The chamber felt too small for something that large.
Stone walls carved with ancient runes seemed to recoil inward, as if the room itself wanted distance from the presence now standing between Tomora and the exit. The glow from the symbols flickered, casting warped shadows that crawled across the floor like living things.
The general of Black Iron towered over them.
He was built like a siege engine given flesh—shoulders wide enough to block torchlight, armor fused directly into his body as if iron had grown out of bone instead of being worn. His breath came slow and heavy, each exhale scraping against his helm like a blade dragged across stone. Veins pulsed faintly red beneath blackened metal, and when he snarled, the sound vibrated through the chamber floor.
Tomora felt it in his knees.
The hooded figure stood slightly in front of him, posture loose, hands empty, head tilted as though he were examining a strange insect rather than a man who could flatten cities.
Then the hooded figure shouted—
"Tomora! Run!"
Tomora blinked.
"What?!" His lungs burned as he sucked in air, heart still racing from arrows and alarms. "You're not the type to sacrifice yourself. What are you saying?"
The general shifted his weight.
Stone cracked beneath one armored boot.
The hooded figure glanced back over his shoulder, grinning like this was all mildly inconvenient.
"Oh, yeah. I don't wanna fight that monstrosity. I'm out."
For half a second, Tomora forgot the arrows, the traps, the glowing runes, and the very real possibility of dying violently in a foreign city.
He stared.
Then he looked up at the general of Black Iron—at the iron-plated fists slowly clenching, at the way the runes on the walls dimmed as if afraid.
Then back at the hooded figure.
"Seriously?" Tomora scoffed, disbelief twisting into something dangerously close to laughter. "You're just gonna run?"
The hooded figure shrugged, casual as ever.
"Yeah," he said, smirking. "And you better follow if you want to live."
The general took a step forward.
The chamber trembled.
Tomora didn't hesitate again.
Water surged at his feet, summoned instinctively—cold, sharp, alive. It wrapped around his legs like coiled ropes and then exploded outward, launching him forward in a blur of spray and sound. Stone vanished beneath him as he bolted for the exit, the scroll clutched tight against his chest.
He didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
Behind him, iron roared.
The doorway ahead burst open as Tomora shot through it, water hurling him down corridors, through twisting halls, past stunned guards who barely had time to register a blur of blue light and panic before he was gone.
Night air slammed into his lungs as he cleared the city walls in a final desperate leap, water cushioning his landing just beyond the outer perimeter.
He stumbled.
Caught himself.
Then ran again—until his legs finally gave out and he collapsed onto damp grass outside the city, chest heaving, vision swimming.
Silence.
No alarms.
No iron footsteps.
No hooded figure.
Tomora rolled onto his back, staring at the night sky, breath hitching as adrenaline slowly drained from his veins.
Minutes passed.
Then—
"What took you so long?" Tomora muttered as he pushed himself upright, irritation creeping in. "I thought you said you ran."
A shadow moved nearby.
The hooded figure stepped into view, completely unbothered, cloak barely scuffed.
"I didn't fight that thing," he said smugly. "I escaped. But then…"
His voice trailed off.
The world shifted.
—
Stone. Darkness. Blood.
A city tower loomed under moonlight, its interior slick with the metallic scent of death. Bodies littered the floor—guards sprawled where they'd fallen, armor dented inward, weapons snapped like toys.
At the center of the destruction lay the general of Black Iron.
Slumped.
Still.
His monstrous frame was collapsed against the tower's base, helm cracked open, the iron fused to his body split apart as if torn by something far stronger than metal. His eyes were dull. Empty.
Standing among the carnage was the hooded figure.
Relaxed.
Hands behind his back.
Not a scratch on him.
"How dare you try to fight me," his voice echoed through the tower, stripped of humor, stripped of warmth. Cold. Absolute. "Weaklings."
The words settled like ash.
—
The vision snapped away.
Tomora blinked, back outside the city, the night air cool against his skin.
The hooded figure stood before him again, smiling like he'd just finished a pleasant stroll.
Tomora stared.
Then laughed.
It burst out of him raw and breathless.
"we did it," he said, shaking his head. "now we can get rid of the government"
The hooded figure grinned wider.
"Probably."
Tomora looked down at the scroll still clenched in his hand. The parchment was warm now, faintly humming, as if aware it had narrowly escaped iron claws and death.
He looked back up.
The hooded figure was already turning away.
"Let's get outta here," he said lightly.
No more words.
No more explanations.
They walked off together into the dark, two figures leaving behind a city that would wake to questions it could never fully answer.
And somewhere behind them, iron dreams lay broken.