Kayron, a knight of the Empire, walked carefully through the city streets, studying the faces of passersby. Lately, rumors had spread about mysterious disappearances, and he couldn't ignore them. He had already checked the central districts, marketplaces, and taverns, finding nothing amiss. If someone was indeed kidnapping people, they weren't doing it in crowded areas.
"So it must be the slums," he muttered, heading for the most dangerous part of town.
The deeper he went, the heavier the atmosphere grew. Narrow alleyways reeked of stale alcohol, rot, and mildew. The walls bore the dark marks of old fires, and the few people he saw looked away as soon as they noticed a knight in armor. Fear ruled here, and asking questions could be deadly.
Kayron slowed as he spotted scattered belongings—a piece of torn cloth, a child's toy stained with dirt, and signs of a struggle leading into a dark alley. His heart quickened.
"Something happened here…" he whispered.
A door to one of the houses creaked shut. Someone was watching. Someone knew something.
Kayron stepped closer, but caught movement in the distance—a figure in the shadows, slipping away down a side passage. He wasn't alone in this maze of streets.
A woman's scream pierced the silence, making him grip his sword hilt by reflex. Without hesitation, he ran toward the source of the sound.
Rounding a corner, he found several men cornering a young woman. Their ragged clothes and bold manner left little doubt—they were bandits. One of them yanked her hair, forcing a shriek of pain.
"Let go!" Her voice broke into near-hysterical screams as she struggled, strong hands clamping down on her wrists and bruising them.
"Calm down, we just wanna talk," one sneered, leaning in closer.
They laughed, shoving her around, ripping away her purse and jewelry. She tried to scream, but each cry only provoked more taunts.
Kayron noticed doors to nearby houses open just a crack. People were watching. They saw what was happening. But no one intervened.
"Let her go," Kayron said firmly, his voice calm yet resolute.
The bandits paused, exchanging glances, then one smirked.
"Hey, look at this, we've got a hero," he drawled, resting a hand on his dagger. "Guess you don't know whose turf this is, knight."
Kayron stepped forward, hand tightening on his sword hilt.
"I'll say it again—release the girl."
One of the bandits snorted.
"You clearly don't get where you are." He let out a sharp whistle, and another figure emerged from the alley—a different sort of threat.
A dark mage.
His hood obscured most of his face, but an eerie red gleam in his eyes revealed his nature. With a casual flick of his fingers, tongues of flame danced around him.
"Inquisitive knights always meet a bad end," the mage said evenly, his voice laced with hidden menace.
Kayron didn't wait. Drawing his sword, he shifted into a combat stance. His gaze locked onto the mage.
"Let's see whose will is stronger," he said, bracing for a fight.
The dark mage wasted no time. Flames flared up around him, and a fiery blast streaked toward Kayron. The knight darted aside, closing the distance. He knew how dangerous mages could be at a distance, but in close quarters they were vulnerable.
Fiery projectiles exploded nearby, melting walls and igniting wood. Kayron slashed one of them mid-flight, but even so, the heat seared his armor, heating the metal. He caught the smell of scorched fabric—his cloak had begun to burn.
Chaos engulfed the city. Buildings collapsed, flames devoured wooden structures, and citizens ran into the streets in a panic. Some tried to put out the fires, others dropped to their knees, arms shielding their heads. Guards were already rushing toward them, weapons in hand, barking orders.
Kayron gasped for breath, chest heaving with exhaustion. Blood trickled down his temple, and acrid smoke filled his lungs. A sharp pain stabbed through his right arm, but he couldn't give up.
"Looks like we won't be left alone now," the mage remarked, halting momentarily.
Kayron gritted his teeth. He could feel the stares of dozens of onlookers—their fear, their judgment.
But the mage pressed on, raising his hand, gathering a fresh surge of fire aimed at Kayron.
Kayron lifted his sword, but he wasn't fast enough. The entire world narrowed to a single point—a blazing mass of flame hurtling straight at him. He braced for impact, expecting to be consumed by agonizing heat. The hot air pounded against his chest, the flames already burning through his armor. Was this the end?
But the pain never came.
Instead of searing agony, there was warmth—gentle, soft, like the sun's rays on a peaceful morning. It enveloped him, soaking into his skin, filling his weary body with rejuvenating energy.
Kayron's eyes flew open.
Before him stood a girl, unlike anyone he had ever seen. Her eyes glowed with a golden light, and her hand rested softly on his arm. A comforting heat flowed from her touch, spreading through his very being. She was trembling, her breathing ragged, yet the magic swirling around her pulsed in gentle waves of light.
The screams, the crash of collapsing buildings, the horror of the moment—all faded. Only the two of them existed in that instant.
Kayron blinked, struggling to comprehend what he was witnessing. He could hardly believe his eyes.
"Who…are you?" he whispered.
Aya looked up, her lips quivering. But before she could answer, her strength failed. Her knees buckled, and she began to collapse.
Kayron barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground.