Children peeked out from behind barrels, their faces bright with hope.
Not far off, two city watch officers pushed through the gathering. The crowd parted respectfully for them.
The taller officer, Sergeant Halden, surveyed the scene with sharp, careful eyes. The shorter one walked alongside a woman cloaked in deep blue robes.
The robed woman moved with quiet authority, and her presence immediately stilled the chatter.
"Keep back," Sergeant Halden ordered. "This is an active investigation."
The crowd hesitated, then fell silent.
The mage beside Halden stepped forward, pale fingers weaving invisible patterns in the air.
"Lady Miralys," Halden greeted with respect.
She nodded once, eyes narrowing as she examined the bodies.
"These shadows... they're unusual," she murmured.
Halden frowned. "What do you mean?"
Miralys knelt beside one of the fallen men, her slender hand tracing over a dark bruise.
"These aren't normal wounds," she said quietly. "The shadows... they seem almost alive."
Halden's expression darkened. "Living shadows? is this shadow magic?"
Miralys nodded. "This was no simple street fight."
Halden glanced toward the watching crowd. "Any witnesses?"
Murmurs rose, but no one stepped forward.
Miralys stood, eyes scanning the narrow alley as if searching for something unseen.
"Whoever did this wields power far beyond common criminals."
Halden grunted. "If magic was involved, we need to find the culprit fast. The Magistrate expects results."
Miralys turned to the crowd. "No one touches anything. This area will be sealed for further study."
Halden nodded and began taking notes.
-
Somewhere far from the city, a small, old house stood under the shadows of crooked trees. Its wooden walls were worn and bent from age.
Inside, the air was heavy. It smelled like flowers—jasmine, maybe—but there was also something burnt beneath it.
A green lantern sat on a cracked table, glowing softly and casting strange shapes on the walls.
Cal lay on a straw mat, breathing slowly and weakly. His chest was wrapped in fresh bandages, but some blood still showed through. He held Serna's pendant tightly in his hand, the broken chain digging into his skin.
A woman stood over him. She was alone. Her gray cloak covered most of her, but she moved with quiet grace—smooth and steady, like flowing water.
Under the cloak, a bit of her dress showed. It looked like silk, with silver thread that shimmered in the lantern light.
Her long black hair was held up by a phoenix-shaped pin. In her hand, she carried a thin sword that gave off a faint green glow. It made a soft humming sound, like a heartbeat far away.
Her face was calm and beautiful, but distant. Her dark eyes watched Cal closely. She knelt beside him, and her cloak brushed the floor. She placed a finger on his forehead.
A cool feeling spread through his body, easing the burning pain. His breathing slowly became steady, though he didn't open his eyes.
"You're holding onto life like it's the last thing you have," she said softly. "Why are you trying so hard?"
The sword glowed brighter for a second. She held it tighter, and the light faded. Her eyes moved to the pendant in Cal's hand. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Cal's eyes slowly opened. His vision was blurry. "Who... are you?" he whispered. His throat was dry.
She stood up smoothly, almost like she was floating. "Someone who found you," she said. "That's all you need to know right now."
Cal tried to sit up, but pain shot through his side. He winced. "Where... am I?"
"You're safe," she answered, looking out the small window. "For now."
His head was spinning. "The alley... those guys?... what happened?"
She looked at him again, her expression hard to read. "You tell me. Five men dead. Shadows that moved on their own. And yet, you say you don't remember?"
"I don't," Cal said. His voice cracked. "I didn't do anything. I just... I just wanted to keep her necklace." He gripped the pendant tighter. Serna's face flashed in his mind.
Her eyes stayed on the necklace. "That pendant," she said, her voice calm but sharp. "It means more to you than your own life, doesn't it?"
Cal's chest ached. Serna's smile and her blood-stained dress filled his mind again. "It's all I have left," he said quietly, gripping the pendant tight. "Why do you care?"
The woman gave a small smile—cold and thin. "You ask who I am, but you haven't told me your name yet." Her head tilted slightly, the phoenix pin in her hair catching the green light from the lantern. "Tell me yours first, and maybe I'll share mine."
Cal hesitated. His throat felt dry. Her calm voice and steady gaze made him feel like she could see right through him. "Cal," he said at last. "Cal Weaver."
She repeated it slowly. "Cal Weaver... strange name."
He frowned and pushed himself up a little, wincing at the pain. "You still didn't answer. Who are you? Why did you help me?"
Her small smile came back, but it wasn't friendly. "A fair trade, then. You gave me a name, so I'll give you one in return." She paused, her glowing sword humming softly in the quiet room. "You can call me Cloud… or Wind."
Cal blinked. He didn't speak for a moment.
Then he muttered, "Wait… and my name's the weird one?"