Varrons.
The name still felt sour in her head. Wielders who'd broken oath — turned deserter, turned criminal. Some had vanished. Some had been hunted down.
The edge of a roof collapsed down the road with a violent crash. Lili flinched.
Lorenzo grabbed the nearest reinforced blade from a rack near the door, tossing another toward her without looking.
"Stay behind me."
But Lili was already moving.
She caught the blade mid-air, adjusted her grip, and bolted past the doorway.
The street outside had turned to chaos. Smoke curled from shattered windows, and one of the merchant stalls was already ablaze. Civilians scattered — some screaming, others dragging family members toward cover. A younger Wielder stumbled into view, bleeding from the shoulder, pursued by a tall figure in a cloak stripped of any official mark.
The varron's blade gleamed electric blue — fresh essentia crackling off the edge in a faint shimmer.
Lili didn't think.
She lurched forward, nearly tripping over her own feet as she threw herself between the Varron and the wounded Wielder. Their blades clashed, the force jolting all the way up her arm. Her grip almost slipped.
The Varron sneered. She was younger, smaller — and clearly not trained.
That was his mistake.
Lili flinched under his next swing, half ducking, half stumbling into a spin. Her elbow caught his ribs more by reflex than design. He grunted, stumbling back — just enough for the wounded Wielder to crawl out of reach.
She blinked, surprised it worked.
Behind her: shouting. Steel. Another impact.
Lorenzo was at the shop entrance, holding off two attackers. He fought like the forge itself had picked up a blade — all weight and rhythm and hammer-sure hits. He barely moved his feet. They couldn't get around him.
Lili turned — and stopped cold.
The far building cracked, then gave. A section collapsed inward, flames licking hungrily at the walls.
There were people inside.
Her body moved before her brain caught up.
She sprinted, nearly skidding at the doorway. Smoke burned her eyes. A woman was crouched just past the rubble, shielding two children.
"I'll— I'll get you out!" Lili said, coughing mid-sentence.
The woman looked up, eyes wide and tear-streaked.
Lili squeezed between the beams, burning fabric brushing too close. Heat seared her arm, but she shoved at the debris anyway, awkward and scrambling. Her dagger slipped twice before she found enough leverage in a cracked beam to pry it free. The gap was small, but open.
"This way!" she wheezed.
The woman didn't ask twice. She pulled the children through, all of them scrambling out on shaking limbs.
"Barracks!" Lili shouted after them. "Just— run! Run!"
Then she turned, tripped over a half-fallen plank, and scrambled upright again, coughing.
Her arm throbbed. Her head spun. The fight wasn't over.
A shadow stepped into her path.
A Varron. Taller, broader — a deserter, by the look of him. He smiled like a man already bored.
"Wrong street to play hero, girl."
Lili tightened her grip on the dagger Lorenzo had tossed her. Her hands were shaking, her stance crooked.
"Yeah?" she flinched. "I-I-I'm not playing." in a very brave voice.
She charged — maybe a little too early.
Her first swing was wide. He laughed — until she slipped past his guard and jabbed. It wasn't clean, but it landed. Enough to send him reeling.
She didn't wait.
Lili dropped beside the wounded Wielder again, hands fumbling to press over his shoulder. The blood was everywhere. Too much.
"Hey! Stay with me, okay?" she said, her voice cracking with effort.
The young man blinked at her, pain-glazed. His coat lining showed violet — Vigil. His insignia was torn, half-burned.
"There were more," he rasped. "Four... maybe five... upper quarter... vault...—"
"I got it," Lili muttered, already yanking the sleeve off her shirt. The wrap she made was uneven, but she pressed it hard to his wound. "Here. Hold this. I'll find someone."
His hand caught her wrist — faint but urgent. "You're just... a Bearer..."
Lili huffed, hair sticking to her face. "Yeah? Well. Watch this."
She stood, a bit unsteady. Her arm hurt like hell. The forge behind her still smoked, one wall fallen in. Lorenzo was still fighting — cornered now, but holding his ground.
"Lorenzo!" she yelled. "One's down — two headed for the main road!"
"Handle it!" he snapped.
So, she ran.
Through smoke. Over cracked stone. Past broken stalls and fallen beams. A door cracked open nearby — a merchant's home — and a Varron kicked it wider. Civilians cowered inside.
A child screamed.
Lili barreled forward without thinking. She hit the Varron with all her weight — mostly shoulder, mostly panic.
He wasn't expecting it. He staggered.
She scrambled up, dagger already swinging. She missed her mark — then caught his thigh.
He cursed, turning.
She jabbed again. Sloppier this time, but she was fast — wild, not predictable. The Varron fell, not from skill but from sheer relentlessness.
Behind her, the civilians ran.
Lili turned, chest heaving.
Then she kept going.
* * *
Cidius stank of smoke and blood.
The fighting had finally stopped. Ash drifted in the air like dirty snow. Lili moved fast, legs aching, arm scraped and burned, dagger still in hand.
The streets were quieter now. Not safe — but done screaming.
She turned the corner. Froze.
The forge door hung off its hinge. Inside: tools scattered, benches overturned, smoke curling from the back.
"Lorenzo?" she called, stepping over debris. "Lorenzo!"
A grunt answered.
She found him slumped against the wall, one leg stretched, blood on his sleeve, a rag pressed to his head. His hair was matted, and one eye squinted against the light.
"You're late," he muttered.
Relief hit her like a punch. She exhaled too fast and laughed. "You look like a wall fell on you."
"It did. I won."
She dropped beside him, knees popping, and gave his arm a light nudge — just to prove he was real. "What happened?"
"They weren't just looting," he said. "Knew what to take."
She picked up a scorched pair of tongs and set them down again. "Others?"
"Some ran. Vigil chased 'em. Heard a blackcoat took out their commander."
Lili nodded, absently brushing ash off her thigh. Then she sat back with a quiet thud beside him.
"You taking tomorrow off?" he asked.
She groaned, dragging her fingers through her tangled hair. "Only if I'm dead."
A beat.
"I helped," she said, voice low. "Like— actually helped. The Brennicks made it out. People listened. Not all, but... enough."
He glanced over, eyes soft.
"I was scared," she added. "But I still moved. That's gotta count, right?"
"That's the part that counts most."
She smiled, small and crooked. Then leaned back against the wall beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and closed her eyes.