course.”

  “What happened?” she asked softly. “Did you see where she went?”

  The boy shook his head. “We were at the market. Then explosions. Then… Shoven marched through the city, attacking everyone. They were looking for some girl.”

  Samantha’s fingers tightened around the edge of the stool. “A girl?” She already knew the answer, and that made it worse.

  He nodded. “They knocked down doors, asking if she was hidden. I didn’t catch the name.” He swallowed again. “Rumours are she’s… a member of The Chosen.”

  Samantha stared at the floor, guilt heavy as iron. She fiddled with her amulet, the metal warm from her skin.

  “Could you excuse me for a minute?” she whispered.

  She stood and hurried across the tent, weaving past medics, finding Tyron near the far end. He was reading a book to someone, voice low, surprisingly gentle.

  Samantha leaned close and hissed, “Tyron. We have to go.”

  Tyron stopped mid-sentence and closed the book, turning to her, confused. “We just got here. We’re helping.”

  “It’s us they want,” Samantha said, voice shaking with certainty. “Tink was right. No one is safe while we’re here. If they know we’re here they’ll keep tearing the place down until they find us.”

  She glanced around at the rows of injured. “We have two choices. Run and hope the Shoven leave… or take them head on and push them out of this city.”

  Tyron pressed his palm to his forehead. “Ugghhh. Okay. Fine.” His expression hardened. “We take them on. We can’t guarantee they’ll stop otherwise.”

  Samantha exhaled, half relief, half dread. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  They reached the tent entrance, and heard it.

  Snorting. Grunting. Heavy stomping. The metallic scrape of armour moving as one.

  Samantha’s hands slid to her pistols. Blue energy stirred beneath her touch.

  “Tyron,” she whispered. “It’s too late. They’re coming.”

  Tyron’s hand tightened around his sword hilt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “On three?”

  He met her eyes. “Follow my lead.”

  Samantha nodded once, heart hammering.

  “1… 2… 3…”

  Tyron drew his sword.

  “GO!”

  He burst out of the tent first. Samantha followed, pistols snapping up as she fired fire and ice across the courtyard. Shoven surged toward them in a wave of metal and muscle. Tyron darted between them, slicing exposed flesh where armour opened, twisting and leaping with brutal elegance.

  “Samantha!” he shouted over the chaos. “Aim at my sword with the fire pistol!”

  Samantha blinked. “Uhh... okay!”

  She aimed, steady hands, sharp breath, and fired.

  The shot hit the blade dead-on. The runes drank the fire like it was meant for them.

  The sword ignited, an orange glow racing along the steel.

  “Oh yea!!” Tyron roared, swinging the flaming blade in wide arcs that sent heat and light through the smoke. Shoven fell back, armour cooking, joints failing, fear flashing behind their eyes.

  The last one dropped to his knees.

  Tyron’s sword flashed once.

  The head rolled across the stone and stopped at Samantha’s feet.

  Samantha stared down, then kicked it aside like it was rubbish.

  And then, clapping.

  Slow. Mocking. Certain.

  “Well done, my dear Samantha.”

  The claps echoed down the street as a Shoven stepped around the corner, two more behind him. He carried himself differently, like the violence belonged to him.

  Tyron’s face tightened. “You.” Tyron’s voice sharpened. “You’re the one from the hangar.”

  The Lord of War.

  Samantha didn’t hesitate. She charged, firing constantly.

  “You leave these people alone!” she screamed, shots slamming into him as he raised his sword.

  She ran straight at him, smoke burning her eyes. At the last second she closed them and teleported.

  She reappeared just above him, the force of the jump slamming into his massive frame and knocking him flat onto his back. She landed with her boot planted on his chest, pistols trained directly at his face.

  For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to his eyes.

  Terror. Not of the guns, of the way she could appear anywhere.

  Real terror, something she had never seen in a Shoven before.

  “Leave,” Samantha said, voice deadly calm. “I won’t kill you… if you leave right now.”

  He swallowed hard, chest rising beneath her foot. His gaze flicked toward his two soldiers.

  They were already retreating.

  The Lord slid out from under her foot, slow and careful. Samantha didn’t lower her pistols.

  “This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me, Chosen scum,” he snarled, backing away. “I’ll be back for all of you. I won’t waste my time on just the two of you.”

  Then he turned and ran, disappearing into smoke behind his men.

  Tyron stepped up beside Samantha as she holstered her pistols. He stared at her like he’d just watched a storm take human shape.

  “That was amazing,” he breathed. “Absolutely terrifying. But amazing.”

  “Wow,” Tink’s voice cut in, newly impressed.

  They turned to see him approaching through drifting ash. He looked at Samantha with different eyes now, less blame, more appraisal.

  “That,” Tink said, nodding once, “was an impressive use of your abilities. I see much promise in you.”

  Samantha’s breath caught. “You will train me?”

  Tink’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “I will.”

  Relief hit her so hard she almost swayed.

  “Your training begins tomorrow,” Tink added, already turning away. “Make sure you are ready.”

  He walked off into the smoke like he belonged there.

  Tyron shifted, suddenly awkward. “Well… that’s my cue to leave.”

  Samantha’s smile faded. “Oh. You don’t want to hang around? Kind of like having you here.”

  Tyron hesitated, then stepped closer and took her hand for a second. His other hand covered it, warm and steady.

  “I wish I could,” he said quietly. “But I have other business. I’ll see you soon.”

  He smiled, soft, real, then let go and turned away.

  Samantha watched him go, something twisting in her chest.

  “Tyron,” she called after him, voice catching. “Be safe out there, please?”

  He didn’t look back, but his reply came clearly through the smoke.

  “I will.”

  He vanished into the burning haze, leaving Samantha alone in the wreckage of Dalan. For a moment she let herself feel the sadness.

  Then she inhaled, squared her shoulders, and turned toward the nearest shelter.

  Tomorrow, her real training would begin.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner