BURN THEM ALL.
KILL ALL MAGI.
The words were scrawled in tar, etched into wood, painted in blood. The city of Vorelle was drowning in firelight, its shadows dancing madly against the towering stone walls. The air was thick with smoke, thick with the scent of burning flesh. Screams still echoed from the alleys, but fewer now. The Magi had learned not to scream.
Jonas Halewood adjusted the grip on his sword, though he hadn't needed to use it yet. The Magi ran from the mobs, from the executioners, from their own families. Most were dead before they could fight back. A few had tried. That had only made things worse.
Across the square, a man was dragged from a burning house. His robes were once the colour of royal blue, embroidered with golden runes—sigils that had once commanded respect, now nothing more than a death sentence. The soldiers held him fast, but he barely struggled. His eyes were wide, wild, reflecting the flames that consumed the city.
Jonas knew that look. The look of someone who had spent their entire life believing in the world's order, only to see it shattered overnight.
The man's lips trembled. "I—"
An iron blade flashed. A clean cut. The Magi's head struck the cobblestones with a wet thud. His body crumpled a moment later, and the flames swallowed both.
"Move on," Captain Veyne barked. "There are more."
Jonas moved, stepping over the fresh corpse as the soldiers advanced. The city's great walls had once protected its people from war and invasion, but nothing could protect them from this.
The dead roamed just outside, clawing at the gates. And the Magi—gods, the Magi—were beacons.
It had started in the capital. A single mage, a scholar, fell ill after handling a relic dug from the ruins of an ancient battlefield. By dawn, the sickness had claimed him, and by dusk, he had risen. They buried him. He crawled out. They burned him. And yet, the embers of his corpse still twitched.
Then others began to rise. It wasn't just the dead. The Magi—those who had once healed the sick, controlled the elements, wielded power beyond human reach—became something else. The dead wanted them.
It was more than hunger. The Magi called to them. Wherever a spell was cast, wherever magic pulsed in the air, the dead gathered, drawn like moths to an open flame. Entire cities had been overrun simply because a Magi had lit a candle with a whispered word.
So the orders had come down from the High Lords.
Kill them all. Every last one.
Jonas had never been particularly pious, but he had heard the whispers. The Magi had defied the gods. Their power had always been unnatural. The High Lords had simply given the people permission to do what should have been done centuries ago.
The soldiers reached another house. The captain signalled, and the doors were kicked in. A woman inside screamed. A child screamed.
Jonas hesitated. His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword. He could already hear the others moving inside. No orders were needed. The Magi would be taken, one way or another.
A sudden rush of heat blasted from the doorway, and a column of blue fire erupted from the house. Two soldiers were caught in the blaze. Their screams cut the night like the tolling of a funeral bell.
Jonas stumbled back, shielding his face. The flames flickered unnaturally, warping and twisting, resisting the wind. And then—
A single figure stepped through the inferno. A woman, tall, with silver hair flowing wild and free. Her robes were torn, but the markings along her arms still glowed with the last remnants of magic.
Her eyes locked on Jonas. Not pleading. Not angry.
Just tired.
Behind her, the child clung to her robes, wide-eyed and silent.
"Please," the woman whispered.
Jonas' breath hitched. The screams of the burning men faded. The roar of the mob dulled. For a moment, there was nothing but her, the child, and the fire licking at the edges of her robes.
A shadow moved. Captain Veyne. Her blade cut the silence, swinging toward the woman's throat.
Jonas moved without thinking. His sword clashed against the captain's. The force of the block sent a shock up his arm. What am I doing?
The captain's glare could have frozen hell itself. "Halewood."
The Magi woman grabbed the child's hand and ran.
Jonas should have stopped her. He should have turned, should have let the captain cut them both down. But his feet didn't move. His grip on his sword had gone slack.
By the time he turned back, they were gone, swallowed by the flames and the night.
Captain Veyne stared at him for a long time. Then, without a word, she strode past him, her focus already shifting to the next hunt.
The screams continued.
The fires burned on.
And outside the gates, the dead still waited.