The first green firework bloomed in the sky, a dazzling chrysanthemum of emerald light. The crowd gasped in wonder, their faces upturned, bathed in the glow.
Arthur smiled, watching Erika on the balcony. She looked radiant, a silver star against the dark stone.
Then came the whistle.
It wasn't the joyful shriek of a bottle rocket. It was a low, tearing sound, like the sky itself was being ripped open.
Arthur's smile vanished. The hum in his blood didn't just vibrate; it screamed.
Danger.
"Get down!" Arthur roared, shoving Leo and Maya to the flagstones.
BOOM.
The world turned white.
The "firework" didn't explode in the air. It slammed into the Royal Balcony with the force of a meteor. Stone shattered. The shockwave rippled outward, blowing out every lantern in the plaza and throwing people like ragdolls.
The cheering turned to screaming instantly.
"Erika!" Arthur scrambled up, his ears ringing. Dust choked the air. The balcony where the Queen had stood a second ago was gone—replaced by a gaping, smoking hole.
High above, the clouds parted. The black hull of The Obsidian Gallows descended like a hammer, its cannons glowing with heat.
"Fire at will!" General Vane's amplified voice boomed from the sky, drowning out the screams. "Let's heat things up!"
A volley of incendiary rounds rained down on the city. Buildings exploded. The festive stalls turned into bonfires.
In the chaos of the plaza, Gareth didn't freeze. While the city folk panicked, the old farmer moved with terrifying clarity.
"Jon! Miller!" Gareth shouted over the din, grabbing the blacksmith by his collar. "Get the villagers to the cellars of the grain store! It has stone walls! Go! Now!"
"What about you?" Jon yelled, terrified.
Gareth looked up at the smoking ruin of the Royal Balcony. He gripped his walking stick—not as a cane, but as a weapon.
"I have a promise to keep," Gareth said grimly.
He turned and ran straight into the falling debris.
Up on the terrace, Conrad pulled himself from the rubble. His ceremonial armor was dented, his cape torn, but he was alive. In his arms, shielded by his massive body, was Queen Erika.
She was coughing, her silver dress stained with soot, blood trickling from a cut on her forehead.
"Your Majesty!" Conrad shook her gently. "We must move. The keep is compromised."
Erika blinked, her vision clearing. She looked over the railing. The plaza was a slaughterhouse. People were trampled in the panic. Fires were spreading unchecked.
"The people..." Erika whispered.
"We cannot save them if you fall," Conrad growled, lifting her up. "I am getting you to the bunker."
"No!" Erika shoved against his chestplate. She stumbled back, finding her footing. Her eyes blazed with a fury Conrad had never seen. "I am the Queen! My life means nothing if my kingdom burns! Go down there, Conrad! The people need a shield!"
"I am your shield!" Conrad argued, desperate.
"And I am commanding you!" Erika screamed, pointing at the plaza where a burning tower was about to collapse on a group of children. "Go! Save them! That is an order, Guardian!"
Conrad hesitated. He looked at the chaos. He looked at the girl he had raised. He saw Alaric in her eyes.
"Damn it," Conrad cursed. He drew the Sword of Bellona. "Hide. Stay out of sight. I will return."
He leaped over the railing, dropping fifty feet into the plaza to intercept the falling tower.
Erika turned to run, but she wasn't alone.
"Erika!"
Arthur, Leo, and Maya scrambled over the debris of the garden wall. They were covered in dust, but alive.
"You're alive!" Leo cried, looking ready to faint.
"We have to go," Arthur grabbed her arm. "That thing is lowering landing boats. They're coming for the castle."
"My quarters," Erika gasped, clutching her ribs. "The West Wing. It has reinforced walls and a hidden escape tunnel behind the wardrobe. It's the safest place in the kingdom."
"Lead the way," Arthur said, drawing his steel sword.
They ran through the burning corridors. The castle shook as cannonballs slammed into the outer walls. Paintings fell from the walls; statues toppled. They reached the Queen's Quarters—a lavish suite of blue velvet and gold—and slammed the heavy oak doors, barring them with a heavy iron bolt.
"We made it," Maya wheezed, sliding down the wall. "We're safe."
CRASH.
The reinforced window exploded inward.
Shards of glass flew like daggers. A massive figure stepped through the smoke, brushing glass off his red wyvern-leather coat.
General Vane smiled, his gold teeth glinting in the firelight.
"Safe?" Vane laughed, a deep, cruel sound. "Now, why would you want to be safe when you could be having fun?"
He stepped into the room, his aura filling the space with suffocating pressure. Arthur, Leo, and Maya froze, paralyzed by the sheer malice radiating from the man.
"So this is the Jewel of the North," Vane looked at Erika, licking his lips. He didn't look at her like a soldier looks at an enemy. He looked at her like a starving man looks at a feast. "You're prettier than the pictures. A bit dusty, but I like them feisty."
He took a step forward, his eyes undressing her.
"I think I'll take my prize now," Vane purred. "We have a long flight ahead of us, Your Majesty. Plenty of time to... get to know each other. And when I'm bored of you... well, the drop from the ship is a long one."
"Get away from her!"
Arthur lunged. He didn't think. He just swung his sword with everything he had.
Vane didn't even draw his cutlass. He simply backhanded Arthur.
CRACK.
It was like being hit by a siege ram. Arthur flew across the room, smashing into a vanity table. The wood splintered. Arthur collapsed, gasping for air, his vision swimming.
"Arthur!" Leo and Maya screamed.
"Annoying insects," Vane sneered. He reached for Erika.
THWACK.
A wooden staff slammed into Vane's outstretched wrist. It wasn't a hard blow, but it hit a nerve point with surgical precision. Vane's hand went numb.
"What?" Vane looked down.
Standing between the Pirate General and the Queen was an old man in a dirty tunic. He held a gnarled walking stick in both hands, his stance wide and grounded.
"Uncle?" Arthur wheezed from the floor.
Gareth didn't look back. He was staring at Vane, his eyes cold and deadly focus.
"You are trespassing," Gareth said calmly. "Get out."
Vane blinked. Then he threw his head back and laughed. "A peasant? You send a cripple to fight a General?"
He moved.
It wasn't the movement of an old man. It was a blur. Gareth spun the staff, the wood whistling through the air. He struck Vane's knee, then his solar plexus, then his throat. Crack-thud-crack.
Vane stumbled back, choking.
"Run!" Gareth shouted to the children without breaking his stance. "Get to the tunnel!"
"You little rat!" Vane roared, his face turning purple. The air around him distorted. "Gravity Crush!"
He slammed his hand down.
A wave of purple magical energy crashed onto Gareth. The floorboards shattered. Gareth was forced to his knees, the sheer weight of the spell crushing his bones.
But he didn't fall.
Gareth gritted his teeth, blood trickling from his nose. He planted his staff and pushed back, fighting the magic with pure physical will.
"I... will not... yield!" Gareth snarled.
He lunged forward, thrusting the staff like a spear. It struck Vane in the chest, pushing the massive General back a step.
Vane looked at the bruise on his chest. Then he looked at Gareth. The amusement was gone.
"Not bad for a fossil," Vane muttered.
He drew his cutlass. The blade was serrated, glowing with dark energy.
"But I'm bored now."
Vane moved. He was faster than Gareth. Faster than sight.
SHINNK.
The sound was wet and terrible.
Arthur's scream tore his throat raw. "NO!"
Gareth stood still. The serrated blade was buried to the hilt in his chest.
The old man looked down at the steel protruding from his heart. He looked up at Vane, then past him, to Arthur.
Vane yanked the blade free.
Gareth collapsed.
"Uncle!" Arthur scrambled across the floor, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He caught Gareth before his head hit the ground.
Blood was everywhere. It soaked Arthur's hands, warm and sticky.
"Uncle Gareth," Arthur sobbed, pressing his hands to the wound. "Hold on. Please. We'll get a healer. Maya! Help him!"
Gareth coughed, blood bubbling past his lips. His eyes were dimming, but they locked onto Arthur's face.
"Arthur," Gareth whispered. His hand, shaking violently, reached up to touch Arthur's cheek. "I... I was wrong."
"Don't talk," Arthur cried. "Just breathe."
"I tried to hide you," Gareth wheezed. "To keep you small. But... the world is too big. You have strength, Arthur. Strength no one else has."
"I don't want strength!" Arthur screamed. "I just want you!"
"Use it," Gareth's voice was a ghost of a whisper now. "Not for glory. For... them."
His hand slipped from Arthur's cheek. His eyes drifted to Leo and Maya, huddled in the corner, and then to Erika.
"Protect..."
Gareth let out a long, rattling breath. And then he was still.
Arthur stared at the face of the man who had raised him. The man who had carved him wooden toys. The man who had sold his life savings to save his friends.
Dead.
Something inside Arthur broke.
It wasn't a snap. It was an explosion. The hum in his blood, which had always been a background noise, suddenly roared like a furnace. The grief evaporated, replaced by a white-hot, blinding rage.
Arthur stood up.
He didn't pick up his sword. He turned to Vane.
Vane was wiping Gareth's blood off his coat, looking annoyed. "Messy. I hate getting peasant blood on wyvern leather."
"You," Arthur said.
The voice didn't sound like Arthur. It sounded like grinding stones.
Vane looked up. "Oh? The puppy wants to play too?"
Arthur screamed—a primal, animalistic sound—and charged.
He didn't have a weapon. He didn't have magic. He just had hate.
He slammed into Vane, tackling the massive General into the wall. The impact cracked the stone. Vane's eyes widened in genuine surprise. This boy... his physical strength was monstrous.
Arthur punched him. Again. And again. His fists slammed into Vane's face with enough force to dent iron.
"Die! Die! Die!" Arthur roared.
Vane grunted, taking a hit to the jaw that actually rocked him. He shoved Arthur off, sending the boy skidding across the room.
"Impressive!" Vane wiped blood from his lip. He looked at Arthur with a twisted grin. "You have the strength of a giant, boy. No magic, just muscle? I've never seen a human hit that hard."
Vane sheathed his sword. He opened his arms.
"Join me," Vane offered. "Forget these weaklings. With that strength, you could be a Captain in my fleet. We could rule the skies. What do you say?"
"I say," Arthur spat blood, "go to hell."
He charged again.
Vane sighed. "Pity."
He raised his hand. "Gravity Hammer."
BAM.
Arthur was slammed into the floor by an invisible force. It felt like a mountain had been dropped on him. His bones creaked. He tried to push up, tried to fight, but he couldn't move.
Vane walked over and kicked Arthur in the ribs. Arthur groaned, rolling onto his back, helpless.
"You have potential, boy," Vane said, grabbing Erika by her hair and dragging her screaming toward the broken window. "But potential isn't everything."
"Arthur!" Erika screamed, reaching for him.
"Let her go!" Arthur choked out, reaching a trembling hand toward them.
Vane laughed. He stepped onto the ledge of the window, a magical platform from his ship floating down to meet him.
"Goodbye, hero," Vane mocked.
He jumped onto the platform, dragging the Queen into the smoke-filled sky.
Arthur lay on the floor, broken, bleeding, and alone next to his dead uncle. He watched the ship rise. He listened to Leo and Maya sobbing.
And as the darkness took his vision, he realized one terrible truth.
He wasn't strong enough.