The air hung thick with unease, as if the entire forest had gone still in anticipation of what was to come. A slight breeze stirred the leaves, but even the wind felt muted, barely audible over the pounding in Lamberra’s chest. The flickering fire cast long, shifting shadows across the clearing, distorting the shapes of the trees into looming specters. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, the cold steel biting into her palm, grounding her. Something was wrong. Deeply, unmistakably wrong.
Willow stepped forward, his broad frame partially blocking Lamberra’s view of the figure standing just beyond the fire’s glow. His movements were unhurried, almost casual, as if he had just woken up from a nap and stumbled upon a minor inconvenience. With an exaggerated yawn, he rubbed at his eyes before tossing an unimpressed look toward the stranger.
“My, aren’t you a little freaky? Full black cloak? You can’t be a mage, so what…just playing dress-up to scare people in the woods?” Willow’s tone was light, but his stance betrayed his alertness. He was ready. Lamberra swallowed, her gaze darting between the deep shadows of the forest and the man in front of them. She had seen him before. Near the woodline back in the slums. The realization sent a shiver racing down her spine. Had he been following her this entire time?
“I would never have elven blood in my veins to wield magic,” the man sneered, his voice thick with disdain. “Besides, we don’t care about you.”
Lamberra stiffened even more.
Willow’s eyes flickered toward her, sharp as a blade. “Ah, so you two are responsible for all the attacks on this road lately?” he asked, his tone still holding the faintest trace of amusement.
“Not exactly,” the man replied with a slow, deliberate smirk. “But I wouldn’t say we were ignorant of them either.” His head tilted slightly, and the glow of the fire caught the edge of his grin. “More than anything, we just want the girl.”
Lamberra let out a small gasp. Me? Willow’s posture shifted, all pretense of humor vanishing in an instant. His muscles coiled like a tightly wound spring, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
“We?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “I only see you.”
Shadows then stirred. Three more figures emerged from the darkness, their bald heads gleaming under the pale moonlight. Unlike the cloaked man, these newcomers wore stark white robes, their fabric almost glowing in the dim firelight. Was this some sort of a religious cult?
The cloaked man exhaled, feigning boredom. “It doesn’t matter who you are,” he drawled. “It’s four against one.”
Willow stepped forward, his presence suddenly immense, his sharp purple eyes like his sister’s glinted with something that sent a chill through the air. “The name is Willow Mira,” he said, voice ringing out like steel striking stone. “First lieutenant of the Royal Army of Stormhaven. Son of the great General Rowena Mira.” He placed both hands on his hips, his confidence unshaken. “I swear it, none of you will see the sunrise.”
The cloaked man hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. But he motioned for the three robed men to move closer. Willow barely turned his head toward Lamberra, his voice a sharp whisper. “If you see an opening, run to Siburg. Report what’s happening. I’ll handle them.”
“No!” Lamberra’s voice cracked, panic surging through her. “They’ll kill you!”
Willow didn’t acknowledge her fear. His gaze remained locked on the cloaked man, unflinchingly ignoring the others. “So,” he said, louder now, “you want the girl. Why?”
“None of your business,” the man snapped. His hand twitched, a signal was given. “Your kind is too stupid to understand.” The robed men charged.
Willow’s lips curled into a wicked grin as he raised his sword. “Ignis Corona.”
A ring of fire exploded around them, roaring to life with searing intensity. The attackers stumbled back, momentarily halted by the sudden inferno. The flames danced, casting flickering light over their faces, their faces twisted in shock and hesitation. Willow’s blade shimmered as he channeled the fire’s energy through it, heat rippling in waves around him.
His blade flicked forward, and the fire obeyed. A streak of flame erupted toward the nearest man, striking before he could dodge. The flames engulfed the lower half of his body in an instant, his screams splitting the night as his robes burned away, flesh charing beneath. The sickening scent of scorched hair and skin filled the air, thick and nauseating.
Willow let out a low, disappointed groan. “Too easy.” He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as if loosening up. “Come on. Fight.” The flames flickered and died, plunging the clearing back into darkness. The cold night air rushed in, biting at Lamberra’s skin, but she barely registered it over the pounding in her chest.
“Lamberra, why are you still here?” Willow’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp with frustration. “Go!” She didn’t move. Her feet felt like they were sinking into the earth, her heart hammering against her ribs, frozen in fear. Willow snarled, stepping forward just in time to meet the next attacker. Steel clashed against steel, the harsh ring of metal splitting the silence. The two remaining robed men moved in practiced unison, their strikes precise and coordinated, but Willow was faster. His sword wove through the air in deadly arcs, intercepting their attacks with ruthless efficiency.
One of them lunged, his movements eerily mechanical, as if detached from any human hesitation. Willow sidestepped with ease, his blade flashing upward in a brutal counter strike. The steel cut deep into the man’s forearm, dark blood splattering against the dirt. The man didn’t scream or even flinch. Instead, his body twisted unnaturally, pivoting with an inhuman grace. In a single fluid motion, he thrust his short sword toward Willow’s ribs. Willow barely blocked in time, sparks flying as their weapons met, but the attacker''s sword did graze Willow slightly.
“Not bad!” Willow barked, a grin breaking through the tension.
Then, Lamberra caught movement in the corner of her eye. One attacker had broken away from the fight and was charging straight toward her.
“Lamberra!” Willow’s shout snapped her back into reality. “Run!”
But Lamberra didn’t. If she ran, and Willow died, what would she tell Belli? That she ran while her brother bled out in the dirt? That wasn’t going to happen, she would never run. The man was nearly on her now, his bald head gleaming under the moonlight, his dead, soulless eyes locked onto hers.
“Willow!” Lamberra screamed, scrambling to raise her sword, but she was too slow.
His blade came down in a brutal arc, and she barely managed to parry with her own weapon. The impact sent shockwaves through her arms, her wrists shrieking in pain. He pressed in, overwhelming her with sheer strength, his expression never shifting, not even with exertion. Desperation clawed at Lamberra.
Twisting sharply, she used his own momentum against him, forcing him to stumble. In the split second of hesitation, she swung wildly, her blade grazing his side. A shallow cut, but it was enough to make him hesitate. A thin line of blood hissing, staining his pristine robes. His shock lasted only an instant before he adjusted his stance, readying another flurry of attacks. But before he could strike, Willow barreled into him, knocking him violently to the ground.
“Stay away from her!” Willow’s voice was a snarl, his sword plunging downward.
The man rolled, narrowly avoiding the killing blow, but not fast enough. Willow’s blade slashed across his thigh, cutting deep. The attacker jerked, an inaudible cry twisting his face in pain, but this cost Willow.
The other robed man seized the opening, lunging forward. The blade caught Willow’s shoulder, slicing through the fabric of his uniform, a blacker stain blooming across his black uniform.
“Willow!” Lamberra gasped, her left hand instinctively reaching out toward him.
“I’m fine!” he snapped, already spinning to parry another strike. His movements didn’t falter, every motion precise, calculated, as if he already knew their next moves before they made them. Blood dripped from his shoulder staining the ground beneath them.
“I need you to go now!” Willow growled, his eyes never leaving the attackers. “There’s an opening!”
Lamberra''s legs finally obeyed, launching her into a desperate sprint through the dense forest. The world blurred past in a chaotic rush, brittle sticks snapping beneath her boots, fallen leaves swirling in her wake. Each gasping breath burned in her chest, the cold air slicing down her throat. There was no plan, no clear direction, only the primal instinct to run, to escape. Lamberra knew she was the reason Willow has gotten injured, twice now. The only way to save him, was to leave him, but she wasn’t fast enough.
The cloaked man, the one who had been watching, waiting with a predator’s patience, stepped forward, cutting off her path. His presence alone was suffocating, pressing down on her like an invisible weight. His voice, calm yet edged with chilling authority, cut through the night like a blade.
“Enough.”
The order sent an unnatural hush through the clearing. Even the robed men seemed to pause. The certainty in his tone was absolute. Lamberra skidded to a stop, her breath catching painfully in her throat.
“Do not let her escape,” he commanded, his gaze flicking toward the others. Then, with terrifying speed, he turned and lunged at Willow. Panic clawed at her ribs, urging her to keep running. There was no hesitation, no wasted effort in his stride, just cold precision from the cloaked man. He fought differently than the others, with an ease that spoke of experience, of countless battles fought and won. And for a single, gut-wrenching second, his gaze flicked to her. A moment''s distraction, and it was enough.
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Lamberra’s foot caught on a massive tree root. She pitched forward, the ground rushing up to meet her. The impact was brutal, knocking the breath from her lungs in a sharp gasp. The world spun violently as she tumbled, rolling over and over until she finally skidded to a stop against the rough earth. Pain exploded in her side. Her body screamed in protest, but it was the emptiness at her hip that truly sent terror crashing through her. Her sword was gone. Scrambling onto her elbows, she twisted her head, searching desperately. Finding it several feet away, glinting faintly in the moonlight. Too far. She barely had time to register the distant sound of clashing swords before Willow’s voice cut through the chaos, frantic and desperate.
“Lamberra! Are you okay? Lamberra!”
She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t force a single sound past the tight grip of fear in her throat.
The rustling of leaves reached her first, steady and relentless. Footsteps, crunching, drawing closer. A shadow moved between the trees, growing larger, closing in. Then she saw him, the white robed man Willow sliced open on the thigh charging at her. They are all changing so fast it was dizzying.
Her gaze flicked back to her sword, still too far. She tried to push herself backward, but her limbs were sluggish, uncooperative, the sharp sting of pain stealing her strength. The robed man’s sword gleamed in the moonlight, streaked with blood. His face remained eerily blank, unreadable, even as he raised the blade high. Lamberra’s heart pounded so violently it drowned out every other sound. Her arms trembled, her body frozen beneath the crushing weight of helplessness. Her mind whispered a cruel truth at her, that she had lost.
The thought sinks in, cold and suffocating, curling around Lamberra’s chest like iron chains. Something inside her starts to fracture, cracking beneath the weight of her own helplessness. All the years of scraping by, of convincing herself she was strong enough to endure, that she could carve a better future for Mama and Amara. All of it, pointless. She wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t special. She was just a girl from the slums, and she was going to die as one. The white-robed man’s face twists in something like triumph as he lunges, his blade aimed straight for her heart. Lamberra’s hands lift instinctively, a pitiful, useless defense. She squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the strike.
“Magna Ignis!” A voice pierces the chaos, cutting through the night like thunder. The air hums, vibrating with raw energy. A searing orange glow floods the clearing, forcing Lamberra’s eyes open just in time to see Willow stepping forward, his sword outstretched. The blade radiates with pulsing heat, its edge trailing tendrils of flickering flame. At its tip, a fireball begins to form, small at first, then swelling with crackling intensity. Heat rolls off it in waves, distorting the air around him.
It streaks through the air like a shooting star, illuminating the clearing in its wake. The robed man barely has time to react before it reaches him. He dives at the last possible second, but the explosion still catches him, igniting the dry underbrush and sending embers spiraling into the sky. The shockwave tears through the clearing, shaking the trees, sending Lamberra stumbling as the acrid scent of burning wood and fabric fills her lungs. The man scrambles to his feet, coughing, his robes charred and smoking.
“Get your sword,” Willow commands, his voice unyielding as he channels the spell. “Fight. Remember the fundamentals.”
Lamberra forces her limbs into motion, dragging herself across the ground toward her sword. Her fingers close around the hilt, its weight familiar, grounding. Her heart slams against her ribs as she jerks her head up, searching for the robed man who had nearly killed her, but he’s gone. But where? It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have time to dwell on it.
Willow is still fighting, her gaze locks onto and the sight steals her breath. He’s outnumbered. Locked in combat with not just the cloaked man, but another robed attacker. And yet, he moves like the battle is nothing more than a dance. Each strike is precise, each step calculated.
With a sudden, brutal kick to the chest, Willow sends the cloaked man staggering backward, forcing him to retreat. He wastes no time shifting his focus to the other opponent. Steel meets steel in a clash that rings through the burning clearing, but it’s clear the robed man is outmatched. He’s fast, but Willow is faster. He presses the attack, his sword moving in sharp, punishing arcs. The robed man barely has time to react, too focused on defending, too slow to see Willow’s other hand reaching for his belt. A flicker of steel, and then a clean, precise slash across the robed-man’s throat.
Blood sprays in the air, dark against the orange glow of the flames. The robed man gurgles, his hands flying to his throat, staggering backward before collapsing into the dirt. Willow doesn’t waste a second. He turns to Lamberra, his voice snapping her back into the present. “Lamberra!”
Her head whips toward him, just in time to see the last robed attacker barreling toward her. Lamberra’s body protests every movement, pain radiating from her side, the faint sting of burns on her cheek from the fireball’s blast. But she doesn’t back down. She grips the hilt of her sword tighter, rising to her feet despite the sharp pull of pain. The man’s blade arcs toward her, and she barely manages to block in time. The force of it reverberates up her arms, her grip nearly faltering. He’s fast. Too fast. His strikes come in rapid succession, each one forcing her back a step.
Remember the fundamentals, Willow’s voice echoes in her mind.
Let them think they’re winning. Let them get arrogant. That’s your opening.
She shifts left, drawing him into an overreach. He takes the bait, lunging forward. But he’s more experienced than she expected, but he recovers quickly, his blade slicing toward her side. Lamberra twists away, the sword tip grazing the fabric of her tunic but missing flesh. The movement costs her balance, sending her stumbling to one knee. The robed man sees his opportunity. His confidence swells. He lifts his blade high, ready to strike, and Lamberra sees it.
The opening.
With a surge of desperation, she thrusts her sword upward and the blade sinks into his stomach. The resistance was sickening, the give of flesh and muscle, the way his body jerks as steel tears through him. His eyes widen, his lips parting in a strangled gasp. He shudders, collapsing forward, dragging her down with him.
Lamberra shoves him off, scrambling back, chest heaving. His body twitches once and then goes still. The clearing is eerily quiet for just a moment, save for the crackle of the flames. Lamberra drops to her knees, clutching her side, the pain now sharp and unrelenting. Blood seeps through her fingers, and her head feels too light, her vision swimming.
The clash of steel, she turned her head to watch Willow fight the last attacker. Willow and the cloaked man, locked in a brutal exchange of blows. This one was different. More skilled than the others. His movements were sharper, practiced and yet, Willow was still better. Then, with a sudden, precise strike, Willow’s blade cut across the man’s chest.
The hood fell, and you could see his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. Dark red eyes, compared to Willow’s bright crimson hair. Long black hair, cascading down his back. For the first time, true panic filled the cloaked man’s face.
“GWUH,” was the scream that tore from Lamberra’s throat, raw and guttural. Pain erupted through her chest, white-hot and all-consuming, as she felt the blade sink deep into her upper right side, and being ripped through towards her shoulder. She barely registered the attacker, the man she had just stabbed who was gurgling his last breath beside her a second ago. His dead, glassy eyes locked onto hers, unseeing, his lips slightly parted in an expression that almost seemed surprised. The man finally took his last breath, striking the ground.
Lamberra’s vision blurred. The night stretched around her, too big, too vast, the firelight flickering in chaotic patterns. Her body swayed, her balance slipping, and then it was just darkness that surged forward as she collapsed.
“Lamberra!” Willow''s voice was sharp, desperate, and angry.
His instincts roared louder than his thoughts. In one swift motion, he disarmed the cloaked man, yanked him forward by the collar, and slammed him against a tree. The tip of his sword pressed just below the man’s jaw, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped the hilt.
The man’s breath hitched, his body trembling. “P-please,” he stammered, his voice high-pitched, weak. “I can save her! I swear! It—it was just a bounty! We were only hired for this! We—we didn’t know—”
Willow’s grip tightened. His face was a mask of stone, cold fury flickering behind his violet eyes. “Ignis Venire,” he murmured.
A spark ignited at the tip of his blade, small at first, almost delicate. Then in an instant, it roared to life. A jet of searing flame shot forward, blindingly fast. The cloaked man barely had time to open his mouth in horror before the fire tore through his skull, snapping his head back with an awful, wet sound. His lifeless body slumped to the forest floor, smoke curling from the gaping hole where his face had been.
Willow didn’t look at him again. He was already at Lamberra’s side, falling to his knees in the blood-soaked dirt.
“Lamberra! Talk to me.” His voice cracked. She wasn’t moving. The dim glow of firelight flickered over her face, making her look paler than he had ever seen her.
Then she coughed. Blood splattering her lips. Relief slammed into him so hard he almost lost his breath.
“I’m fine,” she rasped, her voice barely audible. Her lips curved weakly into something that tried to be a smile, but it faltered almost instantly. “It’s not a deep wound—” A laugh tried to slip out, but all that came was another cough, and this one worse. More blood came pouring from her mouth. Willow’s gut twisted. His hands worked fast, pressing against her wound.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice tight with control. He tore at her shirt, exposing the injury and her chest. She flinched, embarrassment flickering through her dazed expression. Her left hand weakly tried to tug her torn clothing back, but her right arm barely responded. Lamberra realized she couldn’t move her right arm at all.
“No time for modesty,” Willow muttered. His mind was already racing through every solution. He could stop the bleeding, but that won’t be enough.
“You’ve healed yourself before,” he reminded her, his tone urgent. “Remember? When you were a kid?” Lamberra’s hazy eyes met his. She did remember. But only because people had told her about it, how she had survived a fatal wound when no one should have.
Willow didn’t wait for her response. He lifted his sword and whispered to it and the metal flared red-hot. Lamberra’s eyes widened in horror. She understood too late.
“No—” she tried to rasp out, but then the pain came. A searing, blinding agony that swallowed her whole.
“GWUHHH,” The iron pressed against her chest, as she screamed. A ghastly, guttural sound ripped from her throat, unlike anything she had ever made before. The scent of burnt flesh filled the night air, thick and suffocating. Willow pressed harder, ensuring it cauterized all the way through. His own hands were shaking.
“Stay with me!” he shouted, gripping her hand tight enough to leave bruises. “Lamberra, look at me! Stay awake!”
Her head rolled slightly facing away from him. Her dark brown hair was drenched in blood.
“No, no, no. Stay with me!” Willow shook her gently, panic rising.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted, as if to say something, and then her body slackened. The cold crept into her limbs and her vision darkened at the edges. Willow’s voice was still calling for her but she was already slipping into the abyss.
Willow didn’t hesitate. He hoisted Lamberra onto his back, her body limp and burning with feverish heat, her weight unsettlingly light against him. She was too still. Too quiet. He could feel her shallow breaths against his neck, each one weaker than the last. Then, he ran.
His boots pounded against the dirt, leaves and debris kicking up in his wake as he tore through the darkened forest toward Siburg. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he ignored it. His breaths came fast and sharp, but he forced himself forward, pushing harder. There was no other option. He had to get her to Siburg before it was too late.
Lamberra shifted slightly, her fingers twitching against his chest, and for a moment, hope surged in him. But when he glanced back, her eyes remained closed, her face pale as death. The seared wound across her chest had stopped bleeding, but the damage was done. She was dying.
“I know you can hear me. Stay with me, Lamberra,” he muttered, his voice raw as he pressed forward, his strides never faltering. “Just hold on a little longer.”
The trees blurred past him, their skeletal branches stretching overhead, illuminated only by the sliver of moonlight breaking through the canopy. The weight of the night pressed in, but he kept going, kept running, each step fueled by sheer determination. Willow clenched his jaw, pushed faster. If Siburg was still two hours away, he’d make it in one, but Lamberra’s breaths were becoming weaker and weaker, until Willow couldn’t feel them anymore.