Cyrus grabbed Mariline's arm and began moving swiftly in the opposite direction. She glanced back, her eyes fixed on the approaching figure, but didn't utter a word. The duo navigated through the sea of people with practiced stealth, maneuvering and concealing themselves when necessary. It was a game of hide and seek they had become adept at playing.
In the distance, an agent of the bureau could be seen, his brow furrowed in frustration as he scanned the crowd. The agent's piercing gaze swept across the throng of people, searching for any sign of his quarry. Cyrus felt his heart rate quicken, knowing they couldn't evade detection forever.
As they reached a junction in the crowded street, Cyrus and Mariline exchanged a brief, meaningful look before separating. They continued moving even faster, each taking a different route to throw off their pursuer. Cyrus, his breath coming in short gasps, waved at Mariline and called out, "You should leave. They're after me."
But Mariline stood rooted to the spot, her face a mask of determination. She said nothing, but her eyes conveyed a resolve that surprised Cyrus. He frowned, conflicting emotions warring within him. On one hand, he appreciated her loyalty, but on the other, he knew he couldn't escape the agents of the bureau indefinitely. The weight of the situation pressed down on him; he needed to leave this place, and fast.
Mariline's voice cut through his thoughts. "I can help you," she said, her eyes darting cautiously left and right, ever vigilant for signs of danger. Cyrus shook his head, his face etched with concern. "It's too risky," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to be caught in the crossfire of his troubles.
Sensing his hesitation, Mariline pressed on. "The bureau aren't exactly angels, but they're not devils either. As long as I don't interfere directly, they'll have no reason to touch me. And believe me, they wouldn't dare." She spoke with such confidence that Cyrus felt a twinge of embarrassment at his own attitude. Here was this girl, showing more courage than he could muster in the face of danger.
Without waiting for his response, Mariline began to paint, her hands moving with practiced precision. Cyrus watched their surroundings warily, his senses on high alert. The agents of the bureau were moving in a circular fashion, slowly closing in on their position. It was a tactical maneuver designed to make it impossible for him to rush out without getting captured. With each passing second, Cyrus knew it wouldn't be long before they pinpointed his location.
The sea of people around them began to react to the bureau's presence. A ripple of unease spread through the crowd as individuals recognized the agents and their purpose. Slowly but surely, people started moving out of the way, creating a widening circle around the area where Cyrus and Mariline stood. The careful inspection of the bureau agents only heightened the tension in the air.
Cyrus felt his heart rate accelerating, the pounding in his chest so loud he feared it might give away his position. He tilted his head to the side, keeping it low to avoid drawing attention. From his vantage point, he could see the bureau agents were now mere meters away. He counted five in view, approaching from every direction, their movements precise and coordinated.
A quick glance at Mariline showed that she wasn't finished with whatever she was painting. Cyrus felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back as adrenaline coursed through his veins. The closest agent of the bureau suddenly caught his eye, and Cyrus saw the flash of recognition cross the man's face. The agent began moving cautiously towards him, his hand hovering near his weapon.
Cyrus hid his sweaty hands in his pockets, forcing himself to keep his gaze fixed on the ground. His mind raced, trying to formulate a plan of escape, but coming up empty. Just as he was about to make a desperate move, a sudden voice rang out, "Hey, you!"
His heart jolted in fright, and he felt a palm land heavily on his shoulder. For a split second, Cyrus thought it was all over. His muscles tensed, ready to unleash a defensive spell, when he realized it was Mariline's touch he felt. In that same moment, he noticed a bureau agent passing by them. The agent glanced in their direction, his eyes sliding over them without a hint of suspicion, before continuing on his way.
As the last of the agents moved out of sight, Cyrus heaved a sigh of relief so profound it felt as if his very soul was escaping. He wiped the sweat from his face with a trembling hand, marveling at their narrow escape. Mariline had somehow painted an illusion so convincing it had duped the highly trained agents. It was a feat of magic unlike anything Cyrus had ever witnessed.
Night had fallen by the time they managed to escape the area. They found themselves hiding in a somber alley, pressed close together in the narrow space. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving Cyrus feeling drained and vulnerable. "Thanks for your help," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Now I really need to go." The close call had shaken him more than he cared to admit. Questions about Mariline's unique magic burned in his mind, but he knew this wasn't the time for curiosity.
"You should leave before they find you," Mariline replied. Without another word, she turned and left, her pace quickening until she was almost running. Cyrus stood there, speechless, watching her disappear into the darkness. Was she in such a hurry to get away from him? As the thought crossed his mind, a wave of self-loathing washed over him. Who would want to stay around someone like him, constantly hunted and in danger?
Shaking off his melancholy thoughts, Cyrus moved silently towards the main streets. His instincts screamed at him to keep moving, to put as much distance between himself and the bureau as possible. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
A loud commotion caught his attention, drawing his gaze to a disturbance further down the street. A crowd had gathered, entirely blocking the thoroughfare. Cars had come to a complete halt, their drivers craning their necks to see what was happening. Every fiber of Cyrus's being told him to keep moving, to ignore whatever spectacle was unfolding. Yet something deep within him, a sense of curiosity or perhaps a misplaced sense of duty, compelled him to investigate.
Cautiously, Cyrus approached the crowd, using his slight frame to weave between the onlookers. As he broke through to the front, the scene before him made his blood run cold. A series of bureau agents had formed a tight circle around a small family. At their center stood a man Cyrus recognized immediately – the same agent who had chased him in Lork's shop. The agent's face was a mask of cold indifference as he stared down at his captives: a young man and his elderly father.
The lead agent stepped forward, pulling a sword from his back. The blade was a marvel of craftsmanship, clear and thin, its metallic surface gleaming in the streetlights. Cyrus recognized the material instantly – black ore, one of the deadliest and most valuable metals in their world.
The young man, no more than a boy really, threw himself to the ground. His forehead smashed against the concrete as he pleaded, "Please, I beg of you, leave my father!" His voice was raw with desperation, but it seemed to have no effect on the impassive agent.
Without a word, the agent began to walk slowly towards the old man. In one fluid motion, he raised his sword. Cyrus wanted to look away, to run, to do something – anything – but he found himself paralyzed, unable to tear his eyes from the horrific scene unfolding before him.
A clean arc was drawn through the air, and in an instant, the old man's head was severed from his body. Blood sprayed in a gruesome arc, painting the pavement crimson. The crowd collectively gasped and stepped back, the reality of what they had just witnessed sinking in.
Cyrus swallowed hard, fighting the urge to be sick. This was the true face of the bureau – the law of Arkania in all its brutal glory. A man executed simply for the crime of raising a non-human child. Cyrus felt a wave of dejection wash over him. What could he do against such cruelty? Fight the bureau single-handedly? The thought was laughable. He was no hero, nor did he harbor any delusions of becoming one.
"You have a choice," the bureau agent's voice cut through the shocked silence. He lifted his sword, still dripping with the scarlet blood of his victim, and placed it against the boy's neck. "Follow us and pledge allegiance to the bureau, or die as the non-human dirt you are."
The boy's body trembled violently, his arms still wrapped around the headless corpse of his father. For a moment, it seemed as though he might submit to the agent's demand. But then, something in the boy's demeanor changed. His fear gave way to a rage so potent it was almost palpable.
"Once I'm big enough, you'll all pay!" the boy yelled, his voice cracking with emotion. Suddenly, flames erupted from his body, spiraling outward and shooting towards the sky. The crowd recoiled in fear, cries of alarm rising from all sides.
"Elemental magic!" The whisper rippled through the onlookers, a mixture of awe and terror in their voices. Cyrus blinked hard, unable to believe what he was seeing. Elemental magic was incredibly rare and immensely powerful. For this boy to possess such ability was nothing short of miraculous.
The bureau agents sprang into action, charging towards the boy with weapons drawn. But they were too slow. A wave of searing flames swept through their ranks, reducing several agents to nothing but dark smoke and ash. Their agonized screams filled the air, a horrifying counterpoint to the roar of the flames.
The captain, however, was made of sterner stuff. He waved his blade, somehow managing to divide the flames that rushed towards him. With inhuman speed, he dashed forward, closing the distance between himself and the boy.
But the young elemental was far from defeated. His grief and rage fueled his power, causing the flames to intensify. They blasted outward like spinning tornadoes, fissuring the roads and sending debris flying into the sky. The crowd dispersed in panic, fleeing the destruction that threatened to engulf them all.
Cyrus found himself knocked off his feet, carried along by the fleeing masses. As he struggled to regain his footing, he couldn't help but marvel at the awesome display of power. The boy had become a veritable god of flames, floating in the sky like some wrathful deity. The captain of the bureau fought valiantly, but it was clear he couldn't kill the boy. Yet the young elemental, for all his raw power, lacked the skill to incapacitate his opponent.
Just as Cyrus thought the battle might rage on indefinitely, a new figure entered the fray. From high above, a dark silhouette plummeted towards the battlefield. "Look, it's him!" someone in the crowd shouted, pointing skyward.
The falling figure landed with earth-shaking force, the ground trembling upon impact. As the dust cleared, Cyrus recognized the newcomer – Nemesis, the legendary enforcer of the bureau. Without a word, Nemesis leaned forward, a black light flashing across the battlefield.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, with agonizing slowness, the boy fell from the sky, his flames extinguished. Blood flowed from a wound no one had seen inflicted. Nemesis calmly sheathed his blade, his expression unchanged. "Clean," he said simply, turning to leave.
The captain nodded, barking orders to his subordinates to deal with the aftermath. As the crowd began to disperse, Cyrus stood rooted to the spot, his mind reeling from all he had witnessed. The brutality of the bureau, the awesome power of elemental magic, and the terrifying efficiency of Nemesis – it was almost too much to process.