Thirty minutes later, Mr. Alden returned with a healer and a squad of reinforcements.
The healer moved with practised urgency the moment he stepped into the ruined square. The smell of smoke still hung thick over the village, mixing with blood, wet ash, and scorched wood. Embers drifted lazily through the night air like dying fireflies. Around them, wounded villagers groaned softly beneath torn blankets while shattered homes crackled as they burned themselves into blackened skeletons.
Ronan barely noticed the healer kneeling beside him.
His arms felt heavy, almost numb. The trembling in his hands had worsened, fingers twitching uncontrollably from Aether depletion. His breathing came shallow and uneven, each inhale scraping through his chest like sandpaper. Sweat cooled against his skin, leaving him chilled despite the lingering heat of the fires.
The healer gently pushed his hands aside and examined the wounded without hesitation.
"You've done enough," the older man said quietly.
Ronan shifted back on unsteady legs. The sudden absence of focus made his vision sway. Beside him, Orin leaned against a broken cart wheel, shoulders sagging, his face pale beneath streaks of dirt and soot.
The healer glanced toward Ronan again while weaving pale restorative light across a villager's wounds.
"Young man," he said, resting a firm hand on Ronan's shoulder, "if not for you, these people would not have survived long enough for me to arrive."
Warm energy pulsed faintly through the healer's palm, steadying some of the dizziness threatening to pull Ronan under.
"Blazing Restoration is not simple magic. It requires precision. Control." The healer's eyes lingered on him with quiet approval. "At your age, few could maintain it under this much pressure."
Ronan gave a small nod.
He didn't trust himself to speak.
His throat felt tight. His body wanted rest, but his mind refused to stop replaying the faces he had failed to save.
Nearby, the mayor approached Mr. Alden.
The older man looked as though the night had aged him years. Ash stained his clothes, and soot streaked his lined face. His shoulders bent beneath something heavier than exhaustion.
"Some of our young children were taken," the mayor said.
His voice cracked midway through the sentence.
He lifted a trembling hand toward the lifeless boy lying nearby—the same boy who had fought with desperate fury before collapsing into death.
"Including that boy's sister."
Mr. Alden turned slowly toward the body.
Moonlight spilt across the child's still face, revealing dried blood near his temple and dirt pressed beneath broken fingernails. Even in death, his expression remained tense, as though he had refused to surrender until the very end.
"His sister?" Alden asked quietly.
The mayor nodded.
"They were orphans."
For a moment, only the crackling fires answered.
"A nobleman came several days ago." The mayor swallowed hard. "He wanted the girl. Harassed her openly. Said she should become his concubine."
Ronan's jaw tightened.
The mayor's eyes drifted downward.
"The boy tried to stop him."
His voice lowered further.
"They beat him nearly to death."
Silence spread between them.
The mayor rubbed at his face with a shaking hand.
"She accepted." His words came slower now, heavier. "She agreed to go with the nobleman... to save her brother."
Ronan felt something tighten deep inside his chest.
The mayor stared at the dead child.
"The nobleman promised he would return in a few days."
Ronan's fingers curled into fists.
His nails bit into his palms.
Exhaustion dulled his limbs, but anger moved beneath it like molten iron.
"That boy was weak," the mayor continued hollowly. "Everyone knew it. But after that day... he changed."
The old man's gaze drifted toward the burned village.
"He grew stronger overnight."
His voice faltered.
"And then this happened."
Mr. Alden looked over the destruction.
Collapsed roofs. Charred beams. Bodies covered in cloth.
His hands slowly clenched.
"Those children are in danger."
The healer rose, wiping blood from his hands onto a cloth.
"The injured will survive," he said. "But they need proper treatment. I'll take them to Eldergrove by morning."
Mr. Alden nodded once.
Then he turned sharply toward his men.
"We're going after those children."
The shift in his voice changed the atmosphere immediately.
Fatigue disappeared beneath purpose.
He pointed toward two soldiers.
"You. Ride to Eldergrove. Bring reinforcements."
The men nodded without question.
Then he pointed toward three others.
"You're with me."
The remaining soldiers straightened.
"The rest stay here," Alden ordered. "Protect the villagers."
His gaze moved to Ronan and Orin.
"You two are coming."
Neither hesitated.
Ronan pushed himself upright despite the ache in his body.
Orin exhaled slowly beside him, rolling stiffness from his shoulders before adjusting his grip on his weapon.
No one needed convincing.
They left the village behind.
The fires slowly disappeared behind them, shrinking into distant orange glows swallowed by darkness.
Night stretched endlessly across the land.
The moon hung pale overhead, casting silver light across wet grass and broken terrain. Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance, though even those sounds felt muted beneath the weight pressing down on the group.
Their boots crushed fallen leaves and damp soil as they moved through the outskirts.
No one spoke much.
The silence carried too many thoughts.
Ronan walked near the rear, forcing his exhausted legs to keep pace. Every step reminded him how depleted he was. His muscles burned. His core felt hollow from overused Aether.
Yet sleep felt impossible.
Not while children were missing.
Not while screams still echoed in his memory.
Mr. Alden suddenly slowed.
He narrowed his eyes.
A faint shimmer passed across his gaze.
"Keen Eye."
The words came almost under his breath.
Ronan watched carefully.
Alden's posture changed subtly, attention sharpening. His eyes scanned the ground with deliberate precision.
Then Ronan noticed it.
Faint traces of light.
Thin, wavering strands of Aether lingered across the earth like translucent threads illuminated by moonlight.
Mr. Alden followed them carefully.
The glowing remnants drifted westward.
Toward the forest.
"I found something," Alden murmured.
The group gathered closer.
"The trail continues west. Stay tight."
Without hesitation, they pressed forward.
The forest swallowed them.
Branches twisted overhead, weaving together into a dense canopy that devoured moonlight. Shadows layered between trees, shifting whenever the wind stirred the leaves. Damp earth softened their footsteps, and roots curled across the ground like hidden traps waiting beneath the dark.
Hours seemed to pass.
The deeper they travelled, the heavier the air became.
Then the mountain emerged.
Its silhouette towered above the trees, jagged and immense against the night sky.
The Aether trails converged near its rocky base.
Then vanished.
Orin frowned.
"Did they just disappear?"
"No," Mr. Alden said.
He stepped closer.
"They went inside."
He activated Keen Eye again.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the surface of the mountain shimmered.
A distortion rippled through the stone, subtle but unmistakable, like heat waves dancing above a flame.
An illusion.
One of the soldiers cursed under his breath.
"There's an entrance."
Another tightened his grip on his sword.
"We break through."
"No," Mr. Alden said immediately.
His voice remained low.
"We don't know what waits inside. If we force it open carelessly, they'll know we're here."
The men exchanged tense looks.
"We don't have an Illusion Master," one muttered. "Removing it quietly won't be simple."
Mr. Alden reached into his coat.
Metal clicked softly between his fingers.
He lifted the token confiscated from one of the hooded attackers.
Moonlight flashed across its surface.
"Everyone of them carried one."
He stepped toward the illusion.
The moment the token neared the distorted stone, the air rippled.
The false surface dissolved silently.
Darkness yawned open before them.
A hidden cave entrance.
Two hooded figures stood just inside.
Neither noticed.
Mr. Alden moved instantly.
He crossed the distance like a striking predator.
Steel flashed.
One sentry collapsed before he could even react.
The second barely turned before another soldier silenced him.
Bodies struck stone with dull, heavy thuds.
The cave swallowed the sound.
"Move in," Alden whispered.
Ronan exchanged a glance with Orin.
Neither spoke.
They followed.
The air changed immediately.
Cold.
Wet.
Water dripped steadily somewhere deeper inside, each sound echoing through the tunnel. The walls glistened with moisture, slick beneath torchlight reflections. The smell hit them next.
Blood.
Rot.
Decay.
Ronan's stomach tightened.
The deeper they walked, the stronger it became.
Then they heard it.
Soft at first.
A sob.
Then another.
Children.
"Please…"
A trembling voice echoed through the tunnel.
"Someone… help us…"
The sound stopped Ronan's breathing for a second.
His grip tightened around his sword.
The desperation in those voices didn't sound distant.
It sounded close.
Real.
A boy cried somewhere deeper inside.
A girl's broken sobs followed.
"Please… save us…"
Ronan swallowed hard.
His chest tightened.
He had seen death tonight.
He had held dying villagers in his hands.
He had watched life slip away while healing magic failed to keep up.
But this felt different.
This wasn't the aftermath.
This was still happening.
Still alive.
Still waiting.
"Move faster," Mr. Alden said.
Low.
Urgent.
The group increased its pace.
Their boots struck stone faster now.
The cries grew louder.
Each echo crawled deeper beneath Ronan's skin.
His pulse pounded harder.
Anger mixed with helplessness until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
"How could someone do this? How could people listen to children beg and continue anyway?"
The tunnel widened suddenly.
Torchlight spilt across the stone.
Then they entered the chamber.
Ronan stopped breathing.
Cages lined the cavern walls.
Children huddled together behind rusted bars.
Some looked no older than ten.
Others sat curled against one another, bruised and shaking. Dirt streaked their faces. Their clothes were torn. Several stared blankly, too exhausted even to cry.
The metallic scent of blood saturated the air so heavily that it coated the tongue.
At the chamber's centre stood an altar.
A massive triangle carved into stone.
At each corner sat a perfectly drawn circle.
Within each circle knelt a hooded figure.
Still.
A crimson glow pulsed from the centre.
There—
A woman.
Bound in chains.
Her body arched violently as iron restraints dug into bruised flesh. Her screams tore through the cavern raw and broken, scraping against the walls.
A red aura leaked from her chest.
Not blood.
Not light.
Something alive.
The energy twisted through the air like liquid fire, flowing into the hands of the hooded figures.
Feeding them.
Ronan's vision narrowed.
Heat rushed through his veins.
His breathing turned ragged.
His grip tightened until the sword trembled.
"I won't let this happen."
The words escaped before he realised he had spoken.
He stepped forward.
A hand clamped onto his shoulder.
Firm.
Unyielding.
Mr. Alden.
"Not yet."
Ronan looked at him.
Every instinct screamed to move.
To run forward.
To cut them down.
"You two stay here," Alden said quietly. "We handle this."
Ronan's jaw locked.
His entire body felt wound too tight.
Sweat slid down his temple.
The woman screamed again.
One of the children began sobbing louder.
His pulse hammered violently.
Every second felt unbearable.
But Alden's grip remained steady.
Ronan forced air into his lungs.
Then nodded once.
"…Okay."
He stepped back.
Barely.
The rage didn't lessen.
It only buried itself deeper.
The hooded figures would pay.
Every one of them.
From the shadows, Mr. Alden and his men surged forward.
"Stop!" Alden's voice thundered through the chamber. "What are you doing?!"
The ritual faltered for only a moment.
One hooded figure slowly lifted his head.
A faint smile curved beneath the darkness of his hood.
Cold.
Unbothered.
Without rising, he spoke.
"Stop them."
His voice was calm.
"Do not allow them near me."
The other two responded instantly.
"Yes."
Their voices sounded empty.
Almost mechanical.
They raised their hands.
Aether twisted unnaturally.
Dark shapes formed.
Grotesque humanoid figures emerged from the shadows—poppets stitched from warped flesh and jagged limbs. Their bodies bent at impossible angles, hollow sockets glowing with crimson light.
They lunged.
Fast.
Steel met claw.
The chamber exploded into violence.
Mr. Alden intercepted the first creature, his blade carving through twisted limbs. One soldier blocked a slash from another construct, sparks flying as metal collided against hardened bone.
The creatures moved erratically.
Jerking.
Like broken puppets pulled by invisible strings.
Behind them, the chained woman screamed louder.
The crimson energy flowed faster.
Ronan stood frozen near the entrance.
His breathing became shallow.
His chest rose and fell rapidly.
Heat rolled beneath his skin.
His Aether churned violently.
The air around him shimmered.
Flame magic responded instinctively.
A reflection of what burned inside him.
Beside him, Orin stared forward in silence.
Neither of them moved.
But Ronan could feel it.
The edge inside him.
Thin.
Fragile.
One more scream.
And something inside him would snap.