Eren didn't see the first flame. He smelled it, burning thatch, sharp and bitter, curling through the night like a warning whispered too late.
By the time he stumbled out of the cottage, the village was already screaming.
Children ran barefoot through smoke. Mothers cried names into the dark. Men fought with pitchforks, hopeless against armored soldiers who set fire to roofs like they were lighting candles.
Eren's heart pounded, useless. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't anyone.
Until he saw his mother fall.
Until the soldier raised his blade.
Until everything snapped.
The scream tore out of him, wordless, broken, not his voice at all, and the air around him shattered.
A shockwave burst from his chest like a second heartbeat, rippling with light. Fire roared, not the soldiers' fire, but something deeper, older. Magic.
It tore through the attackers. The ground cracked. The sky pulsed.
And then silence.
Eren stood in the ruins, trembling, surrounded by ash and bodies.
He didn't understand what he'd done.
He only knew one thing: he had to run.
——-
The forest didn't care that Eren's world had ended.
It was quiet here. Too quiet. Every snapped twig made his pulse jump. His breath misted in the cold, shallow and fast. He hadn't slept since the fire. He hadn't stopped running.
And still, he could feel it. The thing inside him. Magic, if that's what it was. Still burning. Still waiting.
When the blade pressed against his throat, he didn't even flinch.
"Easy," a voice murmured behind him. "You twitch, you bleed."
It was a girl's voice, low, amused, with the kind of calm that only comes from living too long in danger. A moment later, she stepped into view. Brown leather coat, too many belts, eyes like stormclouds. And a grin that said she already regretted saving his life.
"You're not a soldier," she said, looking him over like a coin she wasn't sure was worth stealing.
"I'm not anything," Eren said.
The knife lowered. "That so?" She tilted her head. "Because back in Briarfield, something exploded like the gods were arguing. Magic, they say. Ancient. Wild. Spellbound kind of wild."
He didn't answer.
She sighed. "Right. You're just a scared boy in burned clothes with eyes that glow when you're upset. Totally normal."
"Who are you?"
"Lyra," she said. "I steal things. Mostly from people who deserve it. Sometimes from people who don't."
"And why are you helping me?"
"I haven't decided yet."
She started walking. After a moment, Eren followed.
Behind them, the forest swallowed the silence. Ahead, the path forked —— and the world waited.
——
Miri didn't open the door when they knocked.
She rarely did. The world outside brought nothing but trouble.
"Please," Eren called, his voice hoarse. "We just need a healer. That's all."
Inside the small stone cottage, Miri stared at the fire. Let it be someone else, she thought. Let them find someone else. She'd spent years burying the parts of herself that once tried to help. And for what? More graves?
A louder knock. Then Lyra's voice—sharp, impatient. "He's burning up. Fever's bad. We don't have time for you to pretend you're just an apothecary."
Miri closed her eyes. Damn them both.
When she opened the door, Eren was slumped against the wall, sweat on his brow, shaking. Lyra stood beside him, arms crossed, stubborn and scared.
"Inside," Miri muttered. "Before I change my mind."
She worked in silence. Cloth, herbs, whispered prayers she didn't believe in anymore. Eren flinched in his sleep. Magic bled from his skin like heat from coals. Old magic. Dangerous magic.
"You should take him far from here," she said, not looking at Lyra. "The king's men will come. He's marked."
Lyra nodded. "We know."
Miri didn't ask why they were helping him. She already knew the answer. Because sometimes, despite everything, you still try.
When Eren woke, his voice was barely a whisper. "Thank you."
"I didn't say I was staying," Miri replied.
But the next morning, her pack was ready.
She hated that she cared.
——
The king's soldiers moved like wolves, silent, fast, relentless. By the time Eren heard the rustle of armor through pine needles, it was already too late to run.
He shoved Miri and Lyra behind the crumbled stone wall of an old shrine, lungs tight, limbs still weak from the fever. His fingers sparked faintly, but the magic was sluggish now, like trying to light a fire with damp wood.
"Don't move," Lyra whispered, dagger clenched in her fist.
Eren tried not to breathe.
The soldiers came into view, five of them in dark steel, swords drawn. One pointed to a scorch mark on the ground. "He's close."
Miri's hand gripped his arm. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.
The captain raised his blade. "Search the ruins. Leave no—"
A blur dropped from the trees above.
The first soldier never saw it coming. One moment he stood, and the next a blade slid through his side, clean and silent. The others turned, too slow. The stranger moved just like a storm —— controlled, brutal. A curved sword spun in his hands, slicing through the second attacker with bone-snapping precision.
Eren watched, stunned, as the man cut down the third with a sharp twist of the wrist. The fourth lunged, only to be met with a headbutt and a punch that sent him crashing through a rotting column.
Only the captain remained. He hesitated for a breath too long.
The man turned. His hood slipped back, revealing eyes like cut stone and a scar running down his jaw.
"You should've brought more," he said.
The captain charged.
The fight was fast. Final. The captain's sword clattered to the ground. A heartbeat later, so did he.
Eren stared as the man wiped his blade and turned toward them, unfazed. "You look like someone important."
"I'm not," Eren managed. "Just unlucky."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Name's Kael. You're alive because I was bored."
Lyra stepped forward, guarded. "You're a mercenary?"
Kael gave a half-shrug. "Something like that. I kill for coin. Sometimes for fun. Today, it's charity."
"And tomorrow?" Miri asked.
Kael's gaze drifted to Eren. "That depends on how many more are hunting you."
Eren met his eyes. "Too many."
Kael sheathed his blade with a fluid motion. "Then I suppose I'm staying. Until you stop being interesting—or until you get me killed."
Miri groaned. "Perfect."
Lyra cracked a grin. "Finally. Someone more dramatic than me."
Eren exhaled, tension leaving his shoulders.
Their circle had grown again. Another stranger. Another story.
And somewhere in the distance, the king's reach crept closer.
——
The fire crackled low between them, just enough to keep the cold away but not enough to be seen from the trees. No one spoke for a while. Not really.
Kael was sharpening his sword with a slow, steady rhythm, metal rasping like breath against bone. Lyra picked at a knot in her bootlace, pretending not to watch him. Miri stirred the pot of stew with a stick, though none of them had touched it.
Eren stared into the flames, still trying to believe he hadn't dreamed the blood or the magic or the bodies.
It was Lyra who finally said it.
"I was five when the king's men took my mother. Said she was hiding a mage. Never found one. They hanged her anyway." Her voice was flat, almost bored, but her eyes didn't blink.
Kael didn't look up. "They killed my brother in a border raid. Burned half our village to flush out rebels. We weren't rebels."
Miri let out a slow breath. "I used to heal soldiers. Thought I was doing good. Until they made me patch up torturers too."
Silence again.
The truth hung between them like smoke—bitter, choking, shared.
Eren looked up. "They destroyed my village because of me. Because of something I didn't even know I had."
Kael finally stopped sharpening. "They would've found another reason. They always do."
Lyra tossed her bootlace into the fire. "The crown doesn't fear magic. It fears what magic makes people remember—-that they weren't always in control."
Miri looked at Eren. "You're not the only one who's running. We all are."
He nodded. "Then maybe it's time we stop."
Kael grunted. "Spoken like someone who's never started a war."
"Maybe," Eren said. "But I've seen one begin."
For the first time, the group didn't feel like strangers around a campfire.
They felt like something else.
Not yet a rebellion. Not yet a family.
But maybe—finally—-like people with the same wound. And a reason to fight..
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