The atmosphere shifted from inky black to a heavy, oppressive gray as rain-laden clouds swallowed the sky. Without warning, birds began to plummet from the heavens—nosediving lifeless to the ground in a silent, feathered downpour. A single thunderclap shattered the night, its roar echoing through Godfall like the fury of forgotten gods. Blinding white light flashed, searing every eye in the yard.
When vision returned and the dust settled, a lone figure stood in the center of the chaos, cradling a child in his arms.
Sango had arrived, face carved from rage, holding Tayo close.
"Sango, why?" Captain Rosewalt's voice cut through the stunned silence. He stared directly at the man made by flame. "You shouldn't involve yourself in something like this."
Sango gave no answer. He stood unmoving, fierce as an ancient tree rooted deep against a storm, untouched by the glares of the townspeople or the lieutenant's venom.
Nearby, Bachi struggled to his feet. The curse had lifted; blood streamed from his split lip and brow. He swayed, legs buckling beneath him, but before he could collapse, Sango's free arm shot out and caught him. Now Sango held both boys—one in each arm—like a guardian forged from wrath itself.
His gaze fixed on Lieutenant Damascus, eyes burning with a promise of ruin.
*Those are the eyes that kill,* Rosewalt thought, heart hammering. *I have to defuse this before he razes the entire town.*
"Sango," the captain said, stepping closer, palms open in supplication. "Take the kids and go. You've done enough. Please—don't do anything we'll all regret."
When Sango remained silent, Rosewalt pressed on, voice low and earnest. "If you need to unleash that anger, take it out on me. Not this town. Not its people."
Sango's gaze softened a fraction. "No one here is going to die tonight, Rosewalt," he said at last, calm but edged with iron. "But you should start thinking about finding yourself a new lieutenant."
"Sango, please—don't be rash." Rosewalt's face was etched with genuine concern. "It's not entirely his fault. He was raised in the same poisoned system as the rest of us. His eyes are open… he just refuses to see."
Damascus barked a laugh, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Look at this—the man made by flame himself, and not a single soul runs. Godfall's people do love standing their ground when something offends their precious ideology."
He sneered up at Sango, unafraid or too proud to show it. "At first I thought the stories were exaggerated. But now that I see you in the flesh… I know the Namaka incident was true."
The name struck like a spark on dry tinder.
Sango's skin flushed crimson, heat rippling off him in waves, as though his very blood had begun to boil.
"Who do you think you are to speak to me?" he growled. The ground answered—trembling violently, cracks spider-webbing outward from where he stood.
Then a small, quiet voice reached his ears alone.
"Sango… that world of yours isn't actually bad."
Tayo's words, barely a whisper, cut through the inferno.
The shaking stopped instantly. The red alora from Sango's skin. His eyes, moments ago twin furnaces, softened into something almost redeemed.
Beneath Lieutenant Damascus, the earth softened without sound. Solid ground turned to thick, sucking mud. He sank—first to the ankles, then the knees—eyes widening in shock.
"I'm not finished," he snarled, struggling upward. "The kid's right in front of me—I can still—"
Mud surged higher, coiling like living tentacles. It sealed his mouth, bound his reaching arms, and dragged him inexorably downward. His muffled screams faded as the earth closed over him, swallowing him whole into silent darkness.
The yard stood frozen—torches flickering, rain beginning to fall in cold, heavy drops.
No one moved.
No one dared breathe.