The weight of Court's body was more than physical—it was a stone lodged deep in Carl's chest, each step pressing it deeper, grinding it into his ribs. His brother's skin felt clammy against his own, every shallow rise and fall of his chest a reminder that he was alive, yes… but fading.
The streets of the kingdom stretched endlessly ahead, slick with the sheen of a morning drizzle. Water clung to the cobblestones like tiny mirrors, catching the muted light of a gray sky. The air smelled of wet stone and the faint tang of smoke from chimneys still burning out the night's cold.
Life here went on as if the world hadn't ended only hours ago. Merchants cried their wares, their voices cutting through the low hum of chatter.
A burly man with a scar like a lightning bolt down his cheek brandished a gleaming sword above his head.
"Get your blades! Steel so sharp it can cut the soul from a demon!"
A woman in a patched apron leaned over her stall, holding a basket that steamed with the scent of sizzling meat.
"Crispy chicken wings! Hot enough to make your tongue sing, spiced enough to wake the dead!"
But their words barely touched Carl. His ears caught them, yes, but the meaning slid away like water off glass. His gaze stayed on Court—on the smudge of dirt that streaked his pale cheek, on the way his head lolled limply against Carl's shoulder.
Just get him home.
Just one safe place left.
The small house finally came into view, crouched at the far edge of the street like a worn old sentinel. Its wood siding had faded to a tired gray, the shutters hung slightly askew, but it was theirs. It was supposed to mean safety.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside.
Warmth wrapped around him. Beds were made. The hearth burned low but steady, filling the air with the scent of charred oak.
"Brother, you didn't fetch the water!" a familiar voice teased from the corner. Carl's head snapped toward it.
His younger brother was there, grinning, hair falling over his eyes just the way it always had. In the kitchen, the sound of a ladle scraping a pot reached him. His mother's voice followed, warm and scolding in equal measure.
Carl froze mid-step. The warmth in his chest iced over, brittle and sharp.
No… no, this can't…
He blinked—and the warmth was gone. The air had gone stale, dry as if no one had breathed it for weeks. The beds stood empty. Shadows pooled in the corners where sunlight should have reached.
A tremor ran through his arms. He set Court gently onto the nearest bed, the blankets bunching up around his still form. Carl stood there for a moment longer, hands lingering at the edges of the fabric as if tucking it in could anchor reality back into place.
The kitchen was silent now. The pot was empty. No water. No rice. No life.
He shut his eyes, but the black behind his lids only brought back the stream—the still water, the bodies.
I can't leave them there.
The walk back was heavier than the first. His boots squelched in the mud. The damp air clung to his skin. By the time he reached the stream, his fingers were already numb, but he forced them to work, to lift each body into the cart. His brothers, his mother, his father… each one lighter than they should have been, as if the life stolen from them had taken weight with it.
The cart's wheels groaned under the load. Carl adjusted the straps, his hands trembling so hard the leather bit into his palms.
A tear slid down his cheek, leaving a clean track on skin smudged with dirt. He swiped at it, but another followed. And another. His breath came out in shuddering bursts.
"Mother… Brother…" His voice cracked, then broke entirely into a sound he hadn't made since childhood—a raw, helpless wail that dissolved into the wind.
The trees didn't care. The wind didn't stop.
He had just fastened the last strap when a ripple of shadow passed over the ground. Then four shapes dropped from above, landing without a sound but for the whisper of their cloaks in the breeze.
They stood in a loose line, each wearing a deep blue cloak fastened with a golden clasp shaped like outstretched wings. The faint scent of oiled leather and cold metal clung to them. Carl's mind flickered to half-remembered market stories—whispers of a group that ruled the skies, warriors who wore the power of beasts like a second skin.
The leader stepped forward. He wasn't the tallest, but his presence pressed down like an unseen weight. His eyes were sharp, predatory, the kind that missed nothing.
"You have the soul of the Phoenix, right?"
Carl blinked at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Then how did you take down the demon that massacred your family?"
Carl's gut twisted. His voice rose sharp. "You were there? And you didn't help?"
The man's jaw tightened. "We weren't exactly there. We track demon movements. We sent people to intercept, but…" His gaze fell to the ground. "…we were too late. I'm sorry."
"You're saying it like you had one job," Carl spat.
"It is our job," the man replied, his tone now firm as iron. "We are the Sky Legion. Each of us carries the soul of a beast who rules the skies. We use that power to hunt demons. And we saw you fight. Purple flames—the mark of the Phoenix."
Carl shook his head. "I said I don't know what you're talking about."
In a blur, the man's hand shot forward and gripped Carl's collar. The cloth tore with a harsh rip, exposing Carl's chest.
Carl froze. Just above his heart, faint but undeniable, shimmered the outline of a long, elegant feather—deep violet, glowing faintly as though lit from beneath his skin.
"That is the Phoenix's soul," the man said. "You accepted its power. Now it's part of you."
Carl's mouth went dry. "How… how did it get there?"
Before the leader could answer, one of the other cloaked figures spoke, his voice like a blade. "Where's the boy? The one who survived?"
Carl's head snapped toward him. "Court? He's in my house. Why—"
"You fool," the leader snapped. "You killed a member of the Abyssal Scale Clan. They won't let your bloodline walk free."
Carl didn't wait to hear more. He ran, boots hammering the road, his pulse a drum in his ears. The Sky Legion followed, shadows flickering in his periphery.
The house came into view, and his stomach dropped—the door hung open.
Inside, the air hit him first: the reek of rotting fish left in stagnant water for weeks. Shadows moved inside.
A scaled, fish-faced demon stood in the center of the room, Court limp in its arms.
"COURT!" Carl's voice ripped from his throat like a roar.
The demon's head jerked toward him. Its black, pit-like eyes gleamed. Without a word, it lunged for the window, the glass shattering outward in a rain of shards.
Carl didn't think. He vaulted after it, the cold air slicing past his face. Around them, the street erupted in screams.
"A demon!"
"Get inside!"
The creature spun mid-run, claws slashing the air. A spear of water shot toward Carl, hissing where it struck the cobblestone, leaving smoking pits in the stone.
Carl dove aside, rolling to his feet. The Sky Legion dropped in behind him, their formation cutting off the surrounding streets like a living wall.
"Evacuate the area!" one of them barked to the onlookers.
The demon snarled, retreating into an alley. Legion members flanked it, blocking both ends. Its eyes darted wildly before it dropped to its knees, pressing clawed hands to the ground.
The cobblestones rippled beneath it, melting into thick, swirling black water.
"It's going under!" a Legion soldier shouted.
Carl's chest clenched. No. Not again. Purple flames exploded across his skin, scorching the air. He charged, pulling his fist back, then slammed it forward with every ounce of rage in his body.
The blow landed with a burst of light and heat—the demon's right arm evaporated into steam and ash. It shrieked, the sound stabbing the air, but still it sank into the water—dragging Court down with it.
The puddle hissed once, then vanished.
Nothing remained.
Carl staggered forward, chest heaving, until his eyes locked on the Legion leader. He seized his collar in both fists.
"You hunt demons, right? Then find my brother."
The leader's gaze was steady, unreadable. "We will. On one condition."
Carl's grip tightened. "What?"
"You join us."
The words hit like a hammer. Join them? The people who arrived too late? Who let the first demon reach them in the first place?
But Court was gone. And the trail was already cold. These people—these warriors—were his only lead.
Carl's next breath was sharp and heavy. "I'll join."
The leader nodded once. "Then your training begins at dawn."