"Go!"
Olivia ran the moment the word left Soren's lips.
Soren turned as the flames started to thin, breath tight, shoulders already bracing for what came next.
Three shapes stepped through the smoke.
Barely singed.
One of them smiled when he saw that Olivia was gone.
"Well, guess we'll make do with you."
Soren stared back at them, heart hammering, then moved before they could close the distance.
Not because he thought he could win.
But because standing still had never helped him once in his life.
A pale green magic circle flared on his palm.
"「Breeze」."
Wind burst upward and hurled him sideways just as another bolt of lightning split the space where he had been.
He hit the ground badly, one foot landing on uneven stone, his ankle twisting hard enough to send a jolt up his leg before he half-caught himself against a wall.
Pain flashed white and sharp, but he did not stop to swear about it; he pushed off immediately, sprinting down the nearest narrow lane.
Behind him, one of the seniors laughed.
"She's fast."
"Stop talking and catch her."
"Try not to break her face," another called. "Not straight away."
Soren's expression turned flat.
So that was the angle they were going with now.
He hooked around a corner and slapped a hand against the ground as he ran.
"「Gaia」."
The cobbles behind him softened into churned mud again.
Not enough to trap them for long, especially not after the first demonstration, but he was not trying to trap them anymore.
He only needed friction, hesitation, one bad step at the wrong moment.
A curse sounded behind him, followed by a heavier splash and the scrape of somebody almost falling.
Soren kept running.
His breathing came quicker now, the cold air burning his throat as he pushed harder.
He could hear them recovering behind him, hear their footfalls spreading out rather than staying neatly grouped, which meant they were trying to cut him off if they got the chance.
That alone told him enough.
These were not men bumbling around half-drunk and harmlessly obnoxious.
They were drunk, yes, but they were still coordinated enough to hunt.
He turned sharply into another side street and threw up a hand without slowing.
"「Ignition」."
A burst of fire flared across a stack of old crates beside the wall.
It wasn't enough to create a real blaze, but enough to send heat and sparks bursting outward and force anyone following too closely to break stride.
He heard someone yelp, then spit out a furious curse.
Soren did not look back.
The path ahead opened briefly into a wider crossing, moonlight washing over the stone, and he used [Breeze] again, a harder cast this time, letting the spell slam beneath him and launch him over the centre of the road before another attack could catch him in the open.
The landing was worse.
His boots hit at the wrong angle.
Momentum carried him too far.
His shoulder smashed into the corner of a building hard enough that stars burst through his vision, and he skidded off the wall with a scrape of fabric and skin.
Pain flared hot across his upper arm.
He kept going.
There was no room in him for neatness now.
This was how he fought when things went wrong, ugly and practical and desperate, using whatever bought him another second.
No elegance, no confidence, just constant movement and the refusal to let his opponent dictate the pace if he could help it.
He kicked a loose pot into the alley behind him as he ran.
It shattered across the path with a crash and a spray of soil.
Pointless, mostly, but pointless things added up.
One step avoided here, one line of sight blocked there, one moment of annoyance turning into an opening somewhere else.
A gust of wind sliced past his ear and struck sparks from the wall ahead.
They were starting to cast when they had the chance.
'Fucking fantastic.'
He ducked under a low archway, cut left again, and used [Breeze] a third time, less as propulsion now and more as a violent correction, letting the wind wrench him around the bend faster than his body actually wanted to move.
His knee hit first when he landed.
Stone tore through the fabric at the joint.
He caught himself on one palm and felt skin split there too, rough and immediate.
By the time he got back to his feet, his leg was already protesting.
Still not as bad as it could be.
That thought came with a detached sort of bitterness.
A week of blood magic lessons and being cut open for practice had not exactly made him stronger in the heroic sense, but it had done wonders for recalibrating what counted as manageable pain.
Twisted ankle.
Skinned palm.
Bruised shoulder.
Split knee.
All of it registered.
None of it stopped him.
"Stop running!" someone shouted.
"Nope," Soren said with a smirk, then cast again.
"「Breeze」."
This time the spell hurled him farther than intended.
He cleared a short set of steps, nearly lost balance at the bottom, then slammed chest-first into a turn where the alley narrowed abruptly between two old buildings.
The impact punched the breath from him.
His body was starting to lag behind his decisions now.
Muscles tightening too slowly.
Breathing too ragged.
Footing less certain.
He pushed on anyway.
A crackle lit the mouth of the lane behind him.
Soren flattened himself against the wall a split second before lightning struck the ground ahead, blowing out a chunk of stone and showering the passage with fragments.
One clipped his cheek, and another caught the side of his hand.
'So they aren't even pretending to be nice anymore?' he thought bitterly.
He ran through the dust before it settled.
Left, then right, then through a laundry line strung between two windows, fabric slapping across his face as he tore through it.
He threw fire behind him once more, then lightning, then a sharp burst of sound to scatter loose grit into the air and ruin visibility for a second or two.
None of it was enough.
Too many of his spells were utility first, offence second.
Too much of what he could do relied on stalling rather than finishing.
Against one person, maybe that created an opening.
Against three older students with more mana and broader spell access, it was just a longer route to the same bad end.
Still, he kept taking it.
His route tightened into older service lanes behind the restaurants now, darker and more cramped, the smell of cold ash and wet stone mixing with stale food and spilt drink.
He caught a glimpse of a high wall to his right and realised, a little too late, that he had cut too far into a section he did not know properly.
Then the alley ended.
Soren stopped so suddenly that pain shot up both legs.
Stone wall.
No gate.
No gap.
No way through.
For one sharp second, his chest went cold.
Then he turned around.
The three seniors spilt into the mouth of the alley a moment later, slower than before from the chase but grinning now in that ugly, relieved way people did when effort finally started feeling rewarding.
One limped slightly from where [Gaia] had dragged him earlier.
Another had scorch marks up one sleeve.
The tallest one still looked the least damaged, which was annoying.
"Hah," he exhaled, breathing hard. "Finally."
Another bent slightly, hands on his knees for a second before straightening with a laugh.
"What the hell kind of first-year uses [Breeze] like that? You trying to break your own legs for us?"
"Crazy bitch," the third muttered, wiping dust from his mouth.
Soren said nothing.
His pulse was loud in his ears, but his hands were steady as he drew them up instead of letting them hang at his sides.
Space rippled around one palm, and orange light formed in the other.
If they came through the alley together, he could pull out his handaxe and slash at one of them, throw fire into the stagger, then use [Breeze] at point-blank range to either break distance or smash somebody off balance.
Bad odds, but not no odds.
And if one of them tried to cast first, he would move before the circle fully formed.
He was hurt, trapped, and outmatched.
But he was not done.
The tallest senior noticed the magic collecting around his hand and smiled thinly.
"Still got some fight in you, I see."
Soren's mouth twitched without humour.
"I'm sorry. Were you hoping for gratitude?"
"Wow," another said. "She's mouthy even cornered."
Soren's eyes flicked over them, measuring spacing, posture, which one was favouring which leg, how quickly the caster with lightning could raise his hand again.
If he aimed his axe at one of them to catch them off guard, it would likely work since they thought he was a mage.
Follow with fire to force separation, then rush the weakest-looking one first before the other two adjusted.
Dirty, desperate, probably still insufficient, but that was fine.
He would make it work, somehow.
At least, that's what he told himself.
The tallest one took a step forward.
A magic circle began to form in his hand.
And then an arrow punched straight through his thigh.
The sound he made was not a shout at first, only a stunned, choking noise, as if his body had not yet decided which pain to report.
A moment later he folded, grabbing at his leg as blood spread darkly across the fabric.
The other two jolted in confusion.
"What the—"
Something white flashed overhead.
A bird formed from ice and sharpened air screamed down the alley and struck the second senior full in the chest.
Frost burst outward on impact, coating his uniform and locking his limbs in a crystalline shell before he could do more than jerk backwards with a horrified gasp.
The third barely had time to turn.
Lightning, shaped impossibly into the outline of a horned ram, slammed into him from the side hard enough to lift him off his feet and throw him into the wall.
The impact cracked stone; he crumpled from it in a twitching heap.
Silence crashed down over the alley.
Three seconds.
Maybe four.
That was all it took.
Soren stayed where he was, mana still gathered in his hand, staring at the ruined shape of the fight that had just vanished out from under him.
Footsteps approached from the alley entrance.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Certain.
A cloaked figure stepped through the dim light, and even before the hood fell back, Soren felt the pressure of her, the dense, unmistakable presence of someone stronger than anyone in this alley had any right to be.
Not loud power, not wild, just something contained and heavy enough that the space seemed to make room for it.
Then the hood slipped back.
————「❤︎」————