For the past two hours, Kresos had been pacing the cage like a beast.
Back and forth. Bare feet scraping over rusted metal. Every step was a silent drumbeat of frustration, each turn a flare of tension in his jaw. He didn't speak. Didn't rest. Just moved, lost in the storm building behind his eyes.
Rhea and Tommy watched from the corner. Huddled together. Quiet.
The sun was high now, casting long spears of light through the broken towers above them. Heat pressed down like a weight. Time was slipping.
Whoever was coming… it wouldn't be good. Anyone who was willing to pay to purchase people wasn't the kind you could reason with. They all knew it. Even Tommy, young as he was, had stopped asking questions. He just sat there, gnawing his nails.
Kresos clenched his fists. Again, he tried to feel it—that burning pressure deep in his chest. The power the shadow had poured into him. A gift, it said.
But all he found was silence. Cold. Indifferent.
Then Rhea spoke.
"Anything?" she asked softly. There was no real hope in her voice. Just a need to ask.
Kresos stopped.
His gaze met hers. Something heavy lingered behind his eyes.
"No," he said. "Still thinking."
She looked away. Her shoulders sagged.
"But I will find something," he said. Sharper now. Firmer. "I'm not letting them take us. I'll figure it out."
Even as he said it, doubt pressed at the edges of his mind. But the words helped. Gave shape to something. Gave it weight.
The next hour passed like a slow execution.
Every crack of stone. Every footstep in the dirt. Every shout from beyond the wall tightened the knot in his gut. The air was dry. His mouth too. Even the sun felt cruel—like it was waiting to see him fail.
Then it came.
A voice, sharp and commanding.
"Open the gate!"
All three of them froze.
The words echoed through the ruins, cutting through the heat like a blade. Somewhere beyond the courtyard, a gate groaned open. Metal dragged metal. Then—hooves. Steady. Heavy.
A carriage. A wagon. It didn't matter.
He was here.
Kresos didn't speak. Didn't breathe. Just stood there, heart thudding like war drums behind his ribs.
Then—BANG.
A door slammed open a few meters away. The sound cracked like thunder.
Tommy gasped. Rhea flinched, pulling him close.
Kresos just stared.
The first figure through was the bandit leader—same filthy coat, same smug face. The walk of a man who thought he owned everything he saw.
But behind him…
Someone new.
A man in his thirties stepped into the light, dressed in fitted black with faint leather accents sewn into the sleeves. No armor. No jewelry. No cloak to catch the wind. But everything about him said danger.
Not the flashy kind. The quiet kind. The kind that didn't need to speak loudly to make people listen.
His boots were clean. His hair swept back, not a strand out of place. A trimmed goatee framed a mouth made for sneers, not smiles. His expression was carved from stone—cold, calculating.
Behind him, twelve soldiers moved in lockstep. Half carried swords and shields polished to a mirror shine. The others held loaded crossbows like they were born with them.
These weren't bandits.
They were trained. Paid. Efficient.
Killers.
The man came to a stop just outside the cage. The bandit leader stood beside him, grinning like a dog waiting for a treat.
"So," the buyer said, voice smooth but razor-edged. "This is the one?"
He studied Kresos with all the warmth of a man inspecting livestock.
"Doesn't look like much."
The bandit chuckled. "I know, Lord Franscio. Doesn't have the look. But that little bastard killed two of mine. Wounded three more. One of them still coughs up blood. I don't know if he's really a Dragonbane… but he's something."
He gestured toward the cage with a lazy flick.
"And like I said, the girl and the kid are part of the deal. A little bonus for making this easy."
The buyer barely glanced at Rhea and Tommy.
"She's of no interest to me," he said. Flat. Dismissive. "But I'm sure some of my men will appreciate the company."
Then a pause.
"As for the boy… my younger daughter's been begging for a pet."
He looked at Tommy.
"This might do."
Kresos stepped forward.
Slow. Controlled.
He stood just behind the bars, posture taut as a drawn bowstring, eyes locked onto the buyer. No fear. No hesitation.
"If you touch either of them," he said, voice low and laced with venom, "I'll kill you."
Silence.
The soldiers shifted, hands tightening on weapons. Lord Franscio… smiled.
"With what?" he asked, gesturing toward Kresos' bare, battered form. "Forgive me, but I don't see a weapon anywhere."
His hand flicked downward, toward Kresos' groin.
"Unless you're bold enough to consider that a weapon."
A ripple of laughter broke through the soldiers' ranks. Even the bandit leader barked a laugh.
Kresos didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
Didn't blink.
He just stared.
Like a blade waiting to be drawn.
The buyer's smirk faded slightly. He turned to the bandit leader.
"I'll take them. For the agreed amount."
The bandit grinned wider, already reaching for the keys. They jingled faintly in his hand as he stepped toward the lock.
Kresos didn't move.
But behind his eyes—
Something burned.