The city was burning in pieces.

  Not all at once. Not cleanly. Impacts fell in uneven rhythms now—arcing flashes of dark energy tearing through the sky before slamming down somewhere beyond the Paladin’s shield. Each detonation sent a shudder through the foundation of the capital, rattling stone and glass alike. The massive dome of light still held above the main avenue, its radiant curve catching the bulk of the bombardment and scattering it into blinding blooms of white.

  But "most" wasn’t enough.

  Fire climbed where the light missed. Thick, oily smoke billowed from shattered rooftops. Somewhere nearby, a resonance tower screamed as it cracked under the strain, its gold sigils flickering violently before the "Voice" stabilizing again.

  Ray ran. Not blindly—but fast.

  He kept Niva tucked under his arm, his grip firm on her shoulder, while Alden pressed against his other side. Rowan ran a half-step ahead, his neck constantly twisting to scan their rear, fire flickering around his knuckles like a living warning. Elaine moved with them, her pace unhurried despite the chaos, her eyes sharp and constantly calculating the trajectory of falling debris.

  Another impact thundered behind them. The ground lurched, a sickening heave that threw Ray’s balance off. Two streets over, a balcony collapsed with the sound of stone tearing free—a scream like a dying animal.

  Elaine turned sharply into a side street, gesturing toward a jagged opening in a structure. “In there. Now.”

  Ray barely had time to register the building before they were swallowed by the shadows. The structure had burned recently—charred beams and blackened stone—but the skeleton was solid. It was partially collapsed, the roof open to the sky in jagged patches where fire had eaten through the wood, but it offered cover from the street.

  They pressed themselves into the soot-stained shadows just as another shockwave rolled through the city.

  Dust rained down from the rafters. Ray coughed into his sleeve, pulling the kids tighter. Niva was shaking now, her teeth clenched so hard they audibly clicked as she fought back a sob. Alden stood rigid, his jaw locked and eyes darting toward the exits, cataloging their chances.

  Elaine paused in the center of the hollowed room, her head tilted as she listened to the rhythm of the city.

  “The knights?” Rowan whispered, his flame low but hot. “Where are the soldiers?”

  “They’re moving,” Elaine said, her voice a flat line. “Slowly. Far too slowly for my liking. The Dukes’ forces will follow once the command structure reasserts itself after the shock of the announcement.”

  Ray frowned, his mind flicking to the warrior who had been his shadow. “And Sera?”

  “On her way,” Elaine replied with a sharp nod. “Your father’s vanguard is also mobilizing. The Melborne house is not easily paralyzed.”

  That helped. A little. Another impact boomed in the distance, and the light shield flared with a blinding, desperate intensity before steadying once more.

  “So we just… wait?” Rowan asked, his fire sparking with agitation.

  “Yes,” Elaine said.

  Something about her tone made Ray’s skin prickle. It wasn’t fear. It was the cold, clinical irritation of someone who had found a flaw in a system they didn't yet know how to fix.

  Then—Footsteps.

  They weren't the frantic, heavy footfalls of panicking civilians. They were measured. Unhurried. They echoed through the burned street outside, crunching over debris with an infuriating, steady calm.

  Rowan stiffened instantly, the fire crawling higher along his forearms and turning the soot on his skin to gray ash. Ray’s pulse spiked, his Gamer Brain screaming with a high-level alert—a jagged red icon flashing in his mind’s eye.

  Elaine’s eyes flicked once—fast and precise—along the interior wall. She caught the hairline fractures in the stone and the way the soot had settled unevenly over a hidden seam.

  “These walls are hollow,” she said, her voice a low, sharp whisper that brooked no argument. “Move. Now.”

  She didn't wait for him to process. Elaine grabbed Ray’s sleeve and shoved him toward the shadowed recess, already guiding Alden ahead of her with practiced efficiency. Ray hauled Niva with him, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird as they pressed themselves into the narrow pocket of darkness behind the cracked stone.

  Rowan scrambled in last, his movements frantic and uncoordinated in his panic. He nearly tripped over Ray’s boots, his breathing shallow and ragged as he squeezed into the remaining gap.

  “Hurry,” Elaine hissed, her hand snapping out to steady Rowan’s shoulder. “Quiet.”

  The heat from Rowan’s fading embers felt like a furnace in the cramped, damp space. Ray held his breath, sensing the cold dampness of the inner stone seeping through his shirt.

  They had barely settled into the darkness when the world outside went deathly still.

  The footsteps stopped.

  Directly outside the broken wall.

  Silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. Ray held his breath, praying the kids wouldn't make a sound. They were too close.

  Then, the voices followed—low, steady, and terrifyingly casual.

  “…even so,” the man continued, irritation threading through his careful composure, “someone is going to answer for the timing. This was supposed to be clean. Panic. Casualties. Retreat. Not—this.”

  He took a step, his boots crunching softly over the charred debris. Ray caught a sliver of him through the fractured stone.

  The man was gaunt. Pale. Hollowed out in a way that went beyond mere exhaustion. His skin was stretched tight over bone, giving his face a permanently sharpened look—as if he’d been carved down by stress rather than age. Close-cropped dark hair clung to his scalp, uneven where it had been hacked off in a hurry.

  His posture was all wrong. It wasn't an injury; it was a habitual, predatory stoop, his shoulders drawn forward as if he were always leaning toward bad news. Toward whispers. Toward things better heard than seen.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  And his eyes—Ray couldn't see their color, but he felt the weight of them. Fixed. Unblinking. The kind of stare that didn't look at people so much as through them, cataloging their utility and their fear.

  “The Paladin was supposed to be gone,” the man said, his voice tightening. “Dead. He should not be standing in the capital, holding a city-tier barrier.”

  Another voice answered, closer and terrifyingly calm. “Plans change, Orren.”

  Orren’s jaw tightened. “Not like this. Three separate reports confirmed the kill. Solennean clerics don’t misplace their champions. she was listed as deceased—killed by the Hollowed One.”

  “Bodies are easy to mislabel,” the calm voice replied. “Faith, less so.”

  Orren scoffed, a dry, rasping sound. “Then someone lied. Which leaves two options: a traitor or incompetence. And I don’t forgive either.”

  He took another step. Closer.

  “Enough,” the calm voice said. “Focus. Do you have the record?”

  Orren hesitated—just long enough to make Ray’s heart skip a beat. “Yes.”

  Beside Ray, Elaine’s fingers curled into a tight, white-knuckled fist.

  “But I burned it,” Orren added flatly.

  The silence that followed snapped tight like a hangman’s noose.

  “You what?” someone hissed.

  “I burned the paper,” Orren repeated, his voice devoid of apology. “After I memorized every line. Every mark. Every name.”

  “You were told to keep it intact!”

  “And you were told the Paladin was rotting in a ditch!” Orren snapped back. “We’re both disappointed today. Carrying that parchment was a liability. Guard inspections were tightening. If they had found it on me, the mission ends.”

  “So now we rely on your memory?” the calm voice asked, the threat in his tone unmistakable.

  A thin, humorless smile tugged at Orren’s mouth. “You already are.”

  Ray felt Niva tremble beside him. He pressed his hand against her shoulder, praying she wouldn't make a sound. The air in the crawlspace felt like it was running out.

  “Orren,” the calm voice warned. “If you’re wrong—”

  “I’m not. Every line is etched. And once this is over, I want to know who signed off on that false report. Someone lied to me, and I spent six months sleeping in runoff and mold because of it.”

  Orren let out a short, bitter laugh. “I was forced to sleep in the sewers after escaping Blackstone, running from the Emperor's dogs. Do you have any idea what that environment does to a man’s concentration? I ate bread with rats, I slept in filth and gods-know-what else.”

  Leather creaked nearby as someone shifted.

  “And still,” Orren said sharply, “I delivered. I listened. I memorized. I burned that paper because if I hadn’t, someone else would’ve found it floating in the Empire’s dirty water. Parchment doesn't survive the damp. Only memory does.”

  A beat of heavy silence followed.

  “And memory,” Orren added quietly, “is the only thing that doesn’t rot down there.”

  The first man spoke again, cool and dismissive. “Then we proceed. You’re sure it's accurate?”

  “If it wasn’t,” Orren said, his voice fading slightly as they began to move away, “you wouldn't be standing here asking.”

  One of the figures outside shifted. Not the speaker, but someone else. Footsteps turned toward the broken wall—slow, casual, like a man reaching for something he’d already decided was his.

  Ray’s heart slammed against his ribs. Elaine’s head turned sharply—too late.

  The stone wall exploded inward. A hand punched through the gap, thick fingers closing around Niva’s wrist. She screamed, a raw, terrified sound that echoed off the scorched stone.

  Ray moved. Smoke surged under his skin, hot and frantic. But the grip yanked hard, dragging Niva halfway out from the crawlspace as if she weighed nothing.

  “Aha,” a man’s voice said lightly. “So we weren’t alone after all.”

  Everything broke at once. Rowan’s fire flared violently. Elaine stepped forward, her expression turning into a mask of ice. Niva kicked and sobbed, clawing at the stone, screaming Ray’s name.

  Ray’s Ash Circuit roared awake, but from outside, Orren Kest finally turned. His hollowed-out gaze landed on Niva, then slid to the rest of them. And then, he smiled.

  “Well,” Orren said pleasantly, “this just became interesting.” He chuckled, a dry sound like dead leaves. “Little rats hiding behind walls. I’ve lived with them, you know. But to see human nobility up close instead—well, isn’t this a delight?”

  “Let her go,” Rowan snarled, flames roaring around his fists.

  Only then did the group truly take in the situation. Ten figures. Not thugs, not gutter-mercenaries. They stood with relaxed confidence, weapons loose, eyes sharp and experienced. These were seasoned killers—professionals who knew how to end a life before the victim could blink.

  Ray’s stomach sank. They were barely junior squires, graduated only days ago. Really, it was just him and Rowan, while the others were children—and one was currently a hostage.

  “What should we do with them?” one of the men asked. He was disturbingly beautiful—so much so that, if not for his broad shoulders and resonant voice, he could have been mistaken for a woman.

  “Kill them,” another said calmly. “We don’t have time. Our escape window is closing, and we’re facing too many unknowns.”

  The man holding Niva drew his sword. The blade began its arc—

  BOOM.

  A thunderous explosion erupted beneath them. The street didn't just shake; it gave way. Stone cracked, wood splintered, and the floor collapsed. Everyone fell—plummeting into the darkness of the city's underbelly.

  For a fraction of a second, Ray saw a thin streak of white zip past his vision. Then, he was twisting mid-air, desperate to cushion the fall.

  Think. Think—Smoke!

  Ray forced the Ash Circuit to answer. Thick gray smoke erupted from his body, rolling downward. Clouds are soft, clouds are bouncy, his panicking brain insisted. He thrust his fists down, trying to create a landing pad.

  The smoke slammed into the floor and dispersed. It tore apart like mist in a hurricane. Ray’s stomach dropped. Shit! I don't have enough density!

  But something else hit the ground first. A small metal object. It struck the stone—BOOM.

  Blinding, fluffy white clouds burst in all directions, filling the space below them. Ray hit the mass and sank, the impact rattling his bones but leaving them intact. It felt like falling into an endless pile of cushions.

  Ray scrambled upright, his ears ringing. “Niva!”

  Through the churning white mist, he saw her. Niva was curled in on herself, terrified but alive. And then, the man from the wall moved. Bloodied and furious, he lunged toward her, his sword flashing.

  “No—!”

  Ray ran, but his legs were lead. He was too slow.

  Lightning split the air.

  A white figure crashed into the man from the side, wrapped in crackling arcs of electricity. The impact sent both of them skidding across the white clouds.

  Lucien D’Roselle.

  His body glowed with a predatory light, lightning crawling over his skin like living veins. His expression was cold, focused—inhumanly sharp. The assassin roared and slashed back, but Lucien moved within the sparks, clicking his tongue in irritation.

  Then, Lucien grabbed Niva. “Catch,” he said flatly.

  He threw her. Ray’s heart stopped, but the throw was perfect. Ray caught her against his chest and dropped to one knee, wrapping his body around her.

  “She’s yours,” Lucien said, already turning his back on them.

  The white clouds thinned, revealing the stunned faces of the professionals. One of the men took an unconscious step back. They weren't looking at Ray anymore. They were looking at the boy standing amid the sparks.

  Lucien’s posture was careless, but the air around him felt compressed, like the silence before a lightning strike.

  “Who is that?” someone muttered. “I don't know—who are you?”

  The man Lucien had struck spat blood onto the white clouds, refusing to lock eyes with the boy. In the background, Elaine stood exactly where she had landed. Her dress was dusted with residue, her hands folded neatly. She didn't look relieved; she looked like a judge watching a trial.

  “We’re dropping again,” Lucien said calmly.

  The ground groaned. Spiderweb fractures raced across the stone. The world split apart for a second time.

  The floor gave way. And they fell into the deep.