The night burned.
Sirus stood in the center of the broken courtyard, the flames of his own making flickering along the stone walls. He rolled his shoulders once, then exhaled.
The Elves had come quietly at first.
Sleek figures in green armor appeared, their eyes glowing through narrow slits. They moved as shadows, every step synchronized.
No shouting, no signals, only eerie silence.
Now, however, the silence was gone.
It was shattered by the sound of fire tearing through the air.
Sirus's staff, oak brown with a golden tip, spun once in his hand, carving an arc of flame that licked across the stonework and painted the courtyard orange.
The nearest Elf staggered, his phase cloak igniting as a spiderweb of purple cracks appeared, though he smothered it quickly with a flash of pale water magic.
'Prepared for me? I should have assumed.'
