The square held steady like a drumhead—tight, waiting.
Elira set her thumb on the ridge of Lumeveil's grip. "Steady. Don't chase."
Kael dropped low behind the gap, gauntlets locking with a dry click. "Ready."
Mira slid right, rings dim under her sleeves. "Short casts. Eyes up."
From the alley came a wet scrape, then a faster drag, then five small bodies poured out—low, jointed wrong, skin like soot soaked in oil.
Elira breathed once. "Lumeveil—veil the shadow, crown the light. To my blade." The long sword answered with a quiet, pale edge. "Light Form."
The first shadow hit the gap—and learned about fists. Kael's Hammerline broke its fake ribs in two beats—right cross, left elbow—ending it before it could find teeth.
Two more climbed the bench. Elira stepped in, feet light, blade narrow.
"Dawn Cut."
Lumeveil drew a thin line; both shapes split and didn't remember how to knit.
A fourth oozed along the fountain's border, trying to ride the line where light stopped.
"Boundary leech," Mira warned.
"I see it," Elira said. She cracked her Sight open a hair—breath on glass, edges bright in her head—and struck across the border. The smear fell apart like thread. Pain pressed behind her eyes; she shut the Sight down.
"You good?" Kael asked, still moving.
"I'm here," she said.
Two more scouts scissored wide, aiming at the survivors. Mira's right ring warmed.
"Frostbind Lattice."
A tight grid of ice crawled across stone. One scout hit it, skidded, and Kael's knee convinced it to stop existing. The other went vertical—springing off a broken column, mouth a pocket of teeth.
"Down!" Kael barked.
Elira dropped a shoulder. Veilguard—a thumb-wide plane of pale light—caught the snap of claws just long enough for her blade to answer. The body came apart and forgot it had a plan.
"Three left," Mira said. "Maybe four. Fast."
"Make them slow," Elira said.
Mira flicked two fingers. "Rime Wedge."
A slanted shard of ice bit the stones; a shadow tripped itself stupid. Kael stepped through with Guardbreak, both fists finding the hinge of its motion and tearing it away.
A hiss rippled from the alley. More bodies. Eight? Ten. All speed, not enough brain.
"Hold the plan," Elira said. "They spend on us."
Kael stamped once—Quake Step—and the ground under the choke point gave a mean little shiver. The front line stumbled at the worst time; his Thunder Pulse rode the plates of his gauntlets into two skulls that didn't deserve skulls.
"Left flank," Mira called.
"Mine," Kael said, and went.
"Right," Kael shot back a beat later.
"I've got it," Elira said, and did—Breeze Edge kissing a reaching limb, then a half-turn into Split-Edge that sent the rest sliding uselessly across the cobbles.
Three small forms tried to ride the wall's shade again. Elira didn't risk Sight. She angled steel to bend the thin daylight—Wind Guide tugging the drift—so the boundary broke where they needed it fragile. The trick died; Kael erased what was left with short, mean work.
"Count?" he asked.
Mira listened. "Two. No—four. They're stacking."
"Fine," Elira said. "Wind Barrier."
Air tightened in a ring around their feet—not a dome, just a shoulder-high belt that turned charges into awkward hops. A shadow met it and learned about physics; Mira's Vapor Edge kissed it close and sent it skidding right into Kael's fist.
"Behind the bench!" one survivor hissed, voice cracking.
"Do your job," Mira said, eyes forward. "If anything gets past us—stab, then shout."
"Yes, ma'am."
The alley breathed wrong. A thicker smear dragged itself toward the square, riding lines the others couldn't see. Mira's tone dropped. "That one's different."
Elira rolled her wrist. "Wind Shearline."
She drew a straight, invisible corridor through the alley-mouth. When the smear pushed a feeler across the line, the corridor cut it, clean as a wire through wet paper. The rest tried to pull back and couldn't agree on the direction.
"Finish," Elira said.
"On it," Mira snapped. "Crimson Deluge—short!"
Not a carpet, not here. A shoulder-wide column of red-hot surge boiled forward, wrapped the broken smear, and snuffed it in a burst of steam that smelled like old nails.
Kael laughed once—short and real. "Save some for me."
"You'll eat later," Mira said, breathless.
Something moved on the lower roof. A silver stroke angled down—fast, exact, quiet. A lean shadow that had been testing the fountain's shade came apart so neatly the pieces forgot to fall together.
Elira didn't look up. "He's correcting the board. Let him."
More small bodies skittered from the alley, last of the cluster. "Enough," Elira said, and swept her free hand low.
"Gust Pins."
A scatter of crossing drafts hit the stone, staking little 'nails' of pressure where feet wanted to step. The next three creatures found their speed stolen one pace at a time—just long enough for Kael to walk through them like a door Iron Lockstep had chosen to close.
"Two," Mira said.
"One lunging," Kael added.
"Wind Veil," Elira breathed, and the air around their circle dulled sound and scent for a heartbeat. The lurker missed its cue; Mira's Vapor Screen flashed a thin blind at eye level; Elira's Lantern Needle traced a razor line along a metal band half-buried in shadow—some old charm. The line bit. The shadow lost its anchor and spilled forward into Kael's waiting hook.
"Last," Mira said.
"Give," Elira answered.
Mira snapped her left ring cold and her right warm, overlapping them into a single breath. "Glacier Break—two pillars."
Two waist-high spires punched up—one in front of the final crawler, one behind. It hit the forward ice, bounced, and Kael drove it into the rear pillar with Stone Breaker, the weight of him turning the world briefly heavier. The shadow burst like a rotten fruit and went quiet.
Silence fell badly, then chose to stay.
"Status," Elira said.
Kael flexed his hands. A thin whisper of spark ran between plates and died. "All there."
Mira shook the sting out of her fingers, then pressed a palm to the fountain. "Circle's clean. No leak. My head's ringing, but I can still be charming."
"Later," Elira said, softer now. She checked the two rescued adventurers. "Water. Small sips."
"Thank you," one said, voice raw.
They reset the square. Kael re-wedged the door-plank and strung a fresh trip-cord. Mira refreshed two chalk marks, then pinched a hairline crack in the bench with Rime Suture so it wouldn't betray a boot. Elira walked the arc, eyes on edges, letting breath catch up with bones.
Only then did the black-cloaked swordsman move.
Not a threat. Not theater. He stepped off the ledge, dropped the last height with a soft scrape, and crossed the street without hurry. The sword in his hand stayed low, edge clean. The cloak made him a line, not a blot—composed, economical.
He stopped five paces from their barrier.
Close, he looked younger than the ruin. Maybe around 20. Dark hair, calm eyes that stayed present, not far away. No swagger. No apology.
Kael shifted half a step—there, not blocking. Mira's shoulders were still a little high.
Elira kept Lumeveil low, not lowered. "You've been here since morning."
"I was here before that," he said. No pride; just truth. His gaze slid once over their set line—the trip-cord, the chalk, the angles they'd held—and came back to her.
He tapped the flat of his blade with two fingers. Not showy. A swordsman's small hello.
"Clean lines," he said, voice that would carry in wind without shouting. "You hold like a wall. Three people shouldn't do that. You did."
Mira blinked. "Is that—praise?"
"A statement," he said. The corner of his mouth almost moved. "Take it how you like."
Kael's eyes narrowed, measuring the distance, the weight, the air. "You staying?"
The swordsman turned, just enough to look down the alley they'd cleaned. The ruin breathed salt and metal around them. He looked back.
"If you're holding," he said, "I'm not leaving."
Elira let a millimeter of tension slide out of her shoulders. "Then take a post. Roof or ledge. Your choice."
He nodded once—the kind of nod that belongs to people who don't waste answers—and stepped to the edge of their footprint where he could see roof and alley and them together. Not inside their ring. Not gone.
Mira let herself breathe. "I'll take 'not leaving' over 'not talking.'"
Kael sat with his back to stone, gauntlets on his knees. "We rotate watches. Small fire. No smoke."
"Wind Curtain," Elira said, and the Wind Veil drew their breath and heat tight, sending smoke where it wouldn't gossip. "We'll hold till dusk. Longer if we must."
The coin of flame Mira coaxed from stubborn sticks held. The two survivors leaned closer to warmth that wasn't fear. Ash drifted like gray snow. Far off, the sea dragged its slow weight along the shore.
The swordsman kept his post. He didn't ask for names. He didn't offer one. What he'd said hung in the air like a mark cut into clean steel:
Clean lines. You hold like a wall.
Elira set Lumeveil across her knees and watched the alley mouth that had tried to become a throat.
They had bought the day. For now, it would stay bought.