The square reeked.
Ash thickened the air. Iron stung the tongue. Blood traced copper into every breath.
The cage rattled with each lunge Lio made.
Bars bent outward. Pins rattled, loose teeth ready to spit free.
The salt circle still hissed faintly.
But Harun felt the weakness—
like a rope fraying strand by strand, threads snapping one after another.
The commander raised his pistol.
Neat. Steady.
Its barrel levelled at Tallen's head.
"Last warning."
Tallen's hands shook so violently that the rifle clattered against his shoulder.
"Sir, please—"
"Do it." The commander's voice was iron. Cold.
"End the Mask, or I end you."
Harun's chest burned. The Mask pressed hot.
Whispers slid sharp as razors across his ear.
Truth: If he fires, your body falls.
Truth: If he resists, his boy dies of fever.
"Tallen—look at me."
Wild eyes snapped toward him.
"Left foot if you move," Harun said. "Always left. Step wrong, you'll regret it."
The commander's glare cut in.
"Silence."
Tallen's lips trembled.
"Sir… my boy—"
"No, boys," the commander spat.
"Just mouths emptying our stores."
The words landed heavily. Ledger-logic. Empire-law.
Tallen flinched as though struck. His finger curled tighter on the trigger—caught between breaking and freezing.
The cage shrieked.
Another bar spat free.
Lio shoved shoulders through the gap.
Skin split. Ribs jutted sharp as knives.
His mouth tore wide, corners splitting.
Teeth are slick and black.
Men shouted.
The hoop-bearer dropped his mesh net.
The tidy guard fumbled bloody pins, slick hands clattering iron.
The commander swung his pistol between Harun and Tallen, choosing which line to cut first.
The Mask pressed harder, boiling words up Harun's throat.
"Lio!" Harun roared.
The boy's black eyes snapped toward him.
"Stay!"
The word fell heavily. The Mask burned with it.
Lio froze.
Hands trembled.
For a flicker, a boy glimmered in the hollow gaze.
"Please," Lio rasped. The sound broke like glass through blood.
Harun's throat closed. He forced it again.
"Stay!"
"Shut him in!" the commander shouted.
"Pin the door! Contain him!"
The older guard lunged.
Lio smashed his skull into the iron.
A howl stripped flesh from words.
The wedge cracked in his teeth. Splinters spat out.
Tallen's rifle twitched. Barrel hovered between the commander and the cage.
Sweat streaked his face, dripping pale paths in soot.
"Choose," the commander hissed.
"I can't," Tallen gasped.
"You can," Harun snapped.
"For your son. For him."
His chin jerked toward Lio.
The frame rocked again.
Iron screamed.
Black steam surged through a gap in the salt.
It licked Harun's boot.
Leather smoked.
Pain tore up his leg.
He staggered, ground his heel harder, forcing the faint line to glow one heartbeat longer.
The commander whipped his pistol toward Harun.
"Enough! I'll end this—"
A rifle cracked thunder.
The commander froze.
Eyes dropped to his chest.
Tallen's barrel pressed there.
Steady now.
"I said no," Tallen whispered.
Small voice.
But it stood.
"You'll hang," the commander said flatly. Certain.
"Maybe."
Tallen's jaw quivered.
"But not before I see my boy again."
Silence spread like ice.
Even the other guards looked away. None dared move.
Lio groaned.
Arms scraped back through the bars.
Teeth gnashing air, weak again.
Harun staggered forward.
"Lio—say your name."
The boy blinked. Blood ran from his torn mouth.
"Lio."
"Hold it," Harun urged.
"Don't let it go."
The Mask surged.
It drank the word, pressed it deep.
The circle flared faintly, then steadied.
The commander's jaw locked.
He holstered his pistol sharply. Spat on the stone.
"Cage him."
The hoop-bearer, limping pale, shoved mesh in.
Snared wrists.
The tidy guard hammered pins back with blood-slick hands.
Iron groaned.
But the cage held.
Harun sagged.
Knees are near buckling.
His boot smoked, sole eaten through.
He could barely stand, but he didn't look away from Lio—
not until the boy sagged too, breath shallow, but still his own.
The commander's eyes cut like knives.
"Relic-bearer. Meddle again, and I carve your name into every gallows."
Harun didn't answer.
Couldn't trust his voice.
A bell tolled.
Heavy. Slow.
Reinforcements.
Tallen lowered his rifle, pale as ash.
His mouth trembled, but no words came.
He looked at Harun—guilt and relief fighting in his eyes.
"Go," he whispered.
"Before they arrive."
Harun nodded once.
Satchel empty. Boot ruined.
A chest full of truths he didn't want.
But legs still worked.
He slipped into alleys.
The Mask's breath was hot against his skin.
Truth: You didn't save the city. You saved one moment.
Ash drifted down.
Stone drank silence.
Harun vanished into the dark.