The Marketplace was in one of the frontier cities of the Great Khanate. The sun glinted off the stone-paved streets, while the air hung heavy with a mix of spices, fabric, and sweat. Among the stalls, someone with flame-colored hair drew attention. Her loose yellow-red shirt and flowing pants stood out even in the colorful crowd. Her steps were rhythmic. As she glanced at the small list in her hand, her lips moved:
"Dried serpent flower… black powder… and that bread the 'man who never smiles' mentioned…"
A small flicker of flame on her shoulder quivered slightly at the word "bread."
She was just about to speak to a vendor when the air changed abruptly.
First came silence.
Then a hum.
And then—exploding spheres of water.
The marketplace plunged into chaos. Stalls overturned, shouts erupted. Panic gripped the people. When Iskra turned, four figures were walking toward her. Their garments shimmered between blue and gray, flickering like they were underwater. Glowing magical rings circled their hands. Their faces were veiled, but their steps were determined.
Iskra stepped back.
"You're not familiar... But it's clear you know me."
One of the mages stepped forward. Without a word, he raised a symbol into the air—three interlocking water drops. Then, from his palms, he hurled a spinning blade of water.
Iskra didn't dodge. Instead, she slammed her palm onto the ground. The stones beneath her glowed red-hot. The water blade evaporated into steam before it could reach her.
As the crowd fled, one person ran in the opposite direction.
His face was wrapped in bandages.
One of his shoes was worn through.
His shirt was far too colorful.
And he was talking to himself:
"Aha! Entrance scene. Chaos everywhere, people slinging magic, but hey—magic's not my thing. Maybe I can snag something for free from the market…"
When another water strike landed nearby, he dropped and rolled aside with surprising speed. Then, he glanced toward Iskra.
The girl stood out easily in the chaos—without even trying.
And maybe... she could use a little help.
"Hey!" shouted Servet as he stood up. "Are those your fan club, or is this just free bath day?"
A slight smirk tugged at the corner of Iskra's lips.
"Neither. But one of them might turn out useful."
And just like that…
The bandaged boy and the voice of fire met on the same line.
The air of the marketplace grew heavier with magic and chaos. The blue-robed mages pressed the attack with shimmering water spells. But now, Iskra wasn't alone.
Servet sprang into action.
The first water blade exploded just before Iskra. But Servet was already there—arms spread wide, he moved in. With a swift move, he caught a mage's wrist, then slammed his knee into him, knocking him off balance. He ducked low and slid toward a second attacker.
Servet's fighting had no strict form. His style was full of fast kicks, sudden punches, and unpredictable direction shifts. He caught his opponents off guard and disabled them with locks and holds. In close combat, he was fierce; at a distance, he maintained space before closing in.
Iskra gathered fire between her palms and blasted another attacker back. Her flames, resistant to the water magic, blazed on. But there were too many of them.
Servet, breathing heavily, didn't stop. After a flurry of kicks, he paused briefly, then unleashed a set of powerful punches. Every move was both offense and defense at once.
He paused for a moment, scanning the surroundings.
Then he grinned:
"Fire and water… never mix well, do they?"
Iskra met his eyes and gave a subtle nod.
Just then, from outside the clash, another figure stepped out of the shadows.
They wielded neither fire nor water.
Their clothing was dark, heavy.
Their face was half-covered by a mask.
Their voice was deep:
"This is only the beginning."