Kael did not remember standing up.
One moment he was on the floor, fingers numb from clutching cloth that would never grow warm again. The next, he was on his feet, swaying slightly, the world tilting as if it hadn't quite decided which way was down.
The man watched him closely.
He didn't offer a hand. Didn't rush forward. He simply observed, as though Kael's ability to remain upright was a test rather than a concern.
The fire crackled around them.
"We're leaving," the man said. "Now."
Kael nodded, though his legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
The man turned and stepped back towards the ruined doorway. Kael followed instinctively, eyes flicking once—only once—towards his parents before he crossed the threshold.
The night outside was chaos.
Several buildings nearby were already burning, flames leaping from rooftop to rooftop as if carried by invisible hands. Smoke rolled through the streets in thick, choking waves. Somewhere in the distance, something collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Figures moved through the firelight.
Armoured.
The same blank, symbol-less armour.
Kael froze.
The man noticed immediately.
"Keep walking," he said calmly, without looking back.
One of the armoured figures turned.
Their head snapped in Kael's direction.
"Contact," a voice barked.
The man stopped.
He reached back, grasped Kael by the collar, and pulled him behind himself with a single, effortless motion.
"Stay there," he said. "And don't speak."
Kael obeyed.
The man stepped forward into the open street.
Three armoured figures approached, blades already drawn. Their movements were precise, disciplined, identical. Killers trained to work as one.
"You weren't on the list," one of them said. "Identify yourself."
The man didn't answer.
Mana shifted.
Not explosively. Not dramatically.
It settled.
Kael felt it like pressure in his ears, like the air had thickened into something heavy and unyielding. The flames nearby bent slightly away from the man, as if instinctively giving him space.
One of the armoured figures hesitated.
"Unknown rank," he muttered.
The man sighed.
"Unfortunate," he said.
Then he moved.
Kael almost missed it.
One moment the man was standing still. The next, he was there—inside the formation, past the leading blade. His hand snapped out, fingers striking the gap beneath the helm of the nearest attacker.
There was a sound like cracking stone.
The armoured figure collapsed without a scream.
The second reacted instantly, blade sweeping in a horizontal arc aimed at the man's throat.
The man leaned back just enough for the blade to pass a hair's breadth from his neck. He caught the attacker's wrist, twisted sharply, and drove his elbow into the side of the helm.
Metal caved in.
The third tried to retreat.
The man didn't let him.
A short blade appeared in his hand—Kael didn't see where it came from—and flashed once.
The armoured figure fell forward, head rolling away across the stones.
Silence returned.
Kael stared.
His stomach twisted violently, but he didn't look away. He couldn't. The bodies lay still, smoke curling from cracks in their armour. No dramatic finish. No last words.
Just death.
The man wiped his blade on one of the cloaks and turned back towards Kael.
"Come," he said.
More figures appeared at the far end of the street.
This time, the man didn't stop.
He ran.
Kael ran after him, feet slapping against stone, lungs burning as smoke clawed at his throat. The man moved fast—far faster than Kael thought possible—but he never widened the distance beyond reach.
A bolt of light screamed past them, blasting a crater into the wall beside Kael. He stumbled, nearly fell.
The man caught him without breaking stride.
"Eyes forward," he said sharply.
They turned into an alley.
Another blast struck behind them, showering stone and debris. The man raised one arm, muttering a single word. A translucent barrier flared briefly into existence, absorbing the impact before shattering like glass.
They burst out onto a wider street.
More armoured figures blocked the way—five this time.
The man stopped again.
Kael felt fear rise, sharp and cold.
"There are too many," Kael whispered before he could stop himself.
The man glanced back at him.
"No," he said calmly. "There aren't."
He stepped forward.
Mana surged, this time unmistakable. The air howled.
The ground beneath the man's feet cracked as he slammed his foot down. A wave of force rippled outward, tearing armour apart, snapping bodies off their feet like rag dolls.
Two hit the walls hard enough to break stone.
Another tried to raise a shield. It shattered instantly.
The man walked through the aftermath, finishing the survivors with short, precise movements. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Kael stood frozen, chest heaving.
This wasn't a battle.
It was an execution.
When it was over, the man returned, breathing evenly.
"We're clear for now," he said. "We won't be if we linger."
They didn't slow until they reached the edge of the town.
The fire behind them painted the sky orange.
Kael stumbled to a stop, bending over as he retched violently onto the dirt. Nothing came up. His body shook anyway.
The man waited.
When Kael finally straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, the man spoke again.
"My name is Rothmar Vale."
Kael looked up at him.
Rothmar's eyes were sharp, assessing, but not unkind.
"You were meant to die tonight," Rothmar continued. "That much is clear."
Kael swallowed.
"Why?" he asked hoarsely.
Rothmar looked back towards the burning town.
"Because some things frighten the world," he said. "And the world prefers neat endings."
Kael clenched his fists.
"What about me?"
Rothmar turned back to him.
"That depends," he said. "On whether you survive what comes next."
The fire crackled behind them.
Kael nodded once.
"I will."
Rothmar's lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Good," he said. "Then follow me. And don't fall behind."
They disappeared into the darkness, leaving the burning town behind.