“What are you pointing at?” Pell asked.

  He stood beside the apparition—an echo drawn from Enya’s soul, shaped not by shadow, but by light. Misty, translucent, yet radiant. It drifted like fog, soft white light spilling off its form with a quiet pulse. A strange contrast to the thing it was supposed to be.

  Shadow Enya seemed like an appropriate name, despite the lack of.

  She raised an arm, pointing down the fractured alley toward the city’s old quarter—cracked stone, crooked rooftops, streets older than the rest of Talo.

  Pell followed the gesture. “Is that where the attacker went,” he asked, “or where Enya went?”

  The apparition nodded once.

  Pell’s skull tilted. “That’s not helpful.”

  “Maybe just ask one question at a time?” Josier offered, voice soft, almost amused.

  Pell grumbled. “Right… fine. Did Enya go that way?”

  Another nod.

  Pell narrowed his soul flames. “And the attacker?”

  A second nod.

  “Did the attacker cause this?” He motioned to the surrounding wreckage—the collapsed buildings, the broken street, the blood.

  Nod.

  “Did they… take her?”

  The nod came slower this time. But it came.

  Silence fell over the gathered War Paragons. Heavy. Thick. Final. It was the same atmosphere of arriving at a person’s home, and announcing their loved one had died in war. Though, in this situation—Enya’s kidnapping could be seen as much, much worse.

  It confirmed what they already feared—that this wasn’t a misunderstanding. This wasn’t an overreaction.

  Someone had taken Enya. Someone strong enough to tear through two War Paragons without even being seen.

  Lorrin exhaled through his nose. He pressed his fingers against the bridge of it, as if the pressure might stave off the headache blooming behind his eyes. “I’ll assign a squad to recover her,” he said. “Immediately. But… I can’t spare many. The tournament pulls in every noble family within reach. If we leave the city unguarded—”

  “Unacceptable,” Pell cut in. His soul flames flared, brilliant and furious. “Your city is the reason she was taken.”

  He turned to face Lorrin fully now, voice dropping low. “She was kidnapped right under your nose. By your own Head Healer.”

  Lorrin didn’t flinch, but his silence said everything.

  “I don’t care about your resource problem. You send your best. You know what she is. What her status means.”

  Another heavy pause.

  Lorrin exchanged a look with Josier. The kind of look reserved for unspoken truths. For things they couldn’t say aloud. Lorrin sighed. “Very well. Josier and Nakrin will go after her.”

  Pell’s head snapped around. His gaze locked on Nakrin, standing just beyond the rubble. The draconid’s arms were crossed, expression unreadable. He didn’t speak—but his shoulders stiffened.

  Lorrin noticed.

  “I know there’s history between you,” he said quickly. “But Nakrin’s been reprimanded. He’s undergone reeducation. He will not inconvenience you again.”

  Pell didn’t reply right away. He turned his gaze back to Lorrin, arms folded across his ribcage. “Will they be enough?” he asked. “Someone broke into your city. Crippled your guards. And no one even noticed.”

  “You don’t need to worry,” Lorrin said firmly. “Josier’s Platinum-tier. Tracking and recon are what he was born to do. And Nakrin’s a Diamond-tier fighter. He could wipe out a squad of Platinum-Tiers by himself.”

  Pell said nothing.

  Then came the rapid footfalls of another guard—a white-clad figure weaving through the rubble, breathless as he skidded to a halt beside them.

  “Sirs,” he said, panting. “Lady Celeste has woken up.”

  They all turned, exchanged a glance, then moved.

  Shelmi and Eldan broke off toward the perimeter to resume lockdown. More and more civilians were gathering now, murmuring behind the tapes, eyes locked on the crater and collapsed buildings.

  “Lady Celeste,” Yvexis said gently, crouching beside her. She was dressed in a white city-guard uniform marked by the silver-trimmed bands of a battlefield healer. Her tone was calm, professional. “Are you alright?”

  Celeste sat up slowly on a slab of stone, eyes scrunched tight. Her hand drifted to her forehead, fingers pressing against a sharp, shallow gash. Warm blood met her touch—thick, viscous, already staining her gloves.

  She exhaled sharply, frustrated. “Yes. I’m fine,” she said at last. “What exactly happened here?”

  “We received a distress call,” Yvexis replied, calm and professional. “It pinged this spot—Bride District. Barely a minute later, two buildings collapsed from what appears to be a large-scale explosion.” She gestured toward the shattered structures around them. “When we arrived, you were found buried under rubble. Nakrin helped pull you out.”

  Yvexis retrieved a roll of bandage from her pouch, rising to her feet. “We have one city guard in critical condition. Another missing—possibly under the debris. We’ve already called for Namu to lift the wreckage.”

  She began wrapping Celeste’s head, careful and efficient. “And... done.” She knelt once more, eyes scanning Celeste’s posture. “Lady Celeste, aside from the head injury—any numbness? Tightness in your chest? Blurry vision, headache, mild or severe pain?”

  Celeste opened her mouth—but before she could respond, both women looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  A group.

  The revulsion hit her immediately. That skeleton. Pell. His bones clattered softly as he walked, his soul flames burning behind hollow sockets. The thing she loathed most stood among officials like it belonged.

  Celeste’s lips curled. “Why,” she said, her voice sharp and rising, “is that abomination allowed to walk alongside the rest of you—”

  But Pell didn’t stop.

  The others held back, but the skeleton moved forward with unwavering purpose. His soul flames flared—deeper, darker, burning fully within his skull now.

  Lorrin lifted a hand. “Pell—”

  Pell ignored him.

  In a single motion, he stepped forward, reached out, and grabbed Celeste by the collar of her bloodstained robes.

  She gasped as her body was yanked upward—clean off the stone.

  She dangled—light as parchment. Pell’s arm was rigid, fully extended, unmoving. His skeletal frame didn’t creak, didn’t buckle. His strength was soul-forged, anchored by wrath more than muscle. Celeste kicked wildly, arms flailing.

  “Unhand me!” she shrieked. “Put me down, you vile—!”

  Yvexis stumbled back, her training shattered by shock. “Put her down!” she shouted, eyes wide. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

  But Pell didn’t answer.

  Not yet.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Celeste twisted toward the nearest guards, her eyes wide, frantic. “Apprehend this abomination! Do something—he’s attacking me!”

  But no one moved.

  They stood in stiff silence, eyes fixed elsewhere, deliberately avoiding her gaze. Even Lorrin remained still. His expression darkened, yes—but his posture never changed.

  Pell’s grip only tightened.

  His skeletal hand, soul-forged and unyielding, clamped harder around her robe. The violet flames inside his skull burned brighter, casting flickering light across Celeste’s terrified face.

  “You,” he said, voice low and laced with menace, “are going to explain exactly why Enya was taken. Now.”

  Celeste clawed at his wrist, fingers straining against unmoving bone. She pulled, twisted—nothing. Pell didn’t so much as flinch. His grip might as well have been iron welded in place.

  He leaned in closer.

  The glow within his eyes dimmed to a cold, razor-thin gleam. “Answer me,” he said, quiet now. “Why did you take her? What exactly were you planning?”

  Then, he spoke even softer. “And know this: if you lie, I’m going to personally break every bone in your body.”

  Celeste writhed in his grasp, limbs jerking uselessly. Her gaze snapped to the guards again, her voice rising into a shrill, desperate edge.

  “What are you waiting for?!” she cried. “Why aren’t you stopping this thing?! He’s threatening me—your city’s Head Healer!”

  Still, none of them moved.

  Josier’s face was unreadable. Nakrin looked away. Neither met her eyes.

  It was Lorrin who finally answered.

  “Lady Celeste,” he said evenly, adjusting his spectacles with measured care, “you should know that magical recording devices are stationed throughout the academy. Earlier today, we received a report that you were conducting unauthorized business during your suspension.”

  Celeste froze. Her eyes widened. “W-what?” she stammered. “Who would dare accuse me of—”

  Lorrin lifted a hand, silencing her with a single curt motion. “We have our methods,” he said, voice smooth, deliberately mysterious—protecting Risha without naming her. “The issue isn’t how you were reported. The issue is that you crossed a line.”

  He paused, gaze sharpening.

  “You interfered with someone you absolutely should not have.”

  Pell’s soul flames narrowed to sharp points. He stared up at her, unmoving, jaw set with an unnatural calm.

  “I’ll ask you again,” he said coldly. “What exactly were you planning to do with Enya?”

  Celeste drew in a breath, shaky and sharp. Her lips trembled—but the fire in her eyes flared again.

  “I was doing my duty,” she snapped. The words came fast, brittle with fear. “That girl is a necromancer—a blight on this city! You expect me to stand idle while evil takes root in Talo?”

  Pell’s flames flared.

  “And so you kidnapped her,” he said. His voice wasn’t angry anymore. It was quiet.

  “What exactly was your end goal?”

  Celeste’s jaw tightened. Her eyes flicked between Pell and the silent guards ringing the scene. No allies. No sympathy. Just judgment. She drew in a breath, steadying herself.

  “I planned to restrain her,” she said flatly. “Until the Sanctity of Order could send an envoy. She needed to be contained before she became a threat.”

  Pell’s free fist clenched at his side.

  “A threat?” His voice shook with fury. “She’s a child, you damned fool.”

  Celeste shook her head, bitterly. “Today, perhaps. But what about tomorrow?” Her eyes burned now, defiance rising. “She’ll grow into something monstrous. You think the fear of necromancers is unfounded? You think the world invented its hatred for the dark arts overnight?”

  She spoke again, her voice gaining an edge. “Too many times, history has proven it—evil always starts small. Then it festers. And when it finally rises, we call it tragedy. The Sanctity of Order exists to stop that before it begins. What better way than to pluck it out by the roots?”

  Silence fell. The kind that didn’t need thunder for the rain to feel heavy.

  Pell stared into her, flames flickering with restrained rage.

  Celeste met his gaze, unshaken.

  Then—he spoke. Low, sharp, and bitter. “You know,” he muttered, “I ain’t a good man. Never claimed to be. Had a whole squad of adventurers die on a job once, and I was more pissed about the insurance than the bodies.”

  His voice dropped further. “I’m scum. I’m cold. I’m the kind of twisted bastard you should be worried about.”

  He let that sit before continuing.

  “I grew up in the system. In and out of orphanages all my damn life. I know kids. Know how bratty, selfish, loud they can be. I don’t like ’em. Never did. Can barely stand being around them. But even though I despised most of those kids back then, plenty of them have actually done something with their lives. Even though they were little shits to me back then, even if they're good now; I'll continue to hate them regardless.”

  His voice sharpened to a blade’s edge.

  “But even so, the one thing I won’t tolerate—ever—is someone who wants to hurt a kid. If you think you can mess with children just because you think they're something they're not, then you got another thing coming.”

  Pell’s hand tightened again. Celeste’s boots lifted higher off the stone.

  “I skirted that line with Enya. Back when we were surviving, before Talo. We did what we had to. But even then—I never crossed it. I assured both of our survival.”

  He leaned in close. “Neglect. Abuse. Malnutrition. Slavery. Embezzlement. I’ve seen it all. Lived through it. And no kid deserves it. Not one damned soul.”

  Pell’s grip flexed again, voice rising like a curse.

  “And you—you—think just because a child has a class you don’t like, you get to decide she’s evil? That she deserves to be locked up? You think you’re some kind of oracle, able to predict who turns villain?”

  His flames flared, sharp and furious.

  “All I see,” he growled, “is a coward. A hypocrite. Someone hurting a child to make herself feel righteous.”

  And then—he let go.

  Celeste dropped hard. Her body hit the stone slab with a thud, air bursting from her lungs. She gasped in pain, hands scrambling for support.

  Pell didn’t look away.

  “And now,” he said, voice cold, “because of you, someone far worse took her. You made her vulnerable. You gave them the opening. And if she’s hurt—if she’s gone—then you’ve doomed this city, Celeste. Every drop of blood will be on you. Because her backing isn’t something that any of you here can handle, and your little ploy just now might have just put this entire city on death row.”

  Celeste froze. Her backing?

  Her lips parted slightly, eyes wide. “Death?” she said, before shaking her head. “Took her…?” she breathed. “You mean—someone took her?” Her voice cracked. “That demon…” she whispered.

  Lorrin turned sharply. “Demon?”

  Celeste’s face paled, the last traces of color draining away. “The attacker,” she said, breathless. “Slitted eyes. Claws. And her body—half metal. Like some kind of arcane experiment.”

  “The one who destroyed this district,” Lorrin cut in, motioning toward the broken street and shattered walls, “the one who nearly killed two War Paragons—you’re saying that was a demon?”

  Celeste opened her mouth.

  No words came out.

  Pell’s soul flames flickered low, pulsing with restrained malice.

  “You,” he said, turning toward the kneeling Yvexis. “You a healer? Can you mend bones?”

  Yvexis blinked, startled. “Yes? I mean, yes—but… I don’t think I can mend monster bones,” she added, hesitant.

  Pell shook his head. “Good. It’s not for me.” Without another word, he raised his foot—and stomped. The sound was muffled by Celeste’s boot, but the crack beneath it was unmistakable.

  Celeste’s scream pierced the street, high and sharp, her body folding as she grabbed at her foot.

  “Hey!” Yvexis cried. “What’re you doing to Lady Celeste!?”

  She didn’t move forward—no one did. Every official stood still, silent, watching. Even Yvexis faltered, confusion washing over her face.

  Pell leaned in, voice like frost brushing skin. “That’s for kidnapping,” he whispered. “Be lucky I went the merchant route. If I hadn’t, I’d definitely have killed you by now—laws be damned.”

  Celeste’s pain twisted into fury. Her composure slammed back into place like a closing door. Eyes sharp. Jaw clenched. She clutched her ankle, but refused to cry further.

  Lorrin cleared his throat, stepping forward with calm authority. “That’s enough. Pell, I suggest you let us handle things from here.”

  Pell pulled back, his flames dimming, but not gone. Still smoldering.

  Lorrin turned to Josier and Nakrin. “Get ready. You’re retrieving Enya.”

  Josier gave a simple nod. Nakrin hesitated, shooting a wary glance at Pell, then followed suit with a quiet, reluctant agreement.

  Celeste's shoulders slumped. Eyes low.

  Pell stared at her one last time—then turned.

  She exhaled. Finally able to breathe; she still clutched at her broken foot, letting Yvexis take a look at it.

  "Just you wait, accursed monster. She'll prove you wrong. Just wait until she kills everything around you. Wait until she brings forth a calamity. It'll happen. Just wait until she learns that life is best preserved as an immortal undead. I wonder how you'll react when that time comes," Celeste said, one final time.

  A few seconds of silence passed, though everyone seemed to have heard her words.

  “How long will this take?” Pell asked, already facing Lorrin again.

  Lorrin glanced down at his bracer. “The distress signal was sent fifteen minutes ago. They can’t have gotten far. But…”

  His expression shifted. A shadow of unease settled in.

  “We didn’t receive any entry or exit alerts from the city,” Nakrin rumbled, arms crossed tight.

  “Exactly,” Lorrin nodded. “Talo’s barrier is active. Nothing gets in or out without our systems picking it up. If someone enters by force, we’re alerted. If someone leaves, same thing. But we’ve had no signal. At all.”

  “That means they had a bypass method,” Josier added, voice calm. “Something that slips under the network.”

  Lorrin nodded once more. “Regular skills or spells can’t teleport an individual inside of Talo due to the barrier. However, an artifact like a teleportation scroll or warpstones can easily bring you inside. Though, only extremely valuable teleportation scrolls can bypass a barrier as strong as Talo’s—something that would have to be high-diamond or even obsidian-tier,” Lorrin continued.

  “Warpstones are teleportation artifacts,” Josier explained, stepping forward. “They let you blink directly to a registered landmark—so long as you're within range. All major cities issue them occasionally, but only the rich and powerful ever get their hands on them. Even the King only has a handful tied to Talo.”

  Pell’s flames flickered. “So you’re telling me this demon—whoever they are—teleported into Talo, snatched Enya, and might already be halfway to another city?”

  He sounded less like he was asking and more like he was daring someone to say yes.

  Lorrin crossed his arms. “Possible. But unlikely. Teleporting into Talo requires something high-tier—obsidian-level, at least. But getting out? That’s easier. A gold-tier scroll or even a standard blink would do. And Warpstones—while powerful—have limits. You can’t warp from here to the capital just because you want to. You still need to be within proximity. Maybe a few days' journey, depending on the type.”

  Pell groaned and waved a skeletal hand. “Enough with the lore dump. Just tell me what's happening next.”

  Lorrin drew a steady breath. “Whoever the intruder was, he likely warped in with a stolen artifact. Took Enya. Bolted for the edge of the city. Then used a scroll or secondary artifact to slip past the barrier.”

  “She,” Celeste interrupted, voice flat. They all turned slightly. Her gaze was distant, but her tone left no room for correction. “That demon was female.”

  “Right…” Lorrin continued, adjusting slightly. “She ran for the outskirts and vanished. Depending on what she used, they could be twenty minutes out… or twenty hours. Even days. Josier and Nakrin are skilled—but they’re not built for speed. We’ll need transport if we’re going to track her down.”

  That was when another voice broke in.

  “Someone say something about transport?”

  They all turned at once.

  A man in his forties approached casually, hands tucked into the pockets of a worn brown coat, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

  “Henry?” Lorrin blinked.