Kayal knew she couldn't fight for long. Not like this.
Her body was already fraying at the edges — bruised, bloodied, broken from the long days of running. And within her, the child stirred again. A reminder of everything she had to protect… and everything she could lose.
But there was no choice now. The monster had come for them.
So she let go of fear. Let go of pain.
And poured her will into her hand.
Golden light ignited around her fingers — not warm, not gentle, but savage. It roared outward in the shape of a massive tiger's claw, ethereal and gleaming like dawn fire. The air rippled. Bark cracked from nearby trees.
With a wordless cry, Kayal lunged forward.
The enemy twisted sideways.
She struck nothing.
The man — if he could still be called one — vanished like smoke.
Her heart stuttered.
Then a flicker of motion — far too late. A tail, long and obsidian black, snapped toward her from the left. She raised her arms, but her injuries, the child, the weight of fatigue — all held her back.
The blow slammed into her side.
Her vision blinked white. The ground tore away beneath her. She crashed against a tree trunk with a crack of bone and bark, and dropped to her knees. Her legs wouldn't respond. Her breath came in gasps.
Not now, she thought. Please, not now…
The man reappeared, walking with slow, deliberate steps. A silver spear formed in his hand — not drawn, but conjured, as if the air itself feared him.
He didn't hesitate.
He raised the weapon, tip gleaming, and aimed it at her stomach.
One strike.
Two lives, ended in a single breath.
Then—
It stopped.
The spear froze mid-thrust.
The man looked down, confused.
There, barely reaching his waist, stood Ilan.
The boy's hands were wrapped around the glowing shaft of the spear, bare skin blistering and bleeding.
He trembled.
But he didn't move.
"Get… away…" Ilan whispered. "From Mother."
The man blinked, stunned.
He tried to push forward. His spear trembled with effort.
But Ilan held on.
Blood ran in streams from the boy's palms, but his arms stayed locked, legs planted like roots in the earth. His eyes were wide, wet with pain, but filled with a fire older than he should have known.
Protect Mother. Protect Mother. Protect Mother.
The man's lip curled in disgust. "You're five. You don't even know how to die properly."
He snarled and stepped back. His pride was wounded. The fact that he had to use spirit art — on a child — burned his ego raw. But he couldn't risk failure. That face… that shadow… if he failed here—
He abandoned pride.
And activated his spirit art and poured his will into the spear.
The silver spear glowed sickly green. Spirit energy surged down its length. Sparks flew as the air howled around him.
Ilan screamed.
His hands scorched. Skin split. And as the spear pushed forward, his fingers finally slipped.
It pierced his shoulder.
The force flung him sideways into the dirt.
The man exhaled. "Wasted talent," he muttered. "Could have been something."
He stepped forward again, spear raised, this time with no hesitation. Spirit power wrapped around his limbs, crackling, gleaming.
"I'll end it clean."
But Ilan didn't cry.
He didn't run.
He just lay there, bloodied and broken — and felt something shift deep inside him.
A warmth.
A fire.
Not from outside, but within — a single black flame, tiny and solid, burning at the center of his chest.
It asked nothing.
It simply waited.
And Ilan thought only one thing:
Protect Mother.
The ground around his body flickered.
Then — burst.
A wall of black flame erupted from the dirt, rising like a beast made of shadow and vengeance. It roared silently, pulsing outward from the blood he had spilled.
The man stumbled back, eyes wide. "What… is that?"
He tried to retreat — too late.
A fist crashed into the side of his face.
Kayal.
Her eyes blazed with what little spirit art she had left. A tiger's paw — cracked and dull, missing its golden glow — wrapped around her arm as she threw her final punch.
The man staggered into the wall of black fire.
Then he screamed.
The flames wrapped around him like judgment made real. His body convulsed. His skin cracked, blistered, blackened. His screams turned to choking. His armor melted. His bones showed.
Kayal shielded Ilan's eyes.
But Ilan still smelled the flesh burn.
Still heard the screams.
And hated it.
When the man finally fell, his body hit the ground in silence.
The fire receded.
Only ash remained.
Kayal stumbled to her knees beside her son. She pulled him into her arms, even as her body trembled with pain.
They collapsed together beneath a dying tree.
Moonlight filtered through the branches.
And then — a whisper.
Her voice was barely there, barely breath:
"Ilan… listen carefully…"
He looked up, wide-eyed.
Then came the last words from his mother.