The hallway was long, narrow, and silent.
The walls were lined with well-framed paintings—old portraits of people smiling with a serenity long gone, landscapes painted with care, echoes of better times. A wide embroidered rug stretched across the entire length of the floor, muffling steps and hiding stories.
The windows at the end let in a pale moonlight that touched the polished wooden floor like liquid silver.
It was a well-kept house, decorated by someone desperate to pretend there was still order. That the past still lived. That the home was still a home.
But something was rotten in the air.Something invisible that trembled beneath the surface.
Rael could feel it.
He stood in the middle of the corridor, with Lyara behind him, pressed against the wall, still trembling. Her wide eyes, now in shock, watched the man before them—the monster of the house—standing in the doorway like a beast waiting to pounce.
The lamp above swayed gently, casting dancing shadows along the wall.
And there, the mayor stared at him.
His clothes were disheveled, damp with sweat, his face flushed with drink. His unkempt beard quivered with uneven breath. The axe was still in his right hand, rising and falling in a slow tic of anxiety—or madness.
Rael remained motionless.Expression neutral. But his eyes were sharp.
Man and beast.Both on the edge of the leap.
The air between them was thick, as if time itself held its breath. A heavy silence crept along the decorated walls, the still curtains. The portraits seemed to watch them—eternal and helpless.
Then, the mayor grunted.
"Who… are you?"
"My name doesn't matter," Rael replied, unmoving. His voice was low. Steady. Sharp as the blade he hadn't yet drawn. "What were you going to do to her, you monster?"
The axe in the mayor's hand wavered, as if it had grown heavier with the question. His chest rose and fell with restrained—or entirely unrestrained—rage. His eyes were bloodshot, and sweat trickled down his forehead like fever.
"This is all…" he muttered, voice hoarse, ragged, "…all her fault. It's her fault!"
Rael took a step forward, shoulders squared, face dark beneath the lamplight.
"You're losing your mind. What did she ever do wrong?"
"She exists!" the mayor shouted, and the cry echoed along the walls like the roar of a wounded animal. "She exists! And that's more than enough!"
Then he charged.
With the axe raised in a wide arc, screaming like a wild bull.
But Rael and Lyara were no longer there.
He moved aside with a sharp shift, body almost gliding through the narrow hallway. The mayor's strike, blind with fury, sliced through the air and crashed into the wall.
The impact was brutal.
Wood cracked with a sharp snap, the nearest painting fell from its nail and shattered on the floor. Splinters of the frame flew like shrapnel, and an irregular hole tore through the carefully arranged gallery.
Rael spun on his heels and faced him again, now standing between Lyara and the beast, always shielding her.
The mayor raised his head. Redder. More breathless. More furious.
He tore the axe free from the wall with an animalistic grunt. Bits of wood and aged paint dropped to the floor like the blood of a wounded house.
He charged again.
Big, heavy—a monster made of hatred, wine, and flesh. Each step made the floor groan, and the axe cut through the air like it meant to split the world apart.
Rael danced between the strikes.
Quick. Precise. His golden eyes fixed not on the blade, but the movement of the man's shoulders. He moved like a warrior who had fought a thousand battles—and survived them all.
The axe came from the side—Rael spun beneath it.Came down in an arc—he leapt back.A cross swing scraped the wall and nearly struck Lyara—but Rael moved in with a series of swift kicks.
One to the chest.Another to the leg.A final, violent blow to the gut.
The mayor staggered. Coughed. But did not fall.
"YOU WON'T TAKE HER FROM ME!" he screamed, spitting through clenched teeth.
And then, he raised the axe with both hands.
The blow came down with force enough to split stone.
Rael drew his sword.
Steel flashed under the faint hallway light, and the clash was deafening—iron against iron, sending a burst of sparks and a shockwave that rang through the entire house.
Rael held his blade firm, but his feet skidded across the wooden floor. The blow was heavy. Brutal.
That strength was not natural.
Behind him, Lyara wept. The sound of steel and wood still echoed along the walls when she stepped forward.
"P-please!" her voice cracked—thin, desperate. "Stop! Please, both of you, stop!"
Rael looked at her—breath heaving, eyes still fierce.
"Get out of here, Lyara." His voice was low, grave, dangerous. "Now."
She hesitated.
"But I—"
"GO!" Rael shouted, without taking his eyes off the mayor.
The man charged again, snorting like a chained beast.
But Rael was no longer just a wounded prince.No longer a fugitive.
Lyara's body trembled—not from fear, but from something more complex.More painful.A cruel confusion of sorrow, compassion, and memory.
The mayor's face was twisted. Red, soaked in sweat, eyes bulging with fury. His mouth wide in a growl that no longer sounded human.And yet, Lyara still saw someone there.
He cared for me. He gave me shelter. Even if it was with hate. He's my father's brother.
And still, she looked at Rael.That firm figure, breathless, sword still in hand—and in his eyes, a shadow of guilt.
And he's protecting me. Without even knowing me.
"Stop…" she whispered, breathless. "Please… both of you, stop."
She stepped forward.
Rael turned slightly, surprised by her courage.
"Lyara—"
"Don't hurt each other! I beg you…!"
And then, she stepped between them.
In a clumsy, desperate motion, the mayor roared and swung the other arm—the one holding the wine bottle.
A dull crack.
The glass struck the side of Lyara's head, and the impact was brutal and cruel.
She collapsed with a pained gasp.
The bottle fell soon after, spinning across the floor, trailing a dark streak of wine.
Rael looked to her—and saw her fallen, injured.The cloth on her face now stained with fresh blood.
"Damn it!"
Rael rushed toward her, fingers already checking her pulse, her breath—any sign of life in that fragile body.
"Lyara…" his voice was hoarse, breaking. "You're going to be okay. I'm getting you out of here."
His eyes locked on the wound at the side of her head. Blood slid slowly, mingling with her golden hair.
Her breathing was faint. But it was there. She had passed out—yet still fought unconsciousness with soft, pained moans.
Rael touched her with all the gentleness a warrior could gather.He was ready to lift her into his arms and leave that place, no matter the cost.
But behind him, the monster's voice returned—rough and cold like rusted steel:
"Leave her."
Rael turned over his shoulder, eyes blazing at the mayor.
"She's always known how to survive," the man slurred, swaying. The axe still in one hand. The bloodied bottle now on the floor. "You have no right. She doesn't need you.She doesn't need anyone."
Then the man reached out—and grabbed one of the lanterns hanging from the wall.One of the many that lit the hallway of the house.
The house was old.
The walls were draped in tapestries, embroidered velvet. Thick, heavy curtains of aged fabric hung over windows and doors. The floor—well-polished wood—creaked beneath any weight.But it was dry.Dry as straw.
And beneath the embroidered rug, fine sawdust had been scattered for insulation against the cold.
Oil from the lantern dripped between the mayor's trembling fingers.
"You'll burn with her… if you insist."
And he threw the lamp.
It spun through the air—like a comet of glass and fire.
Rael instinctively curled over Lyara, shielding her with his body.
The lantern exploded to the side—it didn't strike them directly, but the spilled oil spread across part of the rug.
Flames licked the embroidered fabric. The fire was born small, but alive.
Within seconds, the edges of the carpet began to crackle. The dry wood beneath drank in the heat as if it had been waiting for it.
Nearby curtains fluttered with the heat and began to darken.
The sound of the fire felt distant. The heat began to bite at Rael's skin.But he didn't move.
Lyara was breathing.
His heart pounded in his chest, as if it were trying to escape.The smell of burning oil, cracking wood, smoke gathering at the ceiling—it all blended into the tension tearing his nerves apart.
His eyes scanned the surroundings:The burning tapestries.Curtains flickering like specters.The hallway becoming a tunnel of flame—a living trap.
"You remind me of someone, boy," the mayor said, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "The way you speak, the way you hold that sword… you remind me of him. That damned man. The one to blame for all of this…"
The fire roared along the walls. The house cried out with cracks and groans.And in the middle of it, Rael held the girl like one protects the last flower in a burning field.
And then—The scream.
"CRONOOOOS!" roared the mayor, voice twisted by rage, by alcohol, by the flames consuming the world around him.
He came.
Like a final beast.A titan of flesh, sweat, and madness.The axe raised, his shadow dancing across the walls like the reflection of a nightmare.He came as if to strike the final blow.The end of everything.
Rael looked up.
And time began to move again.