The air felt wrong. It wasn't just quiet, it was wrong.
The forest had gone still in a way that made Lamberra's skin prickle. Even the insects had silenced themselves. The breeze that moved through the branches did so softly, reluctantly, as if unwilling to disturb what waited in the clearing. The fire snapped and hissed, its warmth licking at her boots, but it did nothing to thaw the ice forming beneath her ribs.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword. Something was coming.
Willow stepped forward. He did not rush. Did not draw his blade. Did not flare his magic.
He yawned.
It was so deliberate it almost made her dizzy.
He rolled his shoulders as if he'd been disturbed from sleep, rubbing at his eyes with theatrical irritation before peering toward the figure lingering just beyond the reach of the firelight.
"My, aren't you a little freaky?" he called lazily. "Full black cloak? You use magic, so what… just playing dress-up to scare people in the woods?"
His tone was light, mocking even but Lamberra saw the truth.
His stance had shifted. His weight was balanced. His right foot slightly behind the left. His hand close to the hilt of his sword. Every muscle beneath his relaxed posture was coiled tight.
Lamberra swallowed. Her gaze drifted past his shoulder to the cloaked man.
Her breath caught, she had seen him before. The same man near woodline in the slums the other morning returning from the inn with Lacey.
"I would never have elven blood in my veins to wield magic," the man sneered. His voice was thick, contemptuous. "Besides, we don't care about you."
The words were casual yet landed like stones.
Lamberra stiffened.
We don't care about you?
Willow's eyes flicked toward her, to see if Lamberra understood what they meant. Did they hear us in the woods when Willow mentioned Lamberra as a Emerald Child?
"Ah," Willow said mildly, as if discussing the weather, "so you two are responsible for the attacks along this road lately?"
"Not exactly," the cloaked man replied with a slow, deliberate smirk. The firelight caught the curve of it, illuminating teeth too straight, too pleased. "But I wouldn't say we were ignorant of them either."
His head tilted.
"More than anything," he added softly, "we just want the girl."
Lamberra's breath left her in a small, involuntary gasp. Her stomach dropped so violently she thought she might be sick.
Willow suddenly changed. The laziness vanished. No more humor. No more mockery.
His spine straightened. His shoulders squared. His presence seemed to expand, filling the clearing like an approaching storm.
"We?" he asked quietly.
Shadows moved.
Three figures stepped from the darkness behind the cloaked man. Bald heads gleamed under moonlight. Their robes: white, stark, almost luminous caught the fire's glow and reflected it back with eerie brilliance.
Lamberra's mind stumbled. White robes. Bald heads. Unmarked.
A cult? They both thought to themselves.
The cloaked man sighed, feigning boredom.
"It doesn't matter who you are. It's four against one."
Willow stepped forward again, just slightly. The firelight caught his eyes. Violet, sharp as cut amethyst. They glinted now with something lethal.
"The name is Willow Mira," he said.
His voice rang across the clearing like steel striking steel.
"First Lieutenant of the Royal Army of Stormhaven. Son of the great General Rowena Mira." He placed both hands on his hips. Not arrogance.
Intimidation.
"I swear it," he finished, voice dropping to something colder than the winter air, "none of you will see the sunrise."
The cloaked man hesitated just for a heartbeat. He knows the name.
Willow saw it. That flicker. That sliver of doubt.
Then the cloaked man moved forward.
Willow did not look at her when he spoke next. His voice was barely more than breath.
"If you see an opening, run to Siburg. Report what's happening. I'll handle them."
"No!" Lamberra's voice cracked before she could stop it. Panic surged hot and wild in her chest. "They'll kill you!"
He didn't respond. Didn't look at her.
"So," Willow called, louder now, attention fixed on the cloaked man alone, "you want the girl. Why?"
"None of your business," the man snapped. His hand twitched. It was a signal.
"You'll understand when you're dead."
The three robed men charged. They moved fast. Their steps were coordinated. Disciplined. Trained.
Lamberra barely had time to breathe but Willow smiled. It wasn't warm nor kind. It was the smile of someone who had been waiting.
Willow raised his sword and fire detonated outward in a roaring ring around himself. A spinning corona of flame that erupted from the ground in a perfect circle, surging upward with a howl like a living thing. The heat slammed into Lamberra's face, forcing her to shield her eyes.
The attackers stumbled, their charge breaking as searing heat licked at their robes. Willow stepped through the inner ring untouched and the fire bent around him. Obeyed him.
His sword ignited. Not merely catching flame, but becoming it. The steel glowed molten along its edge, rippling with heat distortion. He flicked the blade forward and the fire followed.
A concentrated arc of flame shot from the sword's edge and struck the nearest robed man mid-stride and it landed a major impact.
For a split second there was silence.
Then a large scream that is inaudible as if the robed man doesn't have a tongue.
Flames devoured him from the waist down, racing upward with horrifying hunger. White robes blackened instantly, then vanished beneath orange fury. The smell hit Lamberra instantly: burning fabric, burning hair, burning flesh.
It was thick yet sweet.
The man collapsed, writhing, his screams splintering into ragged sobs as his skin charred and split as he crawled toward the lake.
Lamberra's stomach lurched. She had trained, sparred but never seen a man burn alive much less die in front of her.
Willow didn't hesitate.
He pivoted smoothly, blade carving through the air. Another wave of flame surged outward, forcing the remaining two robed attackers apart as the cloaked man watched from a distance.
One leapt through the outer edge of the corona despite the burns it inflicted. His robe caught fire, but he pressed forward with a wild, fanatical cry, dagger drawn.
Willow met him head-on and their steel clashed.
The impact rang sharp and bright. Sparks flew, not just from metal, but from magic bleeding through Willow's grip. The robed man moved with brutal efficiency, slashing low, then high, attempting to drive Willow backward.
"Lamberra, why are you still here?" Willow's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with frustration.
"Go!"
She didn't move. Her feet felt like they were sinking into the earth, her heart hammering against her ribs, frozen in fear. Willow snarled, stepping forward just in time to meet the next attacker. Steel clashed against steel, the harsh ring of metal splitting the silence. The two remaining robed men moved in practiced unison, their strikes precise and coordinated, but Willow was faster. His sword wove through the air in deadly arcs, intercepting their attacks with ruthless efficiency.
One of them lunged, his movements eerily mechanical, as if detached from any human hesitation. Willow sidestepped with ease, his blade flashing upward in a brutal counter strike. The steel cut deep into the man's forearm, dark blood splattering against the dirt. The man didn't scream or even flinch. Instead, his body twisted unnaturally, pivoting with an inhuman grace. In a single fluid motion, he thrust his short sword toward Willow's ribs. Willow barely blocked in time, sparks flying as their weapons met, but the attacker's sword did graze Willow slightly.
"Not bad!" Willow barked, a grin breaking through the tension.
Then, one of the robed men broke and charged straight toward Lamberra.
She barely caught it in the corner of her eye, still frozen.
"Lamberra!" Willow's shout snapped her back into reality. "Run!"
But Lamberra didn't. If she ran, and Willow died, what would she tell Belli? That she ran while her brother bled out in the dirt? That wasn't going to happen, she would never run.
The man was nearly on her now, his bald head gleaming under the moonlight, his dead, soulless eyes locked onto hers.
"Willow!" Lamberra screamed, scrambling to raise her sword, but she was too slow.
His blade came down in a brutal arc, and she barely managed to parry with her own weapon. The impact sent shockwaves through her arms, her wrists shrieking in pain. He pressed in, overwhelming her with sheer strength, his expression never shifting, not even with exertion. Desperation clawed at Lamberra.
Twisting sharply, she used his own momentum against him, forcing him to stumble. In the split second of hesitation, she swung wildly, her blade grazing his side.
A shallow cut, but it was enough to make him hesitate. A thin line of blood hissing, staining his pristine robes. His shock lasted only an instant before he adjusted his stance, readying another flurry of attacks.
But before he could strike, Willow barreled into him, knocking him violently to the ground.
"Stay away from her!" Willow's voice was a snarl, his sword plunging downward.
The man rolled, narrowly avoiding the killing blow, but not fast enough. Willow's blade slashed across his thigh, cutting deep.
The attacker jerked, an inaudible cry twisting his face in pain, but this cost Willow.
The other robed man seized the opening, lunging forward. The blade caught Willow's shoulder, slicing through the fabric of his uniform, a blacker stain blooming across his black uniform.
"Willow!" Lamberra gasped, her left hand instinctively reaching out toward him.
"I'm fine!" he snapped, already spinning to parry another strike.
His movements didn't falter, every motion precise, calculated, as if he already knew their next moves before they made them. Blood dripped from his shoulder staining the ground beneath them.
"I need you to go now!" Willow growled, his eyes never leaving the attackers. "There's an opening!"
Lamberra's legs finally obeyed, launching her into a desperate sprint through the dense forest. The world blurred past in a chaotic rush, brittle sticks snapping beneath her boots, fallen leaves swirling in her wake.
Each gasping breath burned in her chest, the cold air slicing down her throat. There was no plan, no clear direction, only the primal instinct to run, to escape. Lamberra knew she was the reason Willow got hurt.
The only way to save him, was to leave him, but she wasn't fast enough.
The cloaked man, the one who had been watching, waiting with a predator's patience, stepped forward, cutting off her path. His presence alone was suffocating, pressing down on her like an invisible weight. His voice, calm yet edged with chilling authority, cut through the night like a blade.
"Enough." The cloaked man rang outward.
The order sent an unnatural hush through the clearing. Even the robed men seemed to pause. The certainty in his tone was absolute. Lamberra skidded to a stop, her breath catching painfully in her throat.
"Do not let her escape," he commanded, his gaze flicking toward the others. Then, with terrifying speed, he turned and lunged at Willow.
Panic clawed at her ribs, urging her to keep running. There was no hesitation, no wasted effort in his stride, just cold precision from the cloaked man.
He fought differently than the others, with an ease that spoke of experience, of countless battles fought and won.
For a single, gut-wrenching second, his gaze flicked to her. A moment's distraction, and it was enough.
Lamberra's foot caught on a massive tree root. She pitched forward, the ground rushing up to meet her. The impact was brutal, knocking the breath from her lungs in a sharp gasp. The world spun violently as she tumbled, rolling over and over until she finally skidded to a stop against the rough earth. Pain exploded in her side. Her body screamed in protest, but it was the emptiness at her hip that truly sent terror crashing through her. Her sword was gone. Scrambling onto her elbows, she twisted her head, searching desperately. Finding it several feet away, glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Too far.
She barely had time to register the distant sound of clashing swords before Willow's voice cut through the chaos, frantic and desperate.
"Lamberra! Are you okay? Lamberra!"
She couldn't answer. Couldn't force a single sound past the tight grip of fear in her throat.
The rustling of leaves reached her first, steady and relentless.
Footsteps, crunching, drawing closer.
A shadow moved between the trees, growing larger, closing in.
Then she saw him, the white robed man Willow sliced open on the thigh charging at her. They are all changing so fast it was dizzying.
Her gaze flicked back to her sword, still too far. She tried to push herself backward, but her limbs were sluggish, uncooperative, the sharp sting of pain stealing her strength.
The robed man's sword gleamed in the moonlight, streaked with blood. His face remained eerily blank, unreadable, even as he raised the blade high.
Lamberra's heart pounded so violently it drowned out every other sound. Her arms trembled, her body frozen beneath the crushing weight of helplessness.
Her mind whispered a cruel truth at her.
That she had lost.
The thought sinks in, cold and suffocating, curling around Lamberra's chest like iron chains. Something inside her starts to fracture, cracking beneath the weight of her own helplessness. All the years of scraping by, of convincing herself she was strong enough to endure, that she could carve a better future for Mama and Amara. All of it, pointless. She wasn't strong enough. She wasn't special. She was just a girl from the slums, and she was going to die as one.
The white-robed man's face twists in something like triumph as he lunges, his blade aimed straight for her heart. Lamberra's hands lift instinctively, a pitiful, useless defense. She squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the strike.
Then, a screech from Willow's voice.
Piercing the chaos.
The air hums, vibrating with raw energy.
A searing orange glow floods the clearing, forcing Lamberra's eyes open just in time to see Willow stepping forward, his sword outstretched.
The blade radiates with pulsing heat.
Its edge trailing tendrils of flickering flame.
At its tip, a fireball begins to form, small at first, then swelling with crackling intensity. Heat rolls off it in waves, distorting the air around him.
It streaks through the air like a shooting star, illuminating the clearing in its wake. The robed man barely has time to react before it reaches him.
He dives at the last possible second, but the explosion still catches him, igniting the dry underbrush and sending embers spiraling into the sky.
The shockwave tears through the clearing, shaking the trees, sending Lamberra stumbling as the acrid scent of burning wood and fabric fills her lungs. The man scrambles to his feet, coughing, his robes charred and smoking.
"Get your sword," Willow commands, his voice unyielding. "Fight. Remember the fundamentals."
Lamberra forces her limbs into motion, dragging herself across the ground toward her sword. Her fingers close around the hilt, its weight familiar, grounding.
Her heart slams against her ribs as she jerks her head up, searching for the robed man who had nearly killed her, but he's gone.
Willow is still fighting, her gaze locks onto and the sight steals her breath. He's outnumbered. Locked in combat with not just the cloaked man, but another robed attacker.
Yet, he moves like the battle is nothing more than a dance. Each strike is precise, each step calculated.
With a sudden, brutal kick to the chest, Willow sends the cloaked man staggering backward, forcing him to retreat. He wastes no time shifting his focus to the other opponent. Steel meets steel in a clash that rings through the burning clearing, but it's clear the robed man is outmatched.
He's fast, but Willow is faster.
He presses the attack, his sword moving in sharp, punishing arcs.
The robed man barely has time to react, too focused on defending, too slow to see Willow's other hand reaching for his belt.
A flicker of steel, and then a clean, precise slash across the robed-man's throat.
Blood sprays in the air, dark against the orange glow of the flames. The robed man gurgles, his hands flying to his throat, staggering backward before collapsing into the dirt.
Willow doesn't waste a second. He turns to Lamberra, his voice snapping her back into the present.
"Lamberra!"
Her head whips toward him, just in time to see the last robed attacker barreling toward her. Lamberra's body protests every movement, pain radiating from her side, the faint sting of burns on her cheek from the fireball's blast.
She doesn't back down.
She grips the hilt of her sword tighter, rising to her feet despite the sharp pull of pain. The man's blade arcs toward her, and she barely manages to block in time.
The force of it reverberates up her arms, her grip nearly faltering.
He's fast. Too fast.
His strikes come in rapid succession, each one forcing her back a step.
Remember the fundamentals, Willow's voice echoes in her mind as a memory appears.
Let them think they're winning. Let them get arrogant. That's your opening.
She shifts left, drawing him into an overreach.
He takes the bait, lunging forward.
However, he's more experienced than she expected, as he recovers quickly, his blade slicing toward her side.
Lamberra twists away, the sword tip grazing the fabric of her tunic but missing flesh. The movement costs her balance, sending her stumbling to one knee.
The robed man sees his opportunity.
His confidence swells.
He lifts his blade high, ready to strike, and Lamberra sees it.
The opening.
With a surge of desperation, she thrusts her sword upward and the blade sinks into his stomach. The resistance was sickening, the give of flesh and muscle, the way his body jerks as steel tears through him. His eyes widen, his lips parting in a strangled gasp. He shudders, collapsing forward, dragging her down with him.
Lamberra shoves him off, scrambling back, chest heaving.
His body twitches once and then goes still. The clearing is eerily quiet for just a moment, save for the crackle of the flames. Lamberra drops to her knees, clutching her side, the pain now sharp and unrelenting.
Blood seeps through her fingers, and her head feels too light, her vision swimming.
The clash of steel, she turned her head to watch Willow fight the last attacker. Willow and the cloaked man, locked in a brutal exchange of blows.
This one was different. More skilled than the others.
His movements were sharper, practiced and yet, Willow was still better.
Then, with a sudden, precise strike, Willow's blade cut across the man's chest.
The hood fell, and you could see his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. Dark red eyes, compared to Willow's bright crimson hair. Long black hair, cascading down his back.
For the first time, true panic filled the cloaked man's face.
"GWUH!!"
Was the scream that tore from Lamberra's throat, raw and guttural.
Pain erupted through her chest, white-hot and all-consuming, as she felt the blade sink deep into her upper right side as it ripped through towards her shoulder.
She barely registered the attacker, the man she had just stabbed who was gurgling his last breath beside her a second ago.
His dead, glassy eyes locked onto hers, unseeing, his lips slightly parted in an expression that almost seemed surprised.
The man finally took his last breath, striking the ground.
Lamberra's vision blurred. The night stretched around her, too big, too vast, the firelight flickering in chaotic patterns. Her body swayed, her balance slipping, and then it was just darkness that surged forward as she collapsed.
"Lamberra!" Willow's voice was sharp, desperate, and angry.
His instincts roared louder than his thoughts.
In one swift motion, he disarmed the cloaked man, yanked him forward by the collar, and slammed him against a tree.
The tip of his sword pressed just below the man's jaw, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped the hilt.
The man's breath hitched, his body trembling.
"P-please,"
The cloaked man's voice was high-pitched, weak. "I can save her! I swear! It…it was just a bounty! We were only hired for this! We…we didn't know!"
Willow's grip tightened. His face was a mask of stone, cold fury flickering behind his violet eyes.
A spark ignited at the tip of his blade, small at first, almost delicate. Then in an instant, it roared to life.
A jet of searing flame shot forward, blindingly fast.
The cloaked man barely had time to open his mouth in horror before the fire tore through his skull, snapping his head back with an awful, wet sound. His lifeless body slumped to the forest floor, smoke curling from the gaping hole where his face had been.
Willow didn't look at him again. He was already at Lamberra's side, falling to his knees in the blood-soaked dirt.
"Lamberra! Talk to me honey."
His voice cracked. She wasn't moving. The dim glow of firelight flickered over her face, making her look paler than he had ever seen her.
Then she coughed. Blood splattering her lips. Relief slammed into him so hard he almost lost his breath.
"I'm fine," she rasped, her voice barely audible.
Her lips curved weakly into something that tried to be a smile, but it faltered almost instantly.
It's not a deep wound…" A laugh tried to slip out, but all that came was another cough, and this one worse.
More blood came pouring from her mouth.
Willow's gut twisted.
His hands worked fast, pressing against her deep gash.
"Don't move," he ordered, his voice tight with control. He tore at her shirt, exposing the injury and her chest.
She flinched, embarrassment flickering through her dazed expression. Her left hand weakly tried to tug her torn clothing back, but her right arm barely responded. Lamberra realized she couldn't move her right arm at all.
Willow's mind was already racing through every solution. He could stop the bleeding, but that won't be enough.
"You've healed yourself before," he reminded her, his tone urgent. "Remember? When you were a kid?"
Lamberra's hazy eyes met his.
She did remember but only because had told her about it, not how she had survived a fatal wound.
Willow didn't wait for her response. He lifted his sword and the metal flared red-hot.
Lamberra's eyes widened in horror. She understood too late.
"No…" she tried to rasp out, but then the pain came. A searing, blinding agony that swallowed her whole.
"GWUHHH!"
The iron pressed against her chest, as she screamed.
A ghastly, guttural sound ripped from her throat, unlike anything she had ever made before.
The scent of burnt flesh filled the night air, thick and suffocating.
Willow pressed harder, ensuring it cauterized all the way through. His own hands were shaking.
"Stay with me!" he shouted, gripping her hand tight enough to leave bruises. "Lamberra, look at me! Stay awake!"
Her head rolled slightly facing away from him. Her dark brown hair was drenched in blood.
"No, no, no. Stay with me!" Willow shook her gently, panic rising.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted, as if to say something, and then her body slackened. The cold crept into her limbs and her vision darkened at the edges. Willow's voice was still calling for her but she was already slipping into a coma.
Willow didn't hesitate.
He hoisted Lamberra onto his back, her body limp and burning with feverish heat, her weight unsettlingly light against him.
She was too still.
Too quiet.
He could feel her shallow breaths against his neck, each one weaker than the last.
Then, he ran.
His boots pounded against the dirt, leaves and debris kicking up in his wake as he tore through the darkened forest toward Siburg. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he ignored it.
His breaths came fast and sharp, but he forced himself forward, pushing harder.
There was no other option. He had to get her to Siburg before it was too late.
Lamberra shifted slightly, her fingers twitching against his chest, and for a moment, hope surged in him.
When he glanced back, her eyes remained closed, her face pale as death. The seared wound across her chest had stopped bleeding, but the damage was done. She was dying.
"I know you can hear me. Stay with me, Lamberra," he muttered, his voice raw as he pressed forward, his strides never faltering. "Just hold on a little longer."
The trees blurred past him, their skeletal branches stretching overhead, illuminated only by the sliver of moonlight breaking through the canopy.
The weight of the night pressed in, but he kept going, kept running, each step fueled by sheer determination. Willow clenched his jaw, pushed faster.
If Siburg was still two hours away, he'd make it in one, but Lamberra's breaths were becoming weaker and weaker.
Until Willow couldn't feel them anymore.