Ashvale burned behind them.
Not by the wrath of the gods—Zeus did not need to torch an entire village to kill one mortal. That fire had been set by Cain's mother herself.
Elara knelt before their thatched home, a burning pine branch in her hand, watching flames lick at the dry roof. Her face flickered in and out of the firelight, tears evaporating before they could fall. Beside her stood Cain and Lyra, each carrying a coarse cloth bag containing a few pieces of black bread, a waterskin, and the ancient silver coin Aldric had left behind.
"Mother, why are you burning the house?" Lyra asked, her voice trembling.
Elara did not answer. She tossed the branch into the flames, stood, took both children by the hands, and led them toward the path behind the village.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice was hoarse, scraped raw like sandpaper against wood. "Because they will come searching. The oracle was not fulfilled. They will not stop. If the house is burned, they will find no trace of us."
Cain ran in silence beside his mother. His feet crunched over gravel and dry twigs. The night wind carried the smell of burning wood from behind—and something else.
The smell of blood.
Not from the fire. From ahead.
Elara stopped abruptly and shoved both children behind her. Three silhouettes emerged from the trees at the end of the path. Moonlight revealed their white robes—not pure white, but a dirty gray stained with blood and mud. Their eyes glowed faintly in the dark, like three wolves who had locked onto prey.
Godservants.
"Elara, widow," the lead Godservant said. His voice was flat, like someone reading a grocery list. "Wife of Aldric. Two children. His Majesty the King of Gods has decreed: the family that defied the oracle shall be erased."
Elara stepped back, her hand searching at her side. Cain saw it—a short knife tucked into her belt. The same knife his father had used to skin game.
"Lyra, take your brother and run," she said quietly. Her voice had suddenly gone calm.
"Mother—"
"Run!"
Elara shoved Lyra and lunged at the lead Godservant with the knife.
She was not a warrior. She was a farmer's wife who had never killed anything larger than a chicken in her life. But the way she charged looked like a she-wolf backed into a corner—jaws clenched, eyes void of fear, filled instead with a terrible, bone-chilling resolve.
The short blade sank into the first Godservant's stomach.
It was real. Cain saw it with his own eyes—the blade disappearing into the white robe, blood dripping down the hilt. But the Godservant did not even look down. He reached out, grabbed Elara by the throat, and lifted her off the ground like a chicken.
"Mortals," he said, pity in his voice. "Your flesh is so fragile."
The other two Godservants had already circled around the mother and were walking toward Cain and Lyra. Their steps were unhurried. Leisurely, even.
Lyra screamed. She grabbed Cain's hand and ran backward, dragging him along. Cain stumbled after her, but he kept looking back.
He saw his mother slammed to the ground. He saw the knife fly from her hand and disappear into the grass. He saw her scramble up and lunge again, wrapping her arms around one Godservant's leg, holding on with everything she had.
"Run!" she shrieked. "Cain—run!"
A flash of white light.
Cain did not see what it was. A sword, maybe. Some divine spell. Maybe the Godservant had just waved his hand. He only saw his mother's body fly backward like a broken marionette, crash into a tree trunk, and slide down, leaving a dark red smear on the bark.
She did not move again.
Cain stopped.
Lyra was still tugging at his hand, screaming something, but he could not hear her anymore. He stood there, frozen, staring at his mother's body crumpled at the base of the tree. Moonlight fell on her face. Her eyes were open, gazing at the sky. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.
Her expression was peaceful.
Exactly like her husband's before he died.
"Cain!" Lyra shrieked, yanking his arm. "Go!"
He finally moved. Not because he wanted to run. Because Lyra's screams cut through the fog that had settled over his mind. He turned and followed his sister into the trees. Branches whipped his face. Thorns sliced his calves. He felt nothing.
Behind them, the Godservants laughed.
Unhurried.
No rush. How far could two mortal children run?
The forest grew denser. Moonlight fractured into fragments through the canopy.
Lyra ran ahead, gasping for air, her lungs on fire. Cain stayed behind her, his stride steadier—not because he was less tired, but because his body had gone numb.
They crossed a dry creek bed, scrambled up a dirt slope, and slid into a fern-choked gully. Lyra finally gave out. Her knees buckled and she collapsed face-first into the rotting leaves, her shoulders heaving.
Cain crouched beside her and helped her up. Lyra's face was smeared with dirt, tears, and snot. Her lips were purple. Her eyes were bloodshot.
"Are they still coming?" she whispered.
Cain looked back.
In the darkness, he saw light.
Not moonlight. That faint, white, phosphorescent glow—the light of Godservants. Two hundred paces away. And closing.
"Still coming," he said.
Lyra closed her eyes. Fresh tears squeezed from the corners. "We're not going to make it."
Cain said nothing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ancient silver coin, gripping it in his palm. The only thing his father had left behind. The edges of the coin were carved with symbols he could not read, and in the moonlight, it seemed to grow warm against his skin.
He was not going to die here.
Not because he was afraid of death. Because he still had things to do.
"Lyra, run east," he said, his voice eerily calm for a ten-year-old. "There's a river to the east. Cross it, and on the other side is Ironwood Forest. The Godservants don't know those woods."
"What about you?"
"I'm running west."
Lyra's eyes went wide. "You're crazy! There are two of them—"
"They'll chase me," Cain cut her off. "I'll make noise. They'll think we both went west. You cross the river while they're following me."
"No, I can't—"
"Sister."
He called her sister. Not Lyra. Never Lyra.
Lyra's voice caught in her throat.
"You live for both of us," Cain said. "Go."
He stood and turned west. He took three steps, then stopped. Without turning around, he spoke to her over his shoulder:
"Don't die."
Then he ran.
He ran hard. He snapped branches on purpose. Kicked stones. Breathed as loud as he could. Behind him, the white lights wavered—then moved. Toward him.
Both lights moved toward him.
Cain cursed under his breath. He had hoped at least one would go after Lyra. But the Godservants probably figured that two children together—catch the slower one, and the faster one would talk.
Fine. Lyra was safe.
He ran faster.
The forest turned into a moving wall of darkness. Cain could barely see. He ran on instinct. His feet sank into mud pits, splashing filth up his legs. A horizontal branch slashed across his left cheek. Skin split open. Warm blood ran down his face and dripped onto his collar.
He did not slow down.
The white lights were closing.
He could hear the Godservants' footsteps now—no, not footsteps. Their feet made almost no sound. What he heard was the rustle of their robes against brush, like snakes slithering through grass.
And their voices.
"Boy, you can't outrun us. Stop now, and we'll give you a quick death."
Cain clenched his jaw and pushed harder.
A steep slope loomed ahead—almost vertical, dropping into a ravine of loose rocks. He didn't have time to think. He jumped.
His body hung weightless for a moment, then slammed onto the碎石. His left shoulder hit first. A dull crack. Pain exploded from his shoulder and spread down his entire arm. He rolled twice, crashed into a boulder, and stopped.
His left arm was useless. Dislocated. Maybe broken.
He pushed himself up with his right hand and kept running.
White light spilled over the rim of the slope above.
"This boy is interesting," one Godservant said.
"Cat and mouse," said another.
They sounded like they were enjoying a show.
Cain ran deeper into the ravine. Moss-covered stone walls rose on both sides. The path narrowed. His breathing turned into the rasp of a broken bellows. His lungs felt like they were stuffed with shattered glass. The blood on his left cheek had dried, but fresh blood still seeped from the edges of the wound.
No path ahead.
A three-meter stone wall blocked his way—smooth, damp, no handholds.
Cain stopped. Turned around.
Two Godservants emerged from the narrow passage, one behind the other. They carried no weapons, but their fingers glowed with faint white light in the darkness. Those fingers could cut through steel.
"It's over, boy," the lead Godservant said.
Cain leaned against the stone wall and slowly slid down until he was sitting. He was too tired. Too much pain. His body had no strength left to stand. But he did not close his eyes.
He stared at the Godservants. His amber eyes burned like two flames in the dark.
"Your father was a fool," the Godservant said. "Defying an oracle. He died for nothing. So will you."
Cain did not answer.
His right hand went into his pocket and found the ancient silver coin. The symbols carved on its edge seemed to pulse faintly against his fingertips.
He didn't know why he was holding it. Maybe just to have something of his father's before he died.
"Let me," said the Godservant in the back. He stepped forward, raised his right hand. White light coalesced at his fingertips, forming the shape of a blade.
And in that moment—
A black arrow flew out of the darkness and pierced the Godservant's throat.
No flash of light. No warning. Just an arrow, silent and precise, like the finger of Death itself. A hole appeared in the Godservant's throat. White light leaked out of it like air from a punctured lung. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened and made a "gack" sound. Then he pitched forward and hit the ground.
The other Godservant spun around, hands raised.
The second arrow was already in his chest.
He looked down at the shaft protruding from his sternum. His expression was not pain. It was confusion—as if he could not understand how a mortal could possibly harm a servant of the gods.
Then he fell too.
Cain sat against the stone wall, staring blankly at the two bodies. His brain had not yet processed what had just happened.
Footsteps emerged from the darkness.
A figure walked into the ravine. A tall man in a dark gray cloak, the hood pulled low over his face. In his hands, a black longbow, its string still vibrating.
He walked up to Cain, crouched down, and pushed back his hood.
Cain saw a weathered face. Fifty years old, maybe. Gray-streaked beard. Deep-set eyes the color of gray-blue ice. Those eyes were cold—but not like a Godservant's cold. A Godservant's cold was the aloofness of something that looked down on you. This man's cold was the stillness of someone who had seen too much death.
"You're Aldric's son," the man said. It was not a question.
Cain nodded.
The man looked at the gash on Cain's left cheek, at his useless left arm, at his clothes caked with mud and blood. Then he looked into Cain's eyes.
"Your sister ran east. My people found her. She's safe."
Cain's breath loosened by a fraction.
"Your father owed me a life," the man said, his voice low. "Fifteen years ago, in Ironwood Forest. He was surrounded by Godservants. I saved him. And he said something to me that day—'Marcus, one day I'll need you to save my son.'"
Marcus reached out and took Cain's right hand. His hand was huge, rough as old bark.
"I just paid off my debt."
Cain said nothing. His lips were trembling. Not from fear. Not from pain. Something else. Something nameless was expanding inside his chest, pressing against his ribs, threatening to crack him open.
"Your mother is dead," Marcus said. "Your sister is safe for now. Your home is gone."
He paused.
"Do you want to live?"
Cain nodded.
"Do you want to kill gods?"
Cain did not nod. He just looked into Marcus's eyes and swallowed those four words. Chewed them. Swallowed them down.
Marcus stood and pulled Cain to his feet. Cain's left arm dangled at his side, pain flashing black across his vision. He did not make a sound.
"Come with me," Marcus said. "From today, you belong to the Dawnblade."
He turned and walked out of the ravine. Cain followed, limping, dragging his dead arm, but not falling behind.
Behind them, two Godservant bodies lay in the碎石, the light fading from their white robes.
Ahead of them, a line of pale gray appeared on the eastern horizon.
Dawn was coming.