The woods near Elloria held their breath, as if the trees themselves were listening.A scream tore through the air—a sharp, ragged sound that sent a pair of sparrows darting from a branch.
From the shade beneath the pines, a man stepped forward.Pim's scarred face was set hard, the lines etched deep from years of sun, smoke, and blood. His boots crunched over dry leaves until he stopped beside the body sprawled across the path.
The corpse was still warm. Blood pooled thickly on the dirt, catching the afternoon light in oily gleams.
Pim crouched and dipped a calloused finger into the blood. Slowly, deliberately, he drew on the ground: an arrow tip with crossed lines at its center. The mark of their troupe—the sign for his boss.
"Too bad to stumble across us," Bob said beside him, crouching low. His grin was too wide, like he'd just told himself the funniest joke in the world.
Pim didn't answer. His gaze slid past the trees, to where the pale stone of Elloria's walls glimmered through a gap in the branches. Almost close enough to touch. Not nearly close enough to strike.
Today's job had been simple—slip in, strip the city for coin, supplies, and a hostage or two. But that plan was gone.
Orders had come down from the top. Directly from Morgan. He was joining the raid.
That single fact had changed everything.
"Boss is moving. We're out of time," Pim muttered.
Above, a crow cawed from the slanted roof of a hunting shack. The sound cut sharp through the stillness, too clean and deliberate for chance. A watcher's call.
Bob shifted uneasily. "Shouldn't we—?"
"No." Pim struck a match, the flare catching in his eyes before the bitter curl of smoke masked them. "The target's clear—Arven Elmwald."
The name left a sour taste. He spat into the dirt and ground it in with his boot. Guards, townsfolk, whatever schemes the mayor had—they were obstacles. The only kill that mattered was the one the boss wanted.
High above, the crow called again.
* * *
Arven whistled softly as he scattered seeds for the small birds flocking in the alley. The flutter of wings, the soft chirping—it was almost peaceful. Sunlight glinted off the cobblestones, highlighting cracks and pebbles. A faint scent of bread from a nearby vendor drifted on the warm breeze, mixing with the earthy smell of the alley's damp corners.
"Happy, Joy," Arven said, straightening and brushing the dust from his palms, "I need your help. Keep an eye on the outer city wall. If anything suspicious moves, I want to know."
Joy froze, head tilted, suspicion in her eyes.
Arven smirked, noticing the slight tremor in her hands.
"Now then, I'll head back to our inn," Arven said. "Lila, please stay behind and help the kids."
"Sure..." she muttered. "You be careful too, okay?"
Arven crouched, patting Skele's head. "You're on lookout too, buddy. Birds, shadows, or hooded men—anything that moves, report."
Skele's blue sockets blinked, the faint rattle of his bones adding a strange rhythm to the quiet. A sparrow hopped near his skeletal foot, chirping nervously before taking flight. Skele's head followed the motion, a tilt here, a step there, almost as if testing the air. Arven grinned. "Even you notice the little things. Good boy."
Happy and Joy watched Arven walk away. An emotion long submerged began surfacing, hesitant but undeniable.
A gentle breeze stirred, carrying rustling leaves and distant birdsong. Arven's mind ticked, spinning threads of strategy, tracing exit routes, mapping contingencies. He imagined a bandit scouting the wall—what would he see, what would he miss?
For now, he would wait patiently for the summon—from the mayor—and pass a small gift to a guard.
* * *
Arven soon received the summon, and the mayor's guard came to escort him. The two soldiers moved with quiet efficiency, their boots barely scuffing the cobblestones as they led him through the city streets. Arven kept his gaze flicking over rooftops and alleyways, noting angles, possible escape routes, and the subtle movements of passersby.
By the time they reached the mayor's office, sunlight streamed through tall windows, catching dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. The office smelled faintly of parchment, ink, and polish—a mixture Arven filed away without a thought, along with the positions of the guards, the desk, and every exit.
Mayor Gareth rose from behind the cluttered desk. Lines of worry etched his face, but there was relief in his eyes when he saw Arven. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
Arven inclined his head. "You sent for me, not for tea, I assume."
"Since you're so curious… take a look." Mayor Gareth's tone was calm, but it carried a weight that felt more like a warning than an invitation. His eyes didn't leave Arven, sharp and calculating. "This came from the merchant you met that day."
Arven picked up the letter, noting the neat handwriting and the faint smudge at the corner—either haste or carelessness. He scanned the contents quickly, then set it back down, feeling the subtle pressure behind Gareth's gaze.
"Young master of Elmwald… I'm not sure if you're feigning innocence or simply ignorant," Mayor Gareth said, his voice low and measured, carrying the weight of authority. "Do you know what your name carries? The influence, the danger… the expectations?"
Arven felt a knot tighten in his chest. Every instinct told him this was more than a warning—Gareth wasn't just speaking of reputation. There was knowledge here, a piece of a puzzle he hadn't yet solved. He swallowed, forcing his expression into calm, but his mind raced, searching for the answer that might explain why the mayor treated him with such careful caution.
"The Flame… I have encoun—" Arven's words cut off as a deafening sound ripped through the air. The walls of the office seemed to vibrate with it.
It was near. Too near.
Then the city's horn blared, sharp and insistent, echoing through the streets and alleys. The signal was unmistakable—an invasion.
"I'm sorry, young master. We'll continue this conversation later," Mayor Gareth said, his voice sharp and urgent. "We have to address the current situation first."
At the same moment, Lila burst through the door, her eyes wide with urgency. Before Arven could react, she lunged forward and pinned him down, her hands firm on his shoulders.
A sharp whistle split the air—an arrow shot straight through the open doorway, missing Arven by mere inches and embedding itself in the wooden frame with a deafening thud.
For the first time since he had arrived in this world, a cold spike of fear shot through Arven's chest. His heartbeat thumped violently in his ears, muscles tensing, senses sharpening. This wasn't a calculated risk, or a test of strategy—this was death, real and close, and it could reach him in an instant.
He froze, the arrow's proximity etched into his mind, his usual smirk replaced by raw, startled panic. Every instinct screamed that the situation had escalated far beyond what he had anticipated.
* * *
Arven and Lila burst out of the city hall, the afternoon sun flashing off the cobblestones. Ahead, Skele waited, skeletal frame poised, while Happy and Joy sprinted toward them, faces set with determination.
Without hesitation, Happy leaped into the air just as another arrow whistled past. His small body intercepted the projectile, knocking it off course and saving Arven by mere inches.
Arven's heart raced, adrenaline flooding through him. He grabbed Happy instinctively, feeling the weight of danger pressing in from all sides.
Skele growled, the hollow sound vibrating through the air, scanning rooftops and streets for the next threat. Joy skidded to a stop beside them, wide-eyed but ready.
The invasion had reached them, and the first wave of arrows had already found its mark—or almost.
Chaos spread through other parts of the city. Smoke rose in the distance, and screams echoed across the streets.
Arven slapped his cheek. Stay focused, he told himself. Not the time to panic.
"Mist." At Arven's command, Skele exhaled a thick fog, spreading it across the city.
"Algiz." Arven's Runeweaving ability activated, igniting the protective runes he had placed over the past two days.
A shimmering shield sprang across the streets, radiating a faint blue glow. It served as a safety point for the citizens, warding off incoming attacks and giving the defenders a crucial moment to regroup.
But the timing was off. The invasion was supposed to happen two days later. Everything was unfolding too soon. Arven's carefully laid plans were thrown into chaos, and they would have to improvise if they wanted to survive.