The night was no longer still.
It pulsed.
Every heartbeat in the dark felt synchronized—the waves slapping the hulls, the creak of rope, the whisper of steel sliding free of sheaths. The calm before slaughter.
Muir and Revik had already taken advantage of the chaos below, their blades flashing quick and silent. Two guards fell before they ever realized the shadows were alive. One slumped against a barrel, throat split clean. The other never even made a sound—just a small shudder, then stillness.
The merchant, oblivious, was barking orders nearby. "Move the cargo! And get that one on her feet. If she can't walk, she's worthless!"
That was it.
Something snapped clean inside me.
I didn't need fire to kill him. I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands.
The night belonged to us now.
Silent. Unseen. Deadly.
We descended from the rooftops like ghosts. The world narrowed to movement and breath—the sound of boots over wet stone, the gleam of metal in shadow. My pulse steadied, my focus crystallized into something cold and lethal.
I gripped one of the throwing daggers Raiden had given me. Obsidian gleamed faintly in the moonlight, the twisted handle fitting into my palm as if it had been made for me. One breath. One motion.
I let it fly.
The dagger sliced through fog and air and found its mark—burying itself deep into a guard's throat. The sound that followed was wet and small, just a gurgle. Blood bubbled between his fingers before he fell, lifeless eyes catching the glint of lanternlight.
By the time his knees hit the ground, I was already moving.
Across from me, Raiden stepped out of shadow. He moved like smoke—silent, efficient. His arm snaked around a man's neck, his other hand muffling the inevitable cry before a sharp twist ended it. A soft crack, a body crumpled, and he was gone again.
He caught my gaze for half a heartbeat and smirked before disappearing into darkness.
To the right, Muir was a blur. Frost gathered at his fingertips as he shaped blades of ice, daggers forming out of thin air. Two flicks of his wrist—two guards down. One blade lodged in an eye, the other between ribs. They collapsed soundlessly.
I mirrored him, stepping forward, another dagger sliding into my grip. The rhythm was familiar now—throw, breathe, move. My second strike went wide, embedding itself below a guard's collarbone instead of his throat. He staggered, gasping. I lunged, boot slamming into his chest to pin him to the wall, then wrenched the blade free. Before he could even scream, I slit his throat.
Warm blood sprayed across my hands. I barely noticed.
Revik worked along the opposite edge of the docks, his sword flashing silver. His strikes were brutal but clean, each one precise enough to silence before a sound escaped. He was a storm kept on a leash—controlled chaos.
One by one, the guards fell. The numbers thinned, the night swallowing their last breaths.
And still, the merchant barked orders, his arrogance blinding him to the massacre unfolding in the mist.
Then I saw him shove one of the young girls forward. She stumbled, barely conscious, wrists raw where the chains bit into skin.
Something in me went feral.
The heat was rising again.
We were close now. The air reeked of blood and smoke and salt. Every movement felt sharper, faster. My body hummed with adrenaline, my magic whispering at the edges, begging to be unleashed.
Muir broke the silence with a low whistle as I pulled my blade from another corpse. "Damn, Lyra," he murmured. "Remind me never to piss you off."
I didn't look at him. "They don't deserve dignity in death," I said, voice like ice. "They lost that when they put chains on children."
He gave a humorless chuckle. "I think I like you more every day, darling."
We pressed forward.
The merchant still hadn't realized how close death was. His remaining men shuffled nervously, glancing around. The air was thick, heavy.
Then Muir lifted his hands. A mist began to curl up from the cobblestones—thin at first, then thickening fast. It coiled like living smoke, creeping between crates and barrels, crawling up from the ground until the docks vanished behind a wall of gray.
"Now that's better," he murmured, grin flashing before he disappeared into his own fog.
I couldn't see more than a few paces ahead. But I didn't need to. The fog carried the scent of salt, iron, and fear.
Raiden's voice brushed against my ear—a low whisper. "Hope you can fight blind, little thief."
I smirked. "Hope you can keep up."
His chuckle was soft and dark. "Guess we'll see."
And then the world vanished.
The fog swallowed us whole. Everything was white and soundless—except the thud of my heartbeat.
Then—steel. A scream.
Chaos erupted.
A blade sliced past my ear; I twisted, feeling the wind of it brush my hair. My dagger found its way into the attacker's throat before his feet even hit the ground. Hot blood splattered my face.
Another shadow lunged at me from the left. I spun, fire flickering instinctively along my palm. I let it go.
Flame burst from my hand, wrapping around my arm before lashing outward. The fire hit the guard square in the chest. His scream was short-lived; the flames devoured it, leaving only ash.
A third attacker grabbed me from behind—thick arms locking around my waist, hauling me off balance.
A mistake.
I let him think he had me. Then I jumped. My body twisted in midair, legs snapping around his neck. I used the spin to drag us both down, slamming him into the ground. His skull cracked against the stone. Before he could breathe, I plunged my dagger into his chest and felt the blade scrape bone.
I didn't stop.
They kept coming—figures in the fog, blind and panicked. I met them with steel and flame and fury. One tried to run. I caught him by the collar, yanked him back, and slit his throat so deep the blade caught on spine.
Someone's sword cut across my ribs. Pain flared hot and sharp. I didn't even flinch. I drove my knee into his gut and buried my dagger under his jaw. The blood that followed was hot and slick, pooling at my feet.
The air was thick with iron. My clothes clung to me, wet and heavy. I couldn't tell what was mine and what was theirs.
I wiped the back of my arm across my mouth and blinked through the haze.
Bodies littered the ground. Some still smoked. The snow beneath them was black.
Then I saw them.
The girls.
Huddled together near a wagon, shaking. Too small, too frail, their wrists raw and bleeding where the chains still held them.
Their eyes found me.
Wide. Terrified.
I took a step forward, and one of them whimpered—shrinking away as if I were something monstrous.
Maybe I was.
I didn't know what they saw. But I could guess. Blood. Smoke. Teeth bared. Eyes burning gold.
Not a savior.
A beast.
My throat tightened. I tried to speak, to say something gentle, anything—but no words came. I didn't know how to sound human anymore.
The mist thinned slowly, dissipating like a dying breath. And that's when I saw him.
The merchant.
His fine coat untouched by blood, his boots still gleaming. He stood among corpses, the only bright color in a field of ruin. His gaze swept across the scene—the torn flesh, the smoldering remains, the broken chains—and then landed on me.
Recognition. Shock.
Then fear.
He still had a handful of guards—wounded, shaking, clutching weapons with trembling hands. It wasn't enough.
Raiden stepped out of the smoke like death given form. His twin blades hung loosely at his sides, still dripping. His expression was calm, almost casual.
"We're only here to talk," he said, voice steady, almost amused.
The merchant laughed—a hollow, broken sound. "Talk? This doesn't look much like a conversation."
Raiden's lips twitched. "You made it difficult."
"Ah. So I should have simply handed myself over to be tortured?"
Raiden's gaze sharpened. "You should've been smarter."
The merchant's smile thinned. He lifted a hand—then snapped his fingers.
Two guards lunged.
Raiden moved first. His blade flashed once, twice—clean, effortless. The first man fell, eyes wide with disbelief, a hole where his heart had been. The second's throat opened in a red arc. Both collapsed before they even realized they were dead.
Raiden didn't even look back.
The merchant staggered a step, then another, panic flickering across his face. And that's when I felt it.
The shift.
Something wrong.
A tremor at the edge of awareness. The hairs on my neck rose.
Too quiet.
Too still.
My eyes lifted instinctively—to the docked ship behind him.
Figures.
Dozens.
Archers. Hidden in the rigging.
By the time the realization hit, it was already too late.
The sound came all at once—the heavy thrum of bowstrings loosing.
Arrows sliced the air.
I turned, too slow, bracing for the sting of metal—
But none struck me.
Confusion hit an instant before horror.
A sound. Wet. Muffled. Small.
Not a cry. Not even a scream.
I turned—
—and the world split open.
Three of the four girls were on the ground.
Arrows buried in their small bodies—chests, stomachs, ribs.
One had fallen instantly, eyes wide and glassy. Another writhed, clutching at the shaft protruding from her side. The third—gods—the third only stood there, swaying. Her mouth opened, and a sound came out that wasn't a sound at all.
Why wasn't she screaming?
Then I saw.
Her tongue. Gone.
A raw sound tore from my throat—a mix of rage, grief, and something beyond either.
The merchant was already running. I barely saw him. He didn't matter.
Only the ship.
Only the archers.
The fire answered before I even called.
It roared up my arms, wild and white-hot, hungry as breath. I felt the dragon stir inside me—stretch, smile.
The archers hesitated. A single heartbeat of disbelief.
Then I let go.
The ship ignited.
Flames erupted from its hull, curling upward in a violent bloom of orange and gold. The sails went up in seconds, fire racing along the ropes, devouring wood, flesh, and air alike. The screams that followed were shrill, brief, human.
I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
The fire poured out of me until the ship split apart, timbers cracking, smoke clawing into the sky.
And then—silence.
No shouts. No arrows. Just the low, steady roar of what I'd made.
The night was orange and black, the snow turned to steam.
I stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving, blood drying on my skin. My dagger hung limp at my side.
The air reeked of burnt flesh and salt.
I looked toward the wagon.
Only one girl remained. The smallest. Her chains still around her wrists, her thin body trembling. She stared at the fire, at me, at the ruin. Her face streaked with ash and tears.
For a moment, I thought she would run. But she didn't.
She just stood there.
Alive.
And I—
I couldn't tell if that made it better.
The fire dimmed, its crackle settling into the rhythm of the sea. I dropped to my knees, the dagger slipping from my grasp, embedding itself in the frozen ground.
The cold bit through the heat, through the blood, through everything.
Somewhere behind me, someone called my name. But I didn't answer.
Because for the first time in a long time—
I didn't know if I was the hero of this story.
Or the monster in someone else's.