The man nodded weakly. "Y-Yeah… Thank you. Who… who are you?"
She nocked another arrow, eyes scanning the rooftops. "Nobody yet. But this city's filth is getting cleaned up, one corpse at a time."
The couple, still shocked, managed to find their voice.
"Thank you… for saving us. I'll never forget this," the husband said.
Sara waved it off. "It's fine. But you need to leave the capital by morning. High-rank guards might show up looking for them. You don't want to be here when they do."
The wife hesitated, then asked, "Can we do something for you both? Anything?"
Zack stepped forward. "No. It's alright."
Then, turning to Sara, he added, "Let's go. Back to base."
Sara gave a casual nod. "Yeah, let's move."
In the next instant, they both dashed forward, vanishing into the night. With silent steps and gravity-defying movement, they scaled buildings, dashed across rooftops, and leapt over alleys. Their footsteps made no noise—like shadows gliding over the wind.
They finally descended near the upper edge of the capital, slipping down into a narrow, hidden lane. There was an old wooden door tucked between two stone buildings. Zack knocked in a rhythmic pattern. The door creaked open.
They entered.
It was their base—spacious, carved into the underground stone. Candlelight flickered against the walls, illuminating a group of battle-worn, alert individuals. Everyone inside was armed, experienced, and gave off the unmistakable air of people used to operating outside the law.
As Sara and Zack stepped in, the whole place perked up.
"Yo! They're back!"
"How'd it go?"
"Any trouble out there?"
Sara raised two fingers and grinned. "Survey complete. Three guards eliminated. They were harassing a family."
"Damn right," one man said with a grin. "Three kills? Good haul."
Another added, "Finally some action tonight."
The mood in the room was casual—like killing guards was just part of the routine. No remorse. No hesitation.
Sara slung her bow over her shoulder and smirked. "They don't pay attention anymore. This capital's rotting from the inside."
Zack nodded silently, arms crossed.
Everyone was chatting and laughing about the recent success of their mission when suddenly, a deep, rough voice echoed through the room.
"So… you both came back, huh?"
In an instant, the entire room fell silent. Everyone stood up straight with respect—even the most rebellious ones. Sara and Zack, too, immediately straightened their backs.
An old man slowly walked in. He looked fragile—his back slightly hunched, his steps heavy—but the aura he carried made even seasoned warriors hold their breath. A worn sword rested at his waist, but even in his old age, his presence alone could command the attention of a battlefield. His sharp eyes scanned the room with an intensity that proved why he was still the chief.
"Good work, Sara. Good work, Zack," the old man said, settling down on a worn chair. His voice softened, and he gestured to everyone.
"All of you, relax. Sit. Everything is fine."
The tension in the room melted as the group sat back down, resuming their chatter. Zack wandered over to join a small group of friends, blending back into the crowd.
Sara, however, remained standing for a while, lost in thought, wondering about their next move.
"Hey, Sara," the old man called again.
"Yes, Chief?" she answered and walked toward him.
He leaned back in his chair, his hands resting over the hilt of his sword. He looked her in the eye.
"I don't think I have much time left. So, tell me—who do you think should be the next chief after me?"
Sara's eyes widened. "Chief, what are you saying? You can't talk like that."
She clenched her fists, voice slightly shaking but determined.
"We still have to bring justice to this rotten capital. We need you for that. Don't say things like that. We need you alive… for that day."
The old man chuckled softly.
"Haha… young Sara… it's not so easy. That hero, Kael—he's on the nobles' side. None of us can match him right now."
Sara stepped forward and looked directly at him.
"No… we will. I believe in my comrades. I believe in myself. And I believe in you. So please… don't say goodbye yet."
The chief smiled with a warmth that softened his scarred features.
"Hah… Zack said the exact same thing, you know?"
Sara blinked. "Wait… you asked him first?! That's not fair!"
"Waaahh, don't get mad, I was just testing you both!" the old man grinned in a mock panic, raising his hands.
Sara crossed her arms, puffing her cheeks in exaggerated frustration.
"Hmph. Typical old man."
The room chuckled at their playful exchange, the warmth of their bond spreading through the base like a rare moment of peace in their rebel lives.
"In a world drowned by corruption, even broken wings can stir a storm—as long as they still believe they can fly said by chief in his thoughts.''
The towering silhouette of the capital's castle loomed under the shrouded night, a symbol of power corrupted by filth.
Inside one of the many lavish rooms, behind a heavy oak door, came the dull rhythm of footsteps—tap... tap... pup...—followed by the sound of heavy breathing. The dim candlelight flickered against the walls, casting warped shadows across silk sheets tangled in disarray.
A man buttoned the last of his embroidered coat with a smug grin stretching across his face. His features were sharp, elegant, and twisted by a smug arrogance. His golden hair was neatly slicked back, and a silver crest adorned his collar—the insignia of House Blackwood. His name was Silas Blackwood, the third noble of the capital, a man feared by many, protected by more.
He glanced back at the bed with mocking satisfaction.
"Ah… you never disappoint, Niya. No matter how many times," he said, voice casual, like he had just returned from a pleasant meal.
Lying on the disheveled bed, barely covered, was a woman with dull, unfocused eyes. Her once radiant silver hair clung to her face, and her pale skin, marred by exhaustion and shame, told a story of survival, not living. She didn't respond—just lay there, silent, eyes staring at the ceiling as if waiting for time to pass faster.
"That's my work, Lord Silas Blackwood," she whispered hollowly.
Silas smirked. "Good. Remember your place."
He turned and walked out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.