The city detonated into celebration.

  The moment the royal proclamation ended, restraint snapped like a thread pulled too tight. The tension that had held the crowd in place dissolved under a flood of lights and music; it was as if the King had given them a collective permit to be loud again.

  People surged back into motion—laughing, shouting, hugging strangers. Enchanted lights spiraled above rooftops like painted comets, and illusionary banners unfurled, only to dissolve into glittering motes. Drums struck up in a chaotic triumph, the beat so heavy Ray felt it in his marrow.

  Niva screamed like she’d been personally appointed as the Queen of Festival Day. “AGAIN!” she shouted, hoisting her massive scorpion plush overhead like a battle standard. “WE NEED MORE PRIZES!”

  Alden, remaining unnaturally serious, nodded as if this were a strategic campaign. “We should secure supplies first.”

  “Supplies?” Ray repeated, blinking.

  “Food,” Alden clarified. “For morale.”

  Rowan snorted, his fire-hammer resting casually over his shoulder. “That kid gets it.”

  Ray shot him a look. “Don’t encourage him. He’s already planning a logistics route.”

  Rowan smirked, and for a few minutes, it almost felt normal—like the speech hadn’t made Ray’s stomach twist, and like that thin, satisfied spider-smile behind the throne hadn’t lodged itself under his skin.

  Elaine walked beside them with her usual poise, though her eyes remained active. She wasn't watching the dancers. Her gaze flicked up toward the tower, then back to the crowd, then forward again.

  Reading. Measuring. Filing.

  Ray tried to focus on Niva’s energy instead. He tried to follow the way she hugged that plush scorpion as if it were her new best friend. That was the whole point of festivals, right? To pretend.

  They drifted with the crowd as the avenues reopened. The smell of grilled meat and sweet dough returned, spicy enough to burn through the cold places in Ray’s mind. He almost started to relax.

  Almost.

  Then Elaine’s pace slowed. Her gaze lifted—not to the lights, but to the Resonance Lattice still humming along the stone towers. The air felt... too clean around the sound amplifiers now that they were active. It felt like a circuit waiting for a spark.

  Rowan noticed it too. He leaned toward Ray, his voice a low murmur. “Is it just me, or does it feel like the whole city’s holding its breath again?”

  Ray opened his mouth to respond—and the world shuddered.

  It was a sensation of wrongness. Like the air had been cut for a split second and then stitched back together by a blind man. The enchanted lights dimmed. Every hair on Ray’s arms stood up.

  The first scream came from somewhere ahead. It wasn't festival excitement. It was a high, sharp spike of terror.

  A ripple ran through the crowd. The collective motion changed; it no longer felt like a celebration. It felt like a herd sensing a predator in the tall grass.

  Alden’s small hand grabbed Ray’s sleeve. “Niva,” Alden said, his voice tight and urgent. “Stop moving.”

  Niva actually froze. That alone sent a spike of cold through Ray’s chest.

  “Elaine,” Ray whispered, “what is—”

  A voice rang out across the Empire. It wasn't the King, and it wasn't amplified by Elaine's towers. It arrived deep and rough, cutting through the noise as if the city itself had gone quiet to listen.

  “Light that does not burn, light that does not fade—”

  The words rolled outward, carried by an immense spiritual weight.

  “By Solenne’s name, I call.”

  Ray felt a sudden pressure in his ears—the air was being gathered, sucked toward a single point.

  “Circle what I guard. Harden the air. Refuse the blow.”

  Confusion turned to panic as the crowd began to stir.

  “Let malice end at me— until I fall, nothing passes.”

  The final word had barely left the speaker’s lips when it happened.

  CRACK.

  It was the sound of a mountain cracking. The sound of stone striking glass from the inside.

  Then—Light.

  A pure, blinding, impossible-white light detonated up the avenue, flooding the street in a single, overwhelming surge. It didn't spread; it expanded in a perfect, violent arc.

  “DOWN!” Ray roared.

  His body moved before his brain could process the threat. He grabbed Niva and Alden, tucking one under each arm, and yanked them backward, turning his shoulder toward the flash. He expected heat, shrapnel, or fire.

  But what hit the street was Impact.

  A concussive slam rolled through the avenue like a giant hand swatting at the crowd. People went down in a messy domino cascade. Flags snapped. Stalls toppled. A rack of wooden trinkets exploded into splinters.

  Ray hit the ground on one knee, shielding the kids with his body. Niva shrieked into his chest. Alden grunted, shockingly composed, clinging to Ray’s coat. Rowan shouted something Ray couldn't hear, but he saw a flare of flame as the boy braced himself against the shockwave.

  Elaine didn't fall.

  She stepped into the chaos as if she’d been carved out of it. Her hand snapped out, seizing Ray’s collar and dragging him a half-step sideways—just in time to avoid a falling stall frame that would have crushed his skull.

  Ray looked up through the dust. The white light was fading, but in its place, a shimmering, translucent wall of energy stood across the avenue.

  Someone had just deployed a high-level barrier. And in Ray's "Gamer Brain," that only meant one thing: something even bigger was about to hit them.

  The wood crashed where he’d been a second before, splintering into the stone. Ray stared at the wreckage for half a heartbeat—the difference between a close call and a closed casket.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Then the crowd surged again. This time, it wasn't a forward push of joy, but a sideways explosion of panic.

  Bodies pressed against him from every angle. Someone stomped on Ray’s foot, but he barely felt it. A child’s raw, breathless wail rose from somewhere nearby, the sound of pure terror. Ray tightened his grip on Niva and Alden, pulling them into the small pocket of space he carved out with his shoulders.

  “Stay—behind—me,” he panted.

  Niva’s hands were empty. Her massive scorpion plush—the prize he’d just won—was gone, swallowed by the stampede. The loss hit her like a second shockwave.

  “My—my scorpion—”

  “Niva!” Ray snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. Her eyes jerked to his, wide and wet. He forced his tone lower, steadying it. “Later. We’ll get it later. Right now, you stay with me. Do not let go.”

  Her lip trembled, but she nodded. Good. She was listening.

  Another flash illuminated the sky. It wasn't as wide as the first, but it was bright enough to turn the world into a white-on-white silhouette for a blink. This time, Ray saw the source. A shape was rising in the distance, a massive, radiant dome of light spreading across the avenue with impossible speed.

  It caught a dark mass mid-flight—something heavy and fast. The projectile slammed into the light and shattered, exploding into sparkling fragments that evaporated before they could touch the crowd.

  The street froze. Not because the people were calm, but because they were awestruck. The barrier was wrong. Not evil, but impossible. Light-based magic was the domain of the Holy Realm of Solennea, but this wasn't the soft glow of a priest’s lantern. This was a wall of divinity thrown up as if the sky itself had decided to shield the city.

  “A Paladin!” someone screamed.

  “Solenne’s Guardian!” another voice bellowed, carried by a mix of fear and desperate hope. “Founders preserve us!”

  Ray’s heart hammered against his ribs. A Paladin? Here? He couldn’t see the caster; the barrier’s radiance washed out the far end of the street, turning the world into a silhouette-stained painting.

  The barrier trembled, shimmering like a strained membrane under a second, invisible impact. Then it stabilized, a deep, sustained hum vibrating through the air.

  For half a second, the capital was silent. Then Elaine’s voice cut through the awe like a razor.

  “Move.”

  It wasn't a suggestion; it was a command backed by absolute certainty. Ray blinked, looking at her. Elaine’s eyes were locked forward, her pupils tight. Her posture had shifted—the composed noblewoman was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating strategist.

  “Move now,” she repeated, her voice sharper. “Before the awe becomes a stampede.”

  Rowan snapped out of his trance, his face tightening as fire licked at his knuckles. “Where?”

  Elaine pointed toward a narrow side street branching off between two stone buildings. “There. Hug the walls. Avoid the center flow.”

  Ray didn't hesitate. He grabbed Alden’s hand and shoved them toward the alley. Rowan moved with them, his eyes scanning the crowd for threats.

  A shriek of metal rang out. A vendor’s cart was smashed sideways by the press of bodies, toppling over. Hot oil splattered the stones. Someone screamed in agony. Ray cursed and yanked the kids tighter.

  “Eyes on me,” he told them. “Don’t look around. Don’t stop. Don’t let go.”

  Alden’s face was pale, but he wasn't crying. He was looking for an opening. “Ray,” he said in a small, tight voice, “I can walk faster. I won't trip.”

  Ray almost laughed. Even in a terrorist attack, Alden was trying to optimize their movement speed. “Then do it. Let’s go!”

  They reached the side street and pressed their backs against the cool stone wall. From here, Ray could see the scale of the disaster. The barrier of light arched over the avenue, looking like a literal piece of heaven dropped onto the city. Behind it, dark shapes were moving—too far away to identify, but fast.

  And above it all, the sound amplification towers still hummed. Still active. Still waiting. Ray realized with a cold twist in his stomach that the entire city was still listening. But no one was speaking. Not the King. Not the Queen. Not Veylan Marr.

  There were only screams.

  Rowan leaned closer, his voice harsh. “Was that—was that a targeted attack?”

  Ray didn't answer. The answer was written in the smoke rising from the collapsed stalls.

  “Yes,” Elaine said, her voice eerily calm.

  “During the festival?” Rowan pressed, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Especially during the festival,” Elaine replied.

  Niva clutched Ray’s sleeve, her voice a tiny, broken thing. “Ray… are we going to die?”

  The question hit him like a physical blow. Ray dropped to one knee, bringing himself level with her. He reached out and gripped her shoulders.

  “No,” he said. He didn't say it like a promise. He said it like a System Directive. “No. We are not.”

  He could feel his Ash Circuit stirring under his skin, reacting to the raw surge of his adrenaline. The smoke wanted to rise, to coil around his fists and shield his family.

  Not yet, he thought, forcing the power down. Not here. Not where everyone can see.

  Elaine’s gaze flicked to Ray briefly, as if she could feel the heat of the Ash Circuit beginning to hum under his skin. She looked back toward the main avenue, her face a mask of tactical stillness.

  “Stay here,” Elaine commanded. “Both of you.”

  Rowan blinked, his fire-slicked knuckles twitching. “What do you mean, both of—?”

  She looked at Rowan then—really looked at him—and his mouth shut with a click, as if he’d been physically silenced by the weight of her authority.

  Elaine pointed toward the narrow, winding alley behind them. “If the crowd breaks into this street, take them through there. It loops behind the merchant block and rejoins the lower avenue. It’s narrow enough to prevent a mass surge.”

  Rowan’s jaw tightened, but the logic was sound. He nodded.

  Then Elaine’s eyes slid to Ray. “And you,” she said, her voice dropping into a lower, more dangerous register. “Keep your head.”

  Ray frowned. “I always—”

  Elaine’s gaze sharpened, a silent reminder of the "Smoke Gatling" incident and the unstable nature of his power. Ray corrected himself immediately.

  “…Yes,” he said. “I’ll keep my head.”

  Another distant impact slammed into the Paladin's light barrier. The dome flared, a ripple of golden energy washing over the rooftops. A fresh wave of screams rose from the avenue, a chorus of thousands of people realizing the shield was the only thing between them and a very messy end.

  Ray’s muscles tensed. The smoke was itching now, a physical pressure behind his ribs. Rowan’s fire flickered in sync with the distant booms—defensive and agitated.

  Then, a figure staggered into view at the mouth of their side street.

  It was a man, half-running, half-falling. Blood smeared his arm, and his face was the color of wet ash. His eyes were wide, darting around with the unfocused glaze of a concussion. He saw the group pressed against the wall and stumbled toward them, hands outstretched.

  “Help—” he rasped, his voice a broken thing. “They—they’re—”

  He never finished the sentence.

  Because the moment he crossed the threshold of the street, something moved behind him.

  Ray’s breath hitched. It wasn't a monster, or at least, not one he recognized. It was a shadow slipping through the panicked crowd like a shark through a school of fish. It was too calm. Too fluid. A presence that seemed to drain the heat from the air.

  Elaine’s posture shifted, her center of gravity dropping. Rowan stepped forward, the flame on his fist rising into a bright, orange plume. Ray felt his smoke surge instinctively, his "Analyze" skill trying to lock onto a target that refused to be seen.

  Then, the Paladin's barrier at the end of the avenue flared with a final, blinding intensity, washing the world white.

  The crowd screamed in unison. The injured man collapsed face-first into the dirt.

  And whatever had been behind him vanished into the noise.

  When the spots cleared from Ray’s vision, the side street was still there. Elaine was a statue. Rowan was braced, his breathing heavy. But Ray’s heart was hammering against his ribs like it had just narrowly avoided a collision with something he couldn't name.

  Niva whispered, her voice a thin, shaking thread. “Ray…”

  Ray tightened his grip on her shoulder, feeling her tremble. “I’ve got you,” he said, forcing his voice to be the anchor she needed.

  He looked past the milling crowd, toward the shimmering gold dome and the chaos beyond. The festival had turned into a battlefield in the space of a heartbeat.

  “Ray.” Elaine’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and controlled.

  He looked at her. Her eyes weren't amused or curious anymore. They were focused on him with a new kind of intensity.

  “Whatever you do,” Elaine said quietly, “do not chase anything you don’t understand. This isn't a game, and there are no respawns.”

  Ray swallowed hard. “…Okay,” he said.

  He didn't trust himself to say more. Because under his skin, the Ash Circuit wasn't just waking—it was roaring. The shōnen part of his brain—the part that was stupid, heroic, and desperate for the "Protagonist Moment"—was already trying to name the event.

  And the event was far from over.