"That outfit… You are Kaelen of the Ashcloak family!?" I spat, shock mixed with a grudging amusement.
Kaelen's cold eyes met mine without a flicker of surprise or acknowledgment.
I shook off the unease.
"Since I've already completed my objectives here, there's no need for me to fight you," I said, voice steady despite the tension.
"I'm done."
Without waiting for a reply, I felt myself slip into the familiar embrace of shadows, blending into the darkness, vanishing as my form dissolved.
But something was wrong.
Normally, I would vanish fast, fluidly. This time, my blending his time, I felt it falter, and my control slipped.
The speed of my disappearance slowed unnervingly, the shadows clutching me unevenly, jerking me back to the surface.
I glanced toward where Kaelen stood, watching intently.
Kaelen's movements were fluid and deliberate, his hand tracing intricate patterns through the air.
A gesture here, a slow nod there, a subtle commands fluent only to him.
Thin streams of shimmering energy spiraled from his fingertips, coalescing into glowing scriptures — symbols.
These radiant glyphs twisted and turned, forming a perfect circle around the space where the shadows clung to me.
The circle pulsed rhythmically. As it expanded, the glow intensified, and with a breath, Kaelen dispersed the scriptures into a veil wrapping my figure.
The energy seeped inside me, binding me in a complex lattice of mystical threads —threads that tightened and pulsed with every movement I made.
Every attempt I made to slip away was met with the tightening weave of his spellwork.
The subtle movements of his fingers reinforced the magic, weaving new strands, repairing gaps, and pushing deeper into the very fabric of my cloak.
"What... What did you do to me?!"
Panic twisted inside me as I struggled to disappear fully, to outrun his reach
I conjured a barrier — a shield of shadows spinning fast like black whips — but Kaelen slipped through like a predator, closing the distance with grace.
Each of his movements was a calculated strike.
His eyes glowed with an eerie light, a predator's focus as he closed the distance with silent footsteps.
'Not so fast," he murmured, voice deep, cutting through the barrier between us.
Power surged as his hands shaped the darkness into a solid, energy-infused blade that pulsed with an ancient essence — the raw force of energy twisted into sword form.
I leapt, desperate to break free, but the shadows around me began to betray my form, slowing movement, strangling escape routes.
The Watcher's blade sang through the air, precise and direct and it found me again and again.
Each strike shocked my senses with bursts of restrained energy.
"Why do you persist?" Kaelen's voice was calm, almost curious.
"Your tricks weaken with every attempt."
Gritting my teeth, I surged spitefully against the tether the shadows had become.
Struggling, twisting through the failing barrier.
But his control only grew stronger, the blade weaving a deadly dance around me.
Finally, he struck hard, knocking the breath from me, sending me staggering back into the corners of an alley.
The shadows finally relinquished their grasp as I fell, panting, beaten but fortunately alive.
"This isn't over," I gasped, the fight far from done.
Kaelen's blank face was the last thing I saw before he turned, slipping back into the darkness, his silhouette fading till only the moonlight lit his face.
But I wasn't finished yet.
Using every shred of strength left, I summoned the shadows beneath me, feeling their hesitant pulse.
The alley's dark corners twisted and curled, shifting in under command despite its pain.
With a roar, I pushed through the lingering weight, bursts of shadow wrapping around me like a cloak once more.
I was gone.
"..."
Kaelen stood silently with his gaze fixed on the empty space where the Pied Piper had just disappeared.
The eerie silence around him was only broken by his quiet murmur, almost a whisper,
"He's gone…"
Neither trace of surprise, nor a flicker of emotion.
From the shadows, Kaelen's voice cut sharply through the silence.
"Stephen."
The air before him shimmered briefly, and from the empty space emerged a figure, his assistant, moving with practiced grace.
"What can I do for you, young master?" Stephen's voice was deferential, underscoring their strict hierarchy despite their age difference.
"How many survivors?" Kaelen asked, eyes narrowing.
Stephen paused for a calculated moment before replying, "Only two, young master. One is severely injured, barely clinging to life; the other appears physically intact but is mentally shattered.
They are currently under the care of the medical team along with the villegers from a small village near here."
"Their motive?" Kaelen commented, his voice carrying no sign of empathy, only cold interest.
"It remains unclear, but indications suggest a targeting of the young children. They attempted to abduct some. Unfortunately, even if we intercepted them in time the children, however… beyond saving."
"Is that so?" Kaelen said, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "Very well. You may leave."
******
I stepped into the village, the aftermath of the attack grimly laid bare before me.
Blood coated the ground, thick and dark, pooling in uneven puddles that clung stubbornly to dirt.
Limbs were strewn like discarded puppets — twisted fingers, torn flesh, jumble of intestines, organs, and rolling eyes devoid of life.
The stench of iron and blood lingered heavily, a suffocating shroud that muddled the air.
Buildings around me were shattered, blackened skeletons of homes and shops, their timbers charred and broken.
Broken glass glittered wetly on the cobblestones, catching faint moonlight in false sparkle.
Everything was destroyed in the span of 10 minutes.
The usual quiet despair of a small village was replaced by muffled cries and anguished shouts.
Approaching the medical tents, the scene worsened but in a different way.
Chaos boiled beneath the hastily pitched canvas.
Those injured writhed violently, caught in convulsions, bodies twisting uncontrollably as terrified medics scrambled between them.
The staff's faces were tight with tension and exhaustion, arms streaked with grime and blood, hands working furiously to staunch wounds and soothe pain.
I watched as a young medic leaned over a body, eyes darting quickly to check for any signs of life: pulse, breath, any flutter of heartbeat.
When it was clear the man had passed, the medic pulled a rough, bloodstained sheet from a nearby pile and covered the still form without hesitation or ceremony.
Nearby, a nurse sat slumped against a tent pole, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
"My mother… she…" the words caught in her throat as her grief threatened to overwhelm her.
A sharp, commanding voice cut through the tent's chaos, "Snap out of it! Patients keep coming! Focus!" The speaker was a doctor, his eyes wild with tension in order to maintain order.
He moved swiftly among the medics, barking instructions as they battled the relentless flow of wounded.
The nurse wiped her tears hastily, straightened her back, and rushed back to her duties.
No words spoken, no pause for grief — just the mechanical acceptance of death amid the living hell around them.
Pulling my gaze away, I moved toward a quieter corner where another tent stood away from the noise and chaos.
Inside, Lira sat unmoving on a medical bed. She was a ghost trapped in flesh.
her eyes vacant, staring hollowly into space as if the world itself had crumbled away.
Her pale skin contrasted with the deep shadows around her, and her breathing was shallow, thin, and unsure.
I paused in the dim light, studying her stillness and the emptiness spread across her face.
No flicker of recognition or response as I approached.
She was lost somewhere beyond.
Detached entirely from the destruction just steps away.
There was no warmth or empathy within me as I looked on.